Rise of the Fey

by Alessa Ellefson

  Anger swells within my breast, and I feel my fingertips crackle in response. I throw my hands out and twin bolts of fire shoots out, hitting the ground far off to the left in a blast that sends flurries of snow high up into the stormy sky.

  Cursing at my inability to aim, I quickly push myself up and aim again when a large, furry face springs in front of me, pale spikes growing out of its skull in dangerously sharp rows. I barely have the time to turn away before the monster’s heavy paw rakes across my shoulders. I drop to the ground with a cry, but the Fey yanks me up by the leg, and I find myself hanging upside down, my ankle held firmly by a tail covered in glistening spikes.

  “Put me down!” I shout.

  The tail tightens its hold around my ankle and one of its barbs pushes into my flesh. I scream in pain, blood dripping down my leg, warm and slick.

  I try to bat at the creature, but it swings me up into a wide arc then whips me back down onto the frozen ground.

  My teeth smack together, biting my tongue, and the metallic tang of blood floods my mouth as my vision blurs with hundreds of tiny stars. I feel the tail unwrap itself from my leg, and I scream and the spike rips itself free.

  But my Fey side quickly takes over, dulling the pain and closing the wound up. I blink my tears away to see the monster readying itself to charge me again, and I force myself to get back up, the wound in my leg already a memory.

  “You’re messing with the wrong girl,” I wheeze, trying to stop my legs from shaking. I point forward and say, “Fire!”

  A few sparks come to life, quickly snuffed out by the bitter air.

  I blink—that’s not how it’s supposed to work. With a hacking bark that sounds strangely like a laugh, the Fey lunges forward, spikes pointing straight at my head.

  “Fire!” I yell again.

  This time, I don’t even get a spark in response, and the creature lands on me, burying one of its long horns into my shoulder.

  Tears spring to my eyes and I gasp as the monster’s weight slowly crushes my thorax.

  “Can’t…breathe…,” I gasp, my vision tunneling.

  My fingers grope about my waist, trying to reach the dagger Arthur gave me, but the blade is stuck between my back and the ground, and I can’t pull it free.

  Finally, the Fey pushes itself off me, before its tail whips back down, its cluster of spikes aimed at my head.

  The knife finally comes clear of my belt, and I swing my arm back in front of me, gritting my teeth against the force of the impact. I feel the double-edged blade dig past fur and into the Fey’s tender flesh with a loud hiss.

  The creature rears back in pain with a deafening screech. Its beady eyes flare red as it focuses back on me, tail swinging angrily above him, when a large ball of fire slams into its side with a loud crack.

  Slowly, the Fey’s large body whirls around, before another burst of flames sends it sprawling down.

  “Morgan?” A pale, round face comes into focus. “You dead yet?”

  “Obviously not, dummy,” Keva says, her voice so sharp it makes my ears ring.

  “But look at all the blood,” Daniel says.

  I blink. “I’m OK,” I say through numb lips.

  I try to stand up, but my ankle gives out and Keva reaches out to steady me.

  “Good thing Sir Percy got here when he did,” she says, “or you’d be minced meat by now.”

  “I can’t believe you thought you could take it down on your own,” Daniel says, looking at the massive body lying a few feet away, snow already covering it in a thin mantle.

  “It didn’t respond well to my threats,” I rasp as the pain in my shoulder ebbs away.

  Bright colors burst into my vision and I flinch as Percy whirs past, his elemental lights throwing another dozen Fey monsters into view.

  “Where are the others?” I ask as one of the creatures bellows out a roar before charging.

  “Will be here shortly,” Keva says, “just as soon as they’re done at the other site.”

  The ground shakes as the large Fey barrels towards Percy, its long, razor-sharp talons slicing the air before it. Though a third his size, Percy waits patiently for the creature to come to him, his twin blades held lightly at his sides. Then, just as it looks like he’s going to get skewered, Percy leaps over the Fey’s scaly head in a flash of green, twists around in mid-air, then plunges his short swords into the monster’s back.

  The creature lets out a bone-rattling cry as Percy brings the swords down the length of its body, putrid smoke and black ichor gushing out of the wounds. The Fey stumbles to the side before finally crashing to the ground.

  With a roar, Percy pulls his swords back out, and whips around to face the others.

  “We’ve got to help!” I say.

  But Keva holds me back as Daniel jumps towards the fallen creature.

  “We’d only get in the way,” she says. “Percy’s gone berserk, which means that anyone that goes near him in that state will get hacked down, friend or foe.”

  “Then what about him?” I ask, motioning toward Daniel.

  “He’s on cleanup duty,” Keva replies.

  And I see the boy pry the Fey’s body open, using his own knife to hack at the flesh and tendons holding the creature together, before he buries his arm elbow-high inside of it. My stomach heaves as Daniel finally pulls away, his body covered in the foul-smelling blood and, with a triumphant squeal, drops a stone inside a metallic pouch.

  “That’s seven!” Daniel hoots, trotting back to our side, and I realize with a sickening jolt that he’s talking about oghams.

  There’s another hair-raising shriek as Percy cleaves another Fey’s arm off, before he swirls around to face the remaining creatures, laughing like a maniac. The others pause in their attack. It seems they too have realized that nothing can stand in Percy’s way, but while the knight keeps the Fey busy, so too do the laymen keep dropping into that portal.

  I look back towards the glowing circle, but the boy’s long gone. I choke back a sob as a housewife steps forward, her flowery apron flapping about her ample hips in the violent wind.

  Enough!

  I won’t let anyone else disappear without lifting a finger. I check that the others are too busy to notice me—Daniel pilfering another Fey’s cadaver, Percy fighting the monsters off, and Keva admiring him—before I dash forward.

  “Morgan!” Keva yells.

  Squinting against the storming snow, my feet pound the ground towards the rapidly diminishing line of civilians. I see another woman disappear down the hole, followed by a tall, balding man.

  “Stop!” I yell to a woman towards the front of the line, her dress falling awkwardly over her pregnant stomach.

  Although still too far, I reach out towards her, and a large ribbon of green shoots out from my extended hand, parting the heavy snowflakes on its way to the woman. The sylphid air wraps itself around her like a large cloak until her booted feet lift from the ground. But before the pregnant woman can float over to me and out of harm’s way, a long, red rope latches around her neck and yanks her back down.

  I yelp, and dive to catch her.

  “Out of the way!” I hear Arthur yell, as he and the cousins land around me, keeping a long-limbed creature at bay.

  Only then do I realize the rope around the woman’s neck is actually the Fey’s oversized tongue. The beast’s bulging eyes dart back and forth between the three knights, its tongue squeezing harder in anticipation, and the woman lets out a strangled gasp.

  The cousins spring forward, drawing the Fey’s attention upon them, before Arthur attacks as well. The creature’s tongue finally unwinds itself from around the woman’s neck, swinging to the side to deflect the oncoming blows, and I drop to the ground next to her.

  The woman’s eyes focus on mine, filled with pain and fear, before rolling back into her head.

  “Hold on,” I tell her, cradling her head in my lap. “You’ll be OK. I’ll get you better, you and your baby.”

  I use some
of the snow to clean the mud from her face, but her breathing is still coming in short gasps. Please, please, please, I silently pray, don’t let them die. Not here. Not like this.

  A soft warmth blooms under my hands, spreading from my fingertips to the woman’s chest. I hold my breath as color drains from her cheeks, her thoracic cage barely lifting anymore.

  “Come on!” I mutter through clenched teeth, swallowing a wave of nausea back down. “You can’t die on me!”

  Arthur drops into a low crouch next to us. “You need to get out of here!” he yells, calling forth another elemental.

  A tall wall of ice crystalizes around us seconds before long, bony spikes thud into it, their sharp ends poking through.

  “Now, Morgan!” Arthur says as his shield shatters, letting us see two more Fey bearing down on us.

  My eyes travel between the woman and Arthur’s tense face.

  “She’s gone and we need to get out of here before—”

  Arthur jerks sideways as another bony spike lodges itself in his side. With a grunt, he pulls the long bone out, splattering the snow with blood. I gulp, take one last look at the woman’s face, her eyes still closed, her hands limp at her sides. There’s nothing I can do for her anymore, I realize, a lump forming in my throat. I’m too late. Again.

  But as I push myself up on my feet, my hand slides down to the woman’s protruding stomach and I feel it spasm. My fingers tense as the bump grows rock hard under them.

  Relief washes over me, but it is short-lived as I realize what’s happening.

  “She’s going into labor,” I say, with a growing sense panic. “We need to take her to a hospital!”

  Arthur’s eyes widen. “Can’t she hold off?” he asks.

  “This isn’t pizza delivery, Arthur!” I yell at him. “You can’t make these things fit a set schedule!”

  I see him gulp, but he helps me as I lift the woman up. We’ve barely made a few steps, however, when someone yells, “Duck!”

  Arthur shoves us back down, covering us both with his injured body as a volley of fire rains down around us, leaving the ground pockmarked with muddy holes.

  “We need to retreat,” Lance says, coming over to our aid. “We’ve suffered too many casualties, backup isn’t coming, and some of our oghams have stopped responding.”

  “We can’t just leave all these people here!” I exclaim.

  The pregnant woman’s hand suddenly tightens around mine, crushing my phalanges.

  “We have to stop that music,” Lance says his deep blue eyes fixed on the Fey still playing by the shore. “But every time we bring one of them down, another pops up.”

  “It’s their leader we must get,” Arthur says, pressing his gloved hand against his wounded side.

  “Mordred,” I whisper without thinking, looking over to the portal.

  The blue-tattooed Fey’s head snaps towards me and I barely have the time to see his eyes shine golden before Percy rams into him.

  “Looks like it’s our cue,” Lance says, springing forward.

  “Stay out of trouble,” Arthur tells me, his hand lingering on my shoulder.

  I nod, and Arthur motions for Keva and Daniel to stand guard over me. Then, with a burst of elemental wind, he jumps straight over our heads to join Lance.

  “I don’t know what it is with these demons,” Daniel says, swinging his sword around and almost dropping it, “but they’re much stronger than anything we’ve ever faced.”

  “That can’t be hard considering you’ve never had to fight any before,” Keva retorts, though her shaky voice betrays her seeming unconcern.

  As another contraction relents, I ease one of my hands free from the woman’s crushing hold to grab a handful of snow and spread it on my burning forehead in a vain attempt to dispel my growing migraine.

  “I’ll tell you one thing,” Daniel says. “If I were one of them Fey, I wouldn’t want to fight Percy. That guy’s a total lunatic.”

  “He’s not crazy,” I retort, bristling at the hated expression, one thrown so carelessly around by people when they don’t understand someone. “As if you’re so superior yourself.”

  “Yeah, Daniel, nobody’s better than the Triumvirate, least of all you,” Keva says, using the school’s nickname for the good-looking, highly-skilled trio formed by Lance, Percy, and Arthur.

  She suddenly yelps as the earth heaves under us like a tidal wave, scattering knights and laymen alike over the field like seeds in the wind. I feel my hold on the woman slip, despite her deathly grip, and shout out in fear. If she gets tumbled around too roughly, she may lose the baby!

  I come to a sliding stop by the lake’s edge and immediately push myself back up to look for the pregnant woman. Another explosion hits the ground and, in its flare, I finally spot her large form lying beside the glowing circle.

  “Morgan, watch out!”

  I turn at the sound of Gareth’s voice as a gargantuan, scaly beast slams into me. There’s a loud crunch and my ears pop as I fly backward into the air.

  I land on the lake’s frozen surface, jarring my elbows with such force the ice cracks underneath me.

  “Morgan!” Arthur exclaims, but another Fey tackles him and they both fall rolling to the ground.

  “No!” I scream, wincing as pain shoots down my spine, anchoring me to the ice as if someone’s nailed me to it.

  I watch the few knights left as they keep on fighting, their movements getting more and more sluggish, their blows less effective. At this rate we’ll all be slaughtered before the sun rises.

  I struggle to get back up, biting hard on my lip not to scream at the pain every movement produces, trying to force my body to respond the way I want it to.

  “Don’t. Move.”

  I blink sweat out of my eyes as the tattooed Fey draws closer.

  “Stay away from me,” I whisper with dread.

  I scramble further back onto the lake, crying out as spasms lance down my body. Then the ice disappears from beneath me and I feel myself slip backward into the frigid waters.

  “Morgan!” Mordred yells.

  I see him dive after me a second before the water closes up over my head. My clothes, threaded with iron, drag me further and further down towards the lakebed. My lungs scream for air, my ears buzzing from the increasing pressure. I feel something wrap itself around my waist and I come to a sudden stop. Then, slowly, I feel myself get dragged the other way.

  The bitter wind nips at my face the moment I break the surface and I feel myself get unceremoniously dumped onto solid ground. I gasp, coughing up water.

  Mordred grins above me, his teeth flashing white, his hair sticking to his face in wet strands. “That was a close one,” he says through the ringing in my ears. “Still better than becoming another reaping for the Teind though, right?”

  “A what for the what?” I ask through chattering teeth, distracted by a distinctive clip-clopping coming from the lake.

  Something blows warm air on my face. Blinking furiously against the snowstorm, I turn around to find a large, round eye the color of dying embers staring at me.

  The beastly horse suddenly rears up, its dark mane spraying me with icy droplets of water.

  “Time to get going,” Mordred says, calming his steed down. “Though I suppose I should get rid of this first. Wouldn’t want any more accidents to happen, would we?”

  Winking at me, Mordred strides over to the magic circle, its edges still pulsating with that strange purple light. He pauses beside the pregnant woman.

  “One more, I suppose,” Mordred says, placing his foot on her large stomach.

  “Don’t!” I yell, my voice raspy.

  Mordred looks over his shoulder at me, and a strange glint enters his eyes. “As a sign of my good will towards you,” he says at last, “I’ll grant you your wish. But remember that you owe me now, Morgan.”

  He removes his foot from the inert woman before slowly sweeping his hand around the portal. Steam rises from the earth in response, momen
tarily hiding him and the woman from view. But when it dissipates again, all that remains is a large patch of mud.

  The woman finally stirs, and I realize that the music’s stopped.

  In one lithe movement, Mordred jumps onto his horse then looks down at me, his golden eyes gleaming brightly in the darkness.

  “You should come with me,” he says. “You don’t belong with them.”

  There’s something about Mordred that draws me, a lilt in his voice that lulls my instinct of self-preservation. I frown. What is wrong with me? Why am I willing to trust him so easily, especially after everything I’ve seen him do?

  “I heard you wanted to learn more about your mother,” he insists.

  A frisson runs down my spine. “You know who she is?” I ask.

  The sounds battle all around us roar louder—the clang of swords, explosions of elemental attacks, and the growing screams of the crowd who’s finally rising from its stupor. Mordred leans down and holds his hand out for me.

  “Morgan, don’t!” I hear Arthur yell, his voice drifting over the din of the fight.

  I stop, just inches from the mare’s side, before I realize I’ve even moved. Startled, I look up at Mordred, his face split with a knowing grin. Can he hypnotize people with his voice? I hug myself to stop from shaking, scared at the thought of going with him, scared at the thought of staying behind.

  This could be my only hope of finding out about my mother, I realize. Even Arthur admitted he didn’t know a single thing about her.

  I take another step towards the tattooed Fey, his warm fingers already closing around mine. As I get ready to jump on the horse behind him, I glance one last time at those I’m leaving behind and stop.

  Knights are still struggling to defend the terrified population while the Fey chase them down on the muddy pool the field’s become. I see Arthur hack his way through a group of Fey, his body the only thing keeping them away from the pregnant woman I tried to help.

  “No,” I say, the word leaving my lips with a tinge of regret.

  “Are you quite sure?” Mordred asks, pulling me to him.

  I pry my hand loose. “Leaving chaos and destruction in your wake may be your thing,” I say, feeling more confident, “but it isn’t mine.”