Even weirder, another clearing lay beyond that one. Sunlight streamed brightly down, making Aran squint. All the mushrooms in that ring were the red ones with white spots.
Okay. He folded his arms, unwilling to step out of his own clearing until he’d figured things out.
He thought back to when Spark had played the demo game. The opening sequence… what had the clearing looked like? He was pretty sure the original game of Feyland had a faerie ring with both kinds of mushrooms, just like the middle clearing.
The ring surrounding him was made entirely of the moon-pale ones, and it had brought him to this place from the Dark Court. If he had to guess, he’d say the mushrooms were signposts, of a sort.
So where did the red and white ones lead? Was there yet another world tucked away behind the game’s interface?
“The Bright Court,” a high voice said.
Aran spun, his heartbeat revving. “What? Who’s there?”
“Puck, at your service.”
The sprite nimbly bounded down one of the pale branches. The branch bent under his slight weight, bringing him face to face with Aran.
“The bright what?” Aran asked, trying to get his racing pulse back under control.
“Court.” Puck gestured to the sunlit glade. “Yon gateway leads there.”
That made sense, in a tweaked, faerie-world kind of way. If it was always night in the Dark Court, then it must always be day somewhere else.
“Who’s in charge of that court?” Aran asked. “And why didn’t I end up there?”
“The Bright King rules the Bright Court. He is not as cunning as his sister, nor as schooled in the art of snares and trickery. Though, when he chooses to use it, he has power aplenty.”
Aran filed that information away to process another time. It was good to get some solid answers to his questions. As long as Puck was forthcoming, he’d keep asking.
“So, the middle clearing. Is that the way back into the real world?”
The sprite gave him a faintly disgusted look. “Real? Everything you have experienced is true, and each of the courts is as real as your own realm.”
“All right, sorry. It goes to the human world?”
“Indeed. Well puzzled, mortal.” Puck leaned forward and tweaked Aran’s nose, then catapulted back, laughing. The branch swayed as he deftly caught his balance.
“Hey!” Aran rubbed his nose. “Was that really necessary?”
The sprite ignored his question. “The center clearing is bounded by a wall, naught but a thin crack between it and the realm. Can you see the protections with your mortal eye?”
“No.”
Aran stepped out of the circle of pale mushrooms and walked slowly toward the middle clearing, hands extended. Sure enough, where the clearings touched he encountered an invisible barrier. It was slightly rough, as though made of unpolished granite. He ran his palms over the surface, searching for the crack.
At last he found it, barely wide enough for the edge of his thumbnail.
“This is the crack that lets humans into the realm?” he asked. “I’m not sure how anyone could even fit through there.”
“’Tis a metaphor,” Puck said, in a tone that implied Aran was denser than rock.
“Why doesn’t the queen send a bunch of goblins with pry bars over here and just, you know, force it open.”
“It would not succeed. Let me show you.”
Puck leaped from the branch, turned a somersault, and came to hover next to Aran. He lifted his hands, and greenish light spread from his long fingertips. When the light touched the wall, Aran sucked in his breath.
Lines of code encircled the center clearing. X-y scripts and commands glowed, as clearly as if they were displayed on a screen. Numbers and words and complex figures spun out, Puck’s magic spreading like a virus until the entire wall was illuminated. And it was constructed of nothing but programming.
Freaky.
Aran set his fingertip to one of the lines and flicked. The code obediently moved up, and another line took its place.
“This is it,” he breathed. “I just need a way to input.”
And he had one. He whirled to face Puck.
“Can you get me to the tent, then back here?” Aran asked. “Quickly would be good.”
The sprite looked at him, a mischievous glint in his dark eyes. “I can. Step with me into the ring, and I will take you where you need to go.”
Aran leaped back into the center of the faerie ring. He could so do this. Grab his tablet—and the dinosaur—then run some of his hacker scripts into the wall. He was certain it would work.
And when it did… he’d be completely set. He’d return to the real world with enough wealth to at last take control of his life. No more subsisting on the edge, unable to get a job, or even a date, because of his criminal record.