Spark - ARC (11 page)

“Calm yourself, Codcadden,” the queen said. “Our guest knows little of our ways, or our realm. He will learn.”

There was threat and promise in those words, and Aran shivered. He yanked his arm out of Codcadden’s grasp, gritting his teeth as the goblin’s claws left streaks of blood on his skin.

A man stepped out from behind the throne, and Aran felt his eyes widen. Not only did the guy look human—in marked contrast to all the other creatures in the clearing—he had a battered guitar slung across his back. His hair was brown, shot through with silver, and he regarded Aran for a long moment, his gaze both wise and weary.

“My lady,” the man said, turning to the queen. “I beg leave to counsel and guide this mortal in the ways of the Dark Court.”

The queen leaned forward, her dress swirling about her like inky mist. “Betray me not, Bard Thomas. You yet remain overly fond of the human world.”

“I am true to you, my queen.” The man, Thomas, bowed low. “Did I not prove my worth with the stolen child?”

Aran risked a glance at the queen’s face. Her eyes were narrowed and glittering.

“Do not let this human wreak such havoc upon our court as the child did,” she said. “Truly I might have reconsidered, had I known the mischief that boy could cause.”

Thomas’s mouth twitched, as though he held back a smile. Aran made another quick surveillance of the court from beneath his lowered lids. No one else looked even remotely human, so whoever this crazy boy had been, he was gone.

Gone where was another question entirely, and one Aran wasn’t ready to think about.

“I shall stand responsible for this boy,” Thomas said.

“I’m not a child,” Aran said, then shut up when the man sent him a sharp look.

“Very well,” the queen said. “I give him into your keeping, Bard Thomas. For now. Bring him before me again on the morrow.”

“I shall, my lady.”

Thomas swept her an elaborate bow, complete with a cloak flourish that should have looked foolish, but instead conveyed a high degree of respect. He stepped over to where Aran knelt, never quite turning his back to the queen, and held out a hand.

“I’m Thomas,” he said.

“I gathered that.” Aran looked at the man’s outstretched hand. He really wanted to refuse any help, but his head was still spinning.

“Come,” Thomas said. “It is best not to linger in the queen’s sight, once your business with her has concluded.”

“Right.”

Aran took Thomas’s hand. It was warm, his grasp surprisingly firm as he drew Aran to his feet. The scratches on Aran’s arm stung, and he glanced down at the bare skin, surprised to see he still had his tablet tucked under his arm. No guarantee it worked, though.

“You may share my quarters, for now.” Thomas let go of his hand, then turned and led him away from the clearing into the shelter of the trees.

“Somehow, I don’t think you have a nice two-story house back in the woods,” Aran said.

He glanced around at the moon-silvered forest. The violet flicker of a weird bonfire lit the edges of the clearing, and figures capered there. After a moment of watching the creatures moving on oddly jointed limbs, the flapping of gossamer wings, the waving of too-long fingers, he looked away. He wasn’t sure he was ready to deal with this.

“Not quite a house, no.” Thomas’s voice held a touch of dry humor. “Yet it is a home all the same.”

They followed a twisty path a short distance, to a pole with a single, ornate lantern suspended on it. The interior was lit with dancing balls of light. When Aran squinted, he could make out tiny, winged figures inside each glow. They fluttered back and forth, pressing their hands and faces to the sides of the lantern, their mouths open in silent screams. Trapped.

His throat closed, and for a sick moment he couldn’t breathe.

“Easy.” Thomas was beside him, one hand on his shoulder. “Do not dwell overmuch on the sights here. The Dark Realm is what it is—and not meant for mortals.”

Aran swallowed hard. Once. Twice.

“But you live here, and you’re mortal.” He forced the words out, pretending normalcy despite the fear burning in his lungs.

A sad, tired smile crossed Thomas’s lips. “I was mortal, once. Now I belong fully to the realm.”

A story there—but Aran didn’t want to hear it. Not now. And clearly Thomas didn’t want to tell it, for he started down the path again. Aran caught up with him, and soon he saw a pale blur ahead, between the dark tree trunks.

It was a tent, softly lit with silver radiance, and easily big enough to house ten men. Three peaks rose, the highest in the middle, and from it a flag hung. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but it looked like it depicted a golden harp.

“What did she call you?” he asked. “Not sir or lord…”

“Bard,” Thomas said. “I am the Dark Queen’s Bard, and my music is sworn to her service. As am I.”

Aran didn’t ask what that meant. Or think about whether he’d have to do the same. The prickle all down his spine was answer enough. What the hell had he done, coming here?

He shoved the question away and followed Thomas into the tent. Softness cushioned his steps, and he let out a breath at the warmth and color inside. Lanterns—regular ones, lit by candle flame instead of trapped fairies—hung from the ceiling, illuminating the patterned carpets underfoot, the shelves of books, the row of polished instruments Aran couldn’t identify.

“Lute, nyckelharpa, hurdy-gurdy, pipes,” Thomas said. “Also three guitars, two harps, and an assortment of flutes and whistles. No fiddles, alas.”

“You take this bard stuff seriously.”

“It is who I am. Have you a passing acquaintance with any musical instrument?”

Aran shrugged. “I played electric bass for a few months, when I was twelve.”

“A pity.” Thomas lifted one shoulder, then went to one side of the tent and pulled back a crimson hanging.

“My spare room, such as it is,” he said. “You are welcome to it.”

Aran ducked under the hanging and made a quick survey of the place. Three lanterns hung about the room, and it was cozy, in an otherworldly way. A carpet with blue and green flowers spread across the canvas floor, and in the center of the small room stood a tent pole made of a smooth, living tree. It supported the roof with four branches, and at the peak Aran glimpsed a patch of sky. On one side of the room was a low bed covered with patchwork velvet, and on the other sat a table with curly legs and a top made out of a gigantic leaf. A leaf-like chair was drawn up to the table.

He set his tablet on the table. It looked incongruous—all sleek plas-metal and black glass against the burnished autumn leaf. Later, after Thomas left, he’d see if he could get it working.

The little room had no windows, and he felt his throat tighten again.
Ease off,
he told himself. He could probably yank up the side of the tent and get out that way. Maybe climb the tree and escape overhead—or get his hands on a knife and slash an exit.

Yeah, having a knife would be good, no matter what. Some of the creatures out there had looked severely unfriendly.

He put his hands on hips and turned to face Thomas, who still stood in the doorway.

“How long am I going to be here?” Aran asked.

Inside him a cold wind blew, shredding everything solid he’d ever believed in. Things like the permanence of the world, and the fact that magic didn’t, couldn’t possibly, exist.

He felt young and old at the same time. As a kid, he’d buried himself in books about wizards and elves, then moved to the immersive world of sim gaming, fiercely wanting to believe that enchantments were real. He’d finally let go of those dreams. And now here he was, surrounded by the magic he’d finally given up yearning for.

The look in Thomas’s eyes started to make sense to Aran, and he pushed back the panic hovering at the edges of his mind. One thing at a time.

“Well.” Thomas tilted his head. “How long you remain here depends on you.”

“Really? Then why do I feel like I don’t have a choice?”

Thomas let out a long sigh. “You chose to come here, did you not?”

“I…”

There were a million excuses Aran could make about not understanding what he’d been getting into, but ultimately, Thomas was right. He had come of his own free will—despite the evidence that things were getting tweaked.

“Yeah,” he finally said.

“I wonder why.” Thomas’s voice was casual, but Aran could hear the steel beneath.

“You know what,” Aran said, dropping down to sit on the bed, “I’m pretty wiped. It’s a lot to take in.”

It was true. The moment he said the words, exhaustion washed over him like a rogue wave, swamping his senses. His head spun, trying to process what had happened.

“Indeed.”

Thomas snapped his fingers once, twice, and two of the lanterns dimmed and went out, leaving a soft, nearly colorless darkness behind. The single remaining lamp was a pinprick of light, and the opening at the peak of the roof was suddenly strewn with stars.

“When you are ready,” Thomas said, “simply snap to extinguish the final lantern. I bid you good night.”

“Night.”

Aran bent to unlace his black high-tops, and when he looked up again Thomas was gone. The crimson cloth hung down, a thin barrier between him and the rest of the tent.

Curious, he reached for his tablet and pressed the power button. Nothing. He tried again, but the screen stayed blank and dark. If tech didn’t function in the faerie realm, how was he going to figure out Feyland’s code?

For a second Aran’s lungs squeezed tight, panic thumping through him. What had he agreed to, and where the hell was he?

The soft plunk of guitar strings drifted from the main room of the tent, and slowly his breathing eased. Later. He’d figure it all out later. His head was spinning and sleep was gnawing at his ankles. Tomorrow things would make more sense.

He slid under the covers into a bed soft as thistledown, then snapped off the light. Overhead, the stars brightened. They formed patterns he had never seen, their light clear and remote, and worlds away from home.

CHAPTER TEN

T
he VirtuMax tour bus swooshed down the road, the grav technology hovering it smoothly above the pavement. Spark stared out the window at the winter-bare trees, trying to ignore Roc and Cora, who sat near the front. Although she didn’t like riding in the back, it was better than having those two behind her.

“Yo.” Vonda leaned forward from the seat across the aisle and waved her hand in front of Spark’s face. “Wake up. We’ll be at the next venue in a couple minutes.”

“I’m here.” Spark rubbed her eyes.

She’d let herself forget how monotonous ground tours were. And, truthfully, she’d enjoyed staying in one place for a while, even if that place had been the backwater town of Crestview.

She glanced at the itinerary glowing on her tablet screen. “The game center demo. Why is this marked as a special event?”

“One more gamer is joining the tour,” Vonda said. “VirtuMax’s newest superkid.”

“Niteesh will be there?” It was the first thing that had made her smile all day.

At last year’s international simming tournament, a scrappy eleven-year-old orphan from the New Delhi slums had blasted through the competition and landed straight in the top-ten finalist ring. In addition to his gaming skills, his unfailing good cheer had endeared him to everyone. Well, almost everyone.

Her smile faded as she heard Cora’s shrill laughter drift back. The Terabins had given her a rough time, but she hadn’t been a kid. Niteesh Singh was streetwise, but he was small for his age. While Spark didn’t doubt he could fight dirty if needed, the Terabins had size and strength on their side.

Vonda caught the direction of her gaze.

“Don’t worry,” she said softly. “We’ll be keeping an eye out. Everyone on your team, even if they weren’t here at the time, knows about the… incident.”

“It won’t be enough. Those two are tricky—and dangerous. They don’t want any competition. And I mean that in a permanent way.”

Vonda shook her head. “There’s no proof they were trying to do lasting harm. It was a prank.”

“Right.”

A few people knew it had been more serious than that, but charges of attempted murder wouldn’t look pretty on VirtuMax’s corporate resume.

“It’s a temporary thing, Spark. You can deal until the Terabins split off for their own venues.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about.” Well, only a little. She was more concerned for Niteesh. “How long is temporary, in VirtuMax speak?”

Vonda looked at her tablet. “A couple weeks. Until the FullD launch promo winds up.”

“All right—but you and the guys better pay attention.”

“We will.” Vonda’s expression was serious. “All of VirtuMax’s gamers are important.”

Important, right. To the corporate bottom line.

“After this,” Spark said, “I’m going to visit my family.”

At least she knew they loved her, even though, since becoming VirtuMax’s sim star, her life had changed in ways they couldn’t understand. They tried—at least, her parents did, though they could only support her at a distance, seeing as how Mom did all the caretaking for Nana and Papa. Dad couldn’t leave his business, and Spark’s brother was off at university, doing his own thing. Her younger sister treated her with awe, until she forgot and went back to her usual annoying self.