Spark(45)

Spark watched and counted, but couldn’t see an obvious pattern. If she stepped out there without a plan, she’d be sliced like lunchmeat. The only upside was that the floor of blades ended halfway down the hall. No doubt other traps awaited. She’d deal with those when she got to them.
Okay, how did she solve this predicament? Trying to ignore the metallic clashing, she looked through her inventory. Bow and arrows, boot dagger, cloak. Not helpful. Copper apple. Maybe?
She selected it from her inventory, and the apple appeared in her hand. Holding it up, she inspected it closely, something she hadn’t had a chance to do while evading the crows and briars earlier.
A seam ran horizontally around the apple, as if it could split in half. What did it hold, and how could she get it open? She tried sticking her thumbnail in the hairline crack, and then the blade of her dagger, but the fruit remained stubbornly closed.
Maybe it was like a genie in a bottle. Which meant she had three wishes, right? Spark glanced at the flashing swords. It wouldn’t be enough just to wish them gone, since something even worse would appear in their place. Magical games were tricky that way.
No, she had to think of a solution for crossing over that expanse of slicing swords. Over…
Spark rubbed the rounded top of the apple with her thumb.
“A DeFacto 442-Z grav-board, please,” she said.
The apple trembled in her hand and—just as she’d guessed—split neatly in half. Glittering dust swirled out, accompanied by a flash of light. The apple snapped closed again before she could glimpse its inner workings.
Spark blinked, half blinded by the brightness. When her vision cleared she let out a small whoop of triumph.
There, on the weathered boards of the porch, sat the world’s most high-end grav-board. The shiny plas-metal and neon lettering looked glaringly out of place against the simple hut and wooded clearing. Out of place—and incredibly welcome.
“Thanks,” she said, giving the apple a kiss before tucking it back into her inventory.
Now for the hard part. She grabbed the board and strode back into the clearing, giving herself a good fifteen feet of lead-in to the doorway.
She hoped the board worked, here in the magic-laden world of Feyland.
Scratch that—belief was a powerful force. She knew the board would work. Refusing doubt, she flicked the grav switch. With a hum, the board rose six inches into the air.
Oh, yeah. She was about to take the ride of her life. Good thing she’d played a ton of games that utilized grav-board mechanics, as well as her real-world boarding experience. Surfing over and through a sea of swords was just another skill challenge.
Pushing away the knowledge that failure could be deadly, Spark hopped onto the board. She took a second to find her balance, then leaned forward, pointing the board at the illuminated doorway of the hut. The board kicked up speed—damn, it was even more powerful in-game than the actual model she owned—and the clearing blurred around her.
Speed, height, and maneuverability were the factors she had to juggle. She managed to cross over the first couple blades with inches to spare, but the next sword rose higher than she’d expected. She wasn’t going to make it.
Breath catching in her throat, she dropped into a crouch and heard the sing of metal as the blade swung just over her head. A strand of magenta hair fluttered down, quickly turned to pink dust by the razor-sharp swords. Spark gulped back her fear, trying not to imagine what would happen if she fell.
She banked hard to the right, aiming for an empty spot by one of the columns, and misjudged. The whole board shuddered as a blade hit it with a bone-jarring clang.
“Come on,” she said, under her breath. “Halfway across. You can do it.”
She didn’t know if she was talking to the grav-board or to herself.
The blades began to move faster, carving through the air in a series of deadly arcs. She only had a moment to catch her breath beside the column. Every sense alert, she pointed the board back into the center of that lethal flurry.
Dodge. Lean. Crest and plummet. One blade left a neat slice in her sleeve, just missing her skin. She tasted blood, but it was because she was biting the inside of her cheek in concentration. Instinct guided her, and a knowledge of attack patterns gleaned over playing thousands of games. Pause. Now race forward.
A sword loomed before her. No time to avoid it. Spark shifted back on the board, wincing as the blade cut down hard into the plas-metal deck. The lifters shrieked a protest as the board dipped unsteadily.
She kicked the sword away, then, sensing motion in her peripheral vision, flung herself flat on the board’s rough surface. Two blades cut the air overhead, meeting with a crash that made the whole room vibrate. In the second of quiet that followed, Spark nudged the board over the last set of blades. It settled safely on the marble floor with a quiet whine and the smell of scorched electronics.