FEYLAND: THE DARK REALM
ANTHEA SHARP
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real events or persons is purely coincidental.
COVER: Design - Kimberly Killion, www.hotdamndesigns.com
Model – Jessica Truscott, faestock.deviantart.com
QUALITY CONTROL: If you encounter typos or formatting problems, please contact
[email protected] so they may be corrected.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
THE BALLAD OF TAM LIN
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
DEDICATION:
For all the readers in my family – but most especially, for Brynn.
PROLOGUE
Jennet faced the Dark Queen, her mage staff at the ready. Excitement fizzed through her blood like it was carbonated. This was it. She’d completed the quests, mastered each level of the game, and made it here. The final boss fight.
“Fair Jennet.” The queen’s voice was laced with stars and shadow. “You think to best me in battle?” A faint smile crossed her pitiless, beautiful face. Her dress swirled around her like tatters of midnight mist.
“I plan on it,” Jennet said. She tucked a strand of blond hair behind her ear, then shook off the sudden anxiety that settled on her shoulders, cold as snow.
She had no idea what this particular fight held. Feyland was the hardest sim she’d ever played, full of weird twists and turns. She thought about it all the time. The game filtered into her dreams, shaded the edge of her days. Sometimes the computer-generated world felt more real than her ordinary life.
“Very well,” the queen said. “I accept your challenge.”
Jennet couldn’t see any weapons on her opponent, and that dress was no substitute for armor. Safe bet that this was going to be a magical duel, spell-caster against spell-caster. Jennet flexed her fingers around the smooth wood of her staff. Anticipation spiked through her, tightening her breath.
Fantastical creatures watched from the edges of the clearing: feral-faced women with gossamer wings, dark riders with red-eyed hounds at their heels. The sound of drums and pipes wove through the shadows. Overhead, a sliver of moon tangled in the black branches of the trees. Then, between one heartbeat and the next, silence fell.
A dark figure stepped forward, forbidding in midnight armor and a wicked helm, and Jennet’s stomach clenched. The Black Knight. She’d barely beaten him in an earlier quest. If he got involved in this fight, she was in severe trouble.
He held his gauntleted fist high and grated out a single word. “Begin.”
It echoed eerily through the glade, and the fey-folk let out a rough cheer. There was no one to cheer for Jennet.
Without hesitation, she tipped her staff and shot a bolt of fiery white light at the queen. A sphere of shadow appeared, blocking her attack and swallowing the fire into its dark depths. More spheres materialized and began floating toward her, called by the Dark Queen. Jennet ducked and wove, avoiding their deadly touch.
Lightning crackled from her staff, illuminating the clearing with shocking white light, but the queen evaded her bolts. Still, Jennet kept pressing the attack. The dark spheres were multiplying now, bobbing in the air on all sides. A low, menacing hum surrounded her as she tried to find a clear shot.
She couldn’t afford any mistakes - but the fight was pushing her to her limits. Worry started to nibble at the edges of her concentration. She just had to watch for an opening… there. She took aim and sent another bolt crackling through the air.
White fire sizzled and Jennet heard the queen gasp. Yes! She could do it. She could beat this game. The first player ever to claim victory over Feyland.
A dark sphere brushed against her shoulder. Ice stabbed into her skin, sent numbness down her arm until she could barely hold onto her staff. She stumbled back, trying to regain the rhythm of the battle. Keep breathing. Keep fighting. But where was the queen? The place where her opponent had stood was now filled with twisting shadows.
Everything rippled, as though the clearing was made of cloth billowing in a sudden gust. Jennet heard high, chiming laughter as she fell backward...
And landed in an ornate chair set before a feasting table. What? She jumped up, heart racing, and knocked the edge of the table. A goblet sitting in front of her shook, sending a drop of deep red liquid to stain the white tablecloth.
“Sit down, Fair Jennet,” the queen said from her place across the table. “This is the next stage of our battle.”
Pale candles in thorny candelabra illuminated the feast. Their silver flames reflected in the queen’s fathomless eyes.
“You changed the rules! You can’t do that.” Jennet’s legs felt shaky as she edged back into her chair. She was so not prepared for this.
The queen laughed. It was the sound of ice shattering on a black lake. “Of course I can. This is my court. My realm. You are but a visitor. Please - drink.” She waved one delicate hand at the goblet.
“No thanks.”
Jennet’s mouth said the words, but her hand reached out anyway and lifted the heavy silver goblet. A sweet, thick smell drifted from the cup. Roses and burnt sugar. The edge of metal touched her lips.
No. She was not going to do this. The queen might try to control their battle, but she could still fight back. Fingers trembling from effort, Jennet forced the goblet away. The air around her was sticky and nearly solid, like dough. She pushed against it, her breath coming in gasps, until at last the cup touched the table.
“Very well.” The queen’s voice was edged with frost. “If you disdain my hospitality, then you must answer a riddle.”
That seemed safer than drinking whatever was in the goblet. And the game wasn’t giving her a lot of other options. “A riddle? All right.”
The candles flared and the queen’s eyes glowed. “Listen then, and listen well, the answer to this riddle tell, or forfeit of thyself will be, and never more wilt thou be free.”
Jennet shivered. The queen’s voice was ominous, her words intoned with deep meaning. Whatever happened, it was clear that failing to answer the riddle carried a price. Jennet curled her fingers tightly into her palms and tried not to show the fear flickering through her.
“Ask me your riddle,” she said.
“As soon
as it begins, it is ending. Without form, still it moves. When it is gone, it yet remains.” The queen smiled, sharp as a blade. “You have three guesses.”
“Ah…” Jennet’s mouth was dry. Her mind beat against the riddle like a bird trapped behind glass. Without taste or form. Something powerful, but insubstantial. “Is it the wind?”
A low sighing went through the branches of the dark trees. The candle nearest her snuffed out, as though some invisible hand had abruptly doused the flame.
The queen shook her head. “One chance gone.”
A circle of watchers had formed around the table. Lithe women with gossamer wings gathered beside the queen. Gnarled brown creatures with sharp teeth and fingers that were too long for their hands swayed next to them. Red-capped goblins and capering sprites - they all watched her with avid, gleaming eyes.
Freaky. This whole battle had turned beyond strange. Jennet pulled in a deep breath, though her chest felt tight, and gave another answer. “Music?”
The second she said the word, she knew it was wrong. She shivered as a second candle flame went out. The watchers surrounding her tittered, and the low breeze rustled the branches.
Jennet squeezed her eyes closed, blocking out the shadowy glade, the fantastical figures, the wicked curve of the Dark Queen’s smile. Her heart thumped loudly in her chest, and she tasted the metal edge of fear on her tongue. Think. She had to figure this out.
“Your time has run, Fair Jennet. Speak your final answer.”
She opened her eyes, to see that the Dark Queen had risen to her feet. A single candle burned between them.
“I…”
Panic banged through her, like a hundred doors slamming shut. The watching creatures grew still and silent. Even the wind quieted, waiting. She had to answer.
“Is it ... a dream?” The words floated from her mouth and hovered there, just beyond her lips.
In the silence that followed, Jennet felt shadows gathering closer. Dread crawled through her, carrying the awful sensation of failure.
The last candle died. A high, wailing music started up, the keening cry of pipes swirling through the air. Slowly, the queen shook her head. Diamonds sparkled like frost in her dark hair.
“No,” she said. “You have lost. Now, mortal girl, I take my due.”
The queen held up a hollow crystal sphere in one hand. With the other, she scribed strange gestures in the air. Her fingers left glowing streaks of silver against the darkness. Then she pointed straight at Jennet.
“Ahh!” A sharp pain speared through Jennet, as though the queen had stabbed her in the chest. She doubled over, gasping, while agony iced her blood. Oh god. It hurt.
“Behold, Fair Jennet,” the queen said. “The answer is Life. Your essence is captured here. It will serve us well.”
Jennet looked up, tears clouding her vision. The queen held the sphere aloft. It wasn’t empty any more. Inside was a bright swirl of color, like rainbow flames. They pulsed and danced, trapped inside their crystal prison. Wavering, calling to her.
“How,” Jennet forced the words out through lips tight with pain, “how do I get that back?”
Every game had a second chance, a third. You kept fighting the last battle until you finally won. Failure wasn’t permanent. Not like in real life.
The queen laughed, and the sound carried a bitter chill. “You cannot. Without a champion, you are lost. Now go. Go! I send thee, defeated, from the Dark Realm.”
Pain wrenched through Jennet and she screamed. Golden light blinded her senses and she swirled through a sickening vertigo. Blackness waited, merciful and dark, on the other side. She opened her arms to it, and fell.
# # #
Jennet woke, aching, in the sim chair. Her fingers were stiff inside the gaming gloves, and when she sat forward, fire exploded in her shoulder. She could barely lift her arm, but it was impossible to take off the helmet one-handed. Trying not to whimper, she gritted her teeth against the agony and pulled off her gear.
She had lost.
Feyland was more than just a sim game. The clues had been there all along, but she hadn’t paid enough attention until now. Now, when it was too late. And she’d done worse than lose the game.
There was an icy hollow in the middle of her chest. The Dark Queen had taken something from her - something she feared she couldn’t live without. Bright flames trapped inside a magical sphere. Her mortal essence, the queen had said.
She had to get it back.
CHAPTER ONE
Jennet leaned her forehead against the tinted window of the grav-car and watched as the unfamiliar neighborhoods went from decent to tattered. So much had changed in the last few weeks. She couldn’t believe she was here, friendless and alone, starting a new school.
And no closer to winning back what the Dark Queen had stolen.
She sighed, and her breath left a mist on the window glass, obscuring the boarded-up windows and graffiti-festooned buildings along Crestview’s main street. From what she’d seen so far, this decaying town in the middle of the country’s flatlands was barely wired. Did the kids here even know what a good sim-system looked like?
Dad had offered to pay for her to stay at Prep, as a boarding student, when the company transferred him here. He thought she had a choice, but she didn’t. Not with part of her soul trapped inside a computer game. She couldn’t get it back without going into Feyland, and the only system that could even run the game was Dad’s prototype Full-D. Which no way was he leaving behind. So here she was, too.
The car slid to a stop outside a blocky gray building with Crestview High stamped in concrete over the front doors. Students funneled into the school, trampling the thin grass out front.
“Here we are, Miss Carter,” said George, her dad’s chauffeur
“Great,” she said.
She wanted to make George turn the car around. Wanted to crawl back into bed and pull the covers over her head. Or power-up her system and lose herself in an easy game - some fluffy simulated world where the goals were catching butterflies and collecting candies. Something pretty and safe.
But virtual worlds weren’t safe. She’d learned that the hard way
She still had nightmares about that final battle. Sometimes, in the deepest hours, she woke in a cold sweat with the Dark Queen’s laughter cutting through her. A computer game shouldn’t be able to affect the real world. But it did. Jennet pressed her lips together, so hard she could feel the edges of her teeth.
“Whenever you’re ready, Miss Carter.” George swiveled in the front seat to look at her. “I would like to be able to inform your father you weren’t late for your first day.”
Her stomach clenched, as though she’d eaten rocks for breakfast instead of toast. She squeezed her eyes shut, then blinked them open. Staying in the back seat wasn’t going to solve her problems. She had to find a gamer here - someone who was even more skilled than herself. Someone adept at wielding a virtual sword. Someone who could help her win free of Feyland. Permanently.
Without a champion, you are lost. The Dark Queen’s words echoed in her mind.
“Miss Carter?” The car door slid open.
“All right, I’m going.”
Forcing her fingers to unclench, Jennet grabbed her satchel and stepped out. Late fall air lay clammy on her skin, and a wave of dizziness made her cling to the door.
Breathe. Don’t let George see her weakness. She caught her balance and moved onto the sidewalk. The grav-car skimmed silently away, and she turned to face the school.
A metallic beeping from the building made the few stragglers scramble for the doors. She swallowed back the dry fear lodged in her throat, and followed.
Inside, it smelled like schools always smelled - a mix of cleaning products, sour lunch, and faintly, old-fashioned books. A security checkpoint loomed just inside the front doors. Her steps slowed. This was nothing like Prep. Were the students here really that dangerous? Nervousness squeezed her lungs as the big guard waved her through the sc
anners.
No alarms went off, and she began breathing again. When she asked where the office was, the guard pointed to the first door down the hall.
The secretary, a thin, dark-haired man, peered at her through his glasses. “Can I help you?”
“I’m a new sophomore. Jennet Carter.”
“One of the VirtuMax kids?” He said the company name like it left a bad taste in his mouth.
“Right. Um, my Dad has been in contact with the school?”
The secretary poked the screen in front of him. “Ah yes, Carter. I’m transferring some additional forms over. Make sure you fill them out in full. The school will issue you a tablet so you can access your account.”
He pulled a battered tablet out of a drawer and set it in front of her. It was an old Epox, outdated beyond belief. Her hopes slipped another notch. This place was a technological wasteland. How was she going to find someone here who could help her?
The secretary pushed a piece of paper toward her. “If you’ll sign here—
“I have my own.” She pulled out her brand-new tablet and watched the secretary’s eyebrows lift as if pulled up by strings. She scrolled through the menu until she found the red and blue Crestview High icon, and then tilted the screen toward him. “This it?”
“Yes. And you’ll want to be careful with that tablet. Make sure you don’t leave it unattended. The school takes no responsibility for lost or missing items.” He dropped the battered Epox back into the drawer, then glanced at his own screen, his eyebrows settling. “You have twenty-four seconds to get to class. Early World History with Ms. Lewis. End of the building, room 114. No running.”
Great. Like she needed to be late on her first day. She slung her satchel over her shoulder and pushed herself to move faster down the hall. A boy wearing a blue jacket dashed past, and a brown-haired girl disappeared into a nearby room. Other than that, the halls were deserted.
There - room 114. Worry skittered up her spine as she pulled the door open.
The plump, red-haired teacher standing by the desk glanced up as she entered. “Miss Carter?”
Jennet nodded, her skin prickling as she felt the attention in the room shift. All the kids were looking at her. Sizing her up: her hair, her clothes, the way she stood. Her heart thumped against her ribs, but she forced her breathing to stay slow. She lifted one hand to smooth her hair back and heard a murmur as they caught sight of her wrist implant.