Today’s trials, tomorrow’s strengths. A mantra she’d repeated over and over again as a child. If ever there’d been a time to bring it back...
Another roar left her reeling. Because it was closer than the first one. The creature, whatever it was, must have doubled back. She expected a hungry predator to breathe down her neck any second. Even the deer reacted, dashing away.
Time to blow this joint. Cookie plunged forward, following the same path as the deer. Dangers lurked all around. Not just the fairies and the roaring animals, but the plants. Anything could be poisonous.
No! She had lost sight of the deer.
To her surprise and relief, her feet seemed to know where to go next, guiding her around this and that tree with no assistance from her mind. Resisting seemed foolish, since she had no idea where to go.
Optimistic she would stumble upon help, she waded across the brook...
* * *
LOST. STARVED AND dying of thirst. Exhausted and filthy. Too cold one minute and too hot the next. Beyond sore. Bruised and injured. Cookie was all of those things and more. Had she escaped the roaring monster, only to perish alone in a strange land?
As she trudged around a tree, she imagined an avatar somewhere safe and cozy, controlling her, making her go and go and go, no matter her feelings on the matter. She was pretty sure she’d used up all her pretend power bars. Remaining on her throbbing feet required energy she didn’t have, but resting had been scratched out on today’s list of activities. Her body refused to obey her mind, so on and on and on she walked. Resistance was futile.
Mud caked her from head to toe. She’d lost her beloved scarf and sweater somewhere along the way. Her hair had fallen from its bun, the too-long strands in tangles. At least she still smelled like flowers, blending in with nature, preventing predators from adding “tasty pink-haired snack” to their menus.
She gave a humorless laugh. Yeah, what a marvelous silver lining to her living nightmare.
Hours ago, she’d been forced to simplify her plan: keep going until she stumbled upon help or passed out. What else could she do? A thousand different times, in a thousand different ways, she’d tried to switch directions. Holding on to branches. Digging in her heels. Hugging tree trunks. Always her legs won the battle of wills and maneuvered her away from the obstacles, taking her nowhere.
Hours bled into each other, more and more fairies following her through the woods. Anytime she broke down and begged for answers or aid, they whispered among themselves and cast her furtive glances. No one ever responded to her directly.
A blessing in disguise, she supposed. “Now I can eat you little pricks without guilt,” she snapped in their direction.
With a collective gasp of horror, they shot into the trees to hide.
Something she’d noted: the fairies came in all colors, everything from the lightest pastels to the brightest neons to the darkest shades. Which made her wonder...what if they weren’t fairies, after all, but pixies?
In Rhoswyn, her favorite level of The Fog A.E., there were nonplayable characters or NPCs known as pixies, and they came in all colors, too. Which made her wonder if she were maybe, possibly, still on the operating table, and this was a medicated delusion after all, her mind firing off scenarios as she died. Or if she’d already died and this was a type of Hell. Sometimes, when she was too exhausted to correct herself with logic, she even wondered if she’d somehow, well, opened a portal into a world based on her video game. Kind of like Jumanji, but also not like Jumanji.
That was dumb, right? A figment of her overactive gamer’s brain trying to make sense of a bad situation. But, what if she had somehow entered a real life version of The Forest of Good and Evil? Ready, player one.
More than the pixies, the land and the animals bore a wealth of similarities to Rhoswyn. In both locales, rabbits were stripped like zebras. Frogs had the most endearing cat whiskers. Most of the snakes she’d come across had possessed two heads. Foxes used their nine-point tails like a whip.
What if the designer of The Fog A.E. had visited this land?
Once, she’d caught sight of a cluster of ogres who’d looked just like a painting hanging in the game’s main HQ. Huge, furry and beastly, with tusks and a tail. They lived to kill invaders.
Cookie had braced for an attack as they’d snorted and stomped with boundless aggression. However, not a single ogre had ever even taken a step in her direction. As if she were marked with a shield of protection, the way avatars were often marked. For the right price, anyway.
Twice she’d passed an enclave of trolls. Big, muscled brutes with horns. In the game, they often beat and enslaved weary travelers. They, too, had exuded aggression at the sight of her. Like the ogres, they’d kept their hands to themselves.
What if her heart donor had come from this land? What if the organ had unlocked a door between the two worlds? It was an idea, anyway.
In the game, pixies coexisted alongside fae. Mystical beings with a variety of magical powers. Which explained her sudden ability to grow ivy beneath her skin, in the rich soil of her veins. Magic also explained her inability to halt her steps—she was being led by an invisible chain. Step. Step. Step. This way. Pivot. That way. Where would she end up?
What if Cookie’s donor had been...fae?
Everything had changed after the transplant. The way she’d healed with supernatural speed. Her total lack of scars. The Miracle Grow Rapunzel hair. Skin ivy. What she knew beyond a doubt: a new world meant new rules. If The Fog A.E. was based on this land, magic was the norm. She might be able to do more than vine harvesting or whatever.
And dang it, was someone following her? The unease returned.
Hand unsteady, she smoothed hair from her damp brow and glanced over her shoulder. A pixie hovered mere inches from her face. A pretty pink Thumbelina, who decided to perch on her shoulder.
Cookie’s nerves sharpened as the little beauty clasped her ear with a surprisingly strong grip and spoke directly into it. “Turn right.”
“I’m sorry, but my feet don’t want to go right.”
Thumbelina tugged on her lobe, shouting, “Turn. Right. Here. Human. Fool.”
She helps me? Was the current direction too dangerous for the “human fool?”
Adrenaline spiked. Gearing up to resist again, Cookie reached for a branch. Once again, her feet rebelled, continuing to march forward. She gritted her teeth and twisted, straining to grab a sturdier branch. That one right there. Almost...
White-hot pinpricks seared her skin as ivy budded from her forearms and hands. Vines uncoiled and propagated, wrapping around the tree’s trunk and jerking her to a stop. Except for her feet. Step, step, step. Going nowhere. To her great relief, the foliage proved stronger than the invisible chain and she remained in place.
Wait. Her ears twitched. Was that a rush of water? A whimper escaped.