Spark(29)

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.