Rise of the Fey

by Alessa Ellefson

  “Don’t let that liar fool you,” a silvery voice says that makes every single hair on my body stand up.

  “Not now, Jennifer,” Arthur says crossly.

  “Not what now, Arthur dear?” Jennifer replies. “I’m just stating a fact. That tramp was accused of murder earlier this year, that is how Inspector Bossart and she are acquainted.”

  “You forget she was acquitted,” Arthur replies.

  “From lack of proper evidence,” Jennifer says, “not because she’d didn’t do it.”

  “Heard it was another black-vein murder,” Percy says, cleaning his ear on his little finger, “an’ we all know who the perp is. So why dontcha stop blamin’ the innocent?”

  “What are you doing here?” Arthur asks Jennifer before she can round on Percy. “I thought you were supposed to be… resting.”

  Jennifer’s perfectly manicured eyebrows lower over her pale blue eyes, but she quickly breaks into a smile. “What better way to rest than by breathing in the Alps’ fresh air every day?”

  “She’s not carrying a gun, is she?” I mouthe soundlessly to Keva.

  Keva shrugs, but she does take a precautionary step away from me. A tall boy, who appears to be Jennifer’s new squire, smirks at me.

  “She doesn’t need a gun to take you down, half-breed,” he says.

  “Ya know,” Percy says, prowling around the young squire, “it’s better to keep your mouth shut an’ look stupid than to open it an’ prove it.”

  The squire clenches his jaw shut as Percy stops in front of him, daring him to fight.

  “Not now, Urien,” Jennifer says with a tender smile that makes the boy blush. “Let us try to remain civil. After all, I came here to show a unified front with Arthur so that his request might be better received.”

  She slips her arm through Arthur’s, and his lips thin out in displeasure, but he doesn’t push her away.

  I flex my fingers, feeling my powers awaken in the pit of my stomach like a lion stretching, ready in case Jennifer goes psycho killer on me again.

  “Morgan?” a jovial voice calls out.

  I see Jennifer’s features sour and I quickly turn around, eager to find out who can have that effect on her. I watch a stocky, nervous man draw near, so intent upon curtsying to us with every step that he nearly runs Jennifer down.

  “I beg your pardon, Your Ladyship,” the man says, and at last I recognize Sir Neil, Bri’s father. His smile widens at my sight. “A pleasure to see you here, Your Grace,” he says to me, bowing so low that I can see the balding spot at the top of his cranium.

  “You think he’s gonna break in two with all that genuflecting?” Keva whispers to me.

  As Arthur and the others bow slightly to the newcomer, I realize that Sir Neil isn’t alone.

  “Sir Pelles,” Bri’s father says, “I believe you are already acquainted with our little prodigy, Morgan?”

  My mouth drops open as the High Judge nods in my direction, his arm wrapped in a sling from the latest attack on the school.

  “I’ve been telling Sir Pelles about your prowess on the field,” Sir Neil says.

  “Sir?” I ask, confused. The only accomplishment I can take credit for is bringing people to the brink of death.

  “Yes, yes,” sir Neil insists, getting more excited. “I told him about how you’ve managed to repel several knights’ attacks during practice. Really magnificent, inspiring even!”

  I blanch as I recall the incident he’s referring to. Somehow, the fact that I almost pulverized Agravain to bits has been completely overlooked.

  “So I’ve heard,” Sir Pelles says, eyeing me carefully.

  “It shows she’s inherited her father’s superior genes, don’t you think?” Sir Neil asks the High Judge. “Gorlois was quite the prodigy himself, you know. More so than, dare I say, young Pendragon here”—he laughs as if he’s just made a great joke—“although you, Sir Arthur, did get the KORT Presidency at a younger age. But you can’t deny that Gorlois had vision, and he knew not to let those with power and money sway his way of seeing things.”

  Despite Arthur’s unhappy look, I feel myself blush with pleasure at the warm words directed towards my father—the first truly kind words I’ve ever heard.

  The auditorium doors suddenly burst open again and Lady Tanya walks out.

  “Sir Arthur!” the usher calls.

  At last.

  Arthur gives Sir Neil and Sir Pelles a tight smile. “Please excuse us,” he says.

  “Of course, of course,” Sir Neil says boisterously. He then takes my hand and shakes it vigorously. “It was a pleasure, as always.”

  As the two older men follow Lady Tanya outside, Jennifer tuts disparagingly. “It’s a shame to see how much some will grovel in a vain attempt to climb the ranks,” she says. “If only they knew how pitiful their pandering makes them.”

  Arthur turns towards me, Jennifer still firmly latched onto him like a drowning man to a buoy.

  “Watch yourself,” he says in a low voice.

  I do my best to keep a straight face as Arthur finally lets Jennifer pull him away, then look down at the folded piece of paper Sir Neil’s left in my hand and pocket it away.

  The auditorium is smaller than I’d expected, and certainly darker, with most of the lights focused on the center of the floor where the podium stands. I’d expected to see all a hundred and fifty Board members, but only a dozen of them seem to be present, sitting in a double row on a raised dais at the back of the room.

  Front and center is Luther, his dark eyes unblinking over his hooked nose as he watches his son walk up to the podium.

  When Arthur’s reached the central platform, the round-faced man seated right above Luther clears his throat. “We are ready to hear your petition,” he says, his loose jowls quivering with every word. “Please state your name and occupation.”

  “Sir Arthur Pendragon, President of KORT at Lake High,” Arthur says.

  “Very well,” the man says with a slow nod that makes his chin disappear into the folds of fat that have replaced his neck. “Proceed.”

  “I am here to request several things, Your Honors,” Arthur starts. “You are all aware of the devastating results we’ve experienced from the latest attacks on Lake High, the last of which also saw the loss of the Sangraal to Carman’s forces. And though we have made a breakthrough in our research to rebuild our school’s defenses, we are still extremely vulnerable. I therefore humbly request for more troops to be sent to Lake High until such time as our wards are back up in full force.”

  “Our armies are stretched thin as it is,” the man at the head of the hearing says. “Not only do we have to repair whatever damage Carman and her minions have wrought, but more and more Fey are joining her ranks, as evidenced by the increasing number of crop circles popping up around the world. So where do you expect I find these spare men?”

  “There are many knights who went into retirement that could be called back,” Arthur replies.

  “And how would we pay for them?” Luther asks in a clipped tone.

  “We would have to draw from our personal funds,” Arthur says. “Isn’t that what we’ve been preparing for all these centuries?”

  “Do you know how much troops cost?” Luther asks. “There are the knights, their families, their squires and pages, and all the laborers have to be added to the count as well: Blacksmiths, doctors, cooks, horses, stablemen…. These people also have to be fed and clothed, so you see, it’s not just troops you’re asking for, Arthur, it’s a whole town! We do not have unlimited funds. So the answer to that request is no.”

  Arthur’s clear voice rings out in the auditorium again, “Then I would like you to consider training some laymen’s troops to fight against the Fey.”

  “That is preposterous!” a woman’s voice exclaims.

  My ears prick at the familiar rebuttal and I look more closely at the bench of judges. The shadow next to Luther leans forward and I gasp.

  “We all know what happened
the last time we tried to include laymen in our designs,” Sister Marie-Clémence says. “At first it may seem like a great idea, but what happens once the Fey are defeated? They turn against us, that’s what happens.”

  I straighten up in my seat at the iron in her voice, as if I’m back in my old school getting scolded once again. I shake my head, my brain unable to process the idea that the dry old nun has been a Board member all along.

  “The alternative is much darker,” Arthur says. “Carman could lay waste to most of the human race before we find a way to neutralize her.” He pauses. “If we can even achieve such a task.”

  “Of course we can,” the presiding judge says with a jovial laugh that makes my flesh break out in goose bumps, “we’ve done it before, haven’t we? And my daughter’s told me much of your young knights’ many accomplishments.”

  My gaze slides over to Jennifer, seated on the opposite side of the doors from me. She seems to be radiating with pride. I look back at the jowly man then back at her again, and it hits me: That must be Sir Leo de Lyonesse, Jennifer’s father. Then another thought strikes me—wouldn’t it be great if she’d inherit her father’s flaccid cheeks when she grows older, maybe in another couple of years’ time?

  “Only if we can replicate what was done before,” Arthur says. “But, as our research has uncovered, we weren’t alone in facing the witch the first time, which brings me to my second request: I hereby petition for the reestablishment of our alliance with the Fey.”

  A heavy silence descends upon the assembly punctured only by Sister Marie-Clémence’s outburst, “Heresy! We will never ally ourselves with the very demons we’re trying to bring down!”

  “It’s been done before,” Arthur says. “And I’m afraid it’s the only way we can vanquish Carman.”

  “You forget that we didn’t know how to use oghams the first time around,” Luther says. “Things have evolved since then.”

  Arthur regards his father levelly. “Carman wasn’t in possession of the Sangraal either,” he retorts, “and the oghams have become unreliable, as you may know if you’ve read our reports. As you say, Sir Luther, things have changed.”

  Jennifer’s father harrumphs. “Well, that’s all very good,” he says, “but how can we even discuss this possibility of an alliance with the Fey when we all very well know how our ties have degenerated since. They won’t have anything to do with us anymore.”

  Arthur nods. “That is why I’ve taken it upon myself to invite them to Camaaloth, Sir.”

  The Board members shift restlessly in their seats, angry whispers rising from their ranks.

  “We heard you brought a devil right amongst us already,” Sister Marie-Clémence hisses, the torchlight catching the edges of her nun’s coif so it looks like it’s on fire. “And it has no place here.”

  I can tell from his back that Arthur’s shocked. He takes a deep breath. “Don’t tell me you’ve locked her up,” he says.

  “It is our right to defend ourselves,” Sister Marie-Clémence says, and I can imagine that horrible snide smile of hers stretching her wrinkled face.

  I feel a surge of disgust at the self-righteous woman and spring up from my bench before either Percy or Keva can stop me. “How dare you?” I yell across the room. “Blanchefleur didn’t do anything against anyone here!”

  “She’s Fey, that is all that matters,” Sister Marie-Clémence says.

  I let out a bitter laugh. “Does that mean you’re going to put me back in chains too?” I ask. I hold out my hands before me, ready to be shackled again. “Because if she’s locked up, I don’t see what gives me a right to be free.”

  “Morgan!” Arthur snaps, casting me a warning glance.

  “That’s not a bad idea,” Sister Marie-Clémence says.

  “That is a very bad idea,” Arthur retorts, his anger peeking through. “Morgan’s been an integral force in our battles against the Dark Sidhe. Not only that, but she’s the only one we know who can heal people from Fey poison. As for the Lady Blanchefleur, she has fought on several occasions at our side as well, risking her life, and this is how you treat her?”

  “Very well,” Jennifer’s father finally says, cutting through any further argument. “The Fey woman will be conditionally released. We’ll discuss the possibility of meeting with the others at another time.”

  “Sir Lugh’s ready to come at a moment’s notice,” Arthur says, pushing his advantage.

  Sir Leo’s face puckers up until his eyes completely disappear under his heavy eyelids. “That’s not quite…I’m not sure that we’re ready to host such dangerous creatures in our midst. One is enough.”

  “It will be fine if we make them swear a blood oath,” Arthur says.

  Sir Leo’s brain doesn’t seem able to come up with more excuses and, throwing an accusatory look at his daughter, he nods in defeat. “As you wish,” he finally relents.

  “Arthur can barely keep things straight at Lake High,” Luther says derisively. “I would think it wise for him to concentrate on keeping the school together before we even consider following his advice in anything else.”

  “I don’t see why,” Sir Leo says coldly. “Arthur’s proven himself very capable over the years, and perhaps him struggling a little now is a sign he does need more of our help. Sir Luther, I trust you’ll look more closely into the matter and put together a budget for bringing some of our men back from retirement to send them to Lake High. And now, I believe that we are done for the day.”

  Sir Leo pushes himself up with evident difficulty, bringing to view his shapeless body, and the doors to the auditorium open.

  With a curt nod towards the Council, Arthur gets off his podium and marches straight at me, grabbing me by the elbow. I barely have the chance to see Jennifer’s venomous gaze before he drags me away from the group.

  “What were you thinking?” Arthur asks.

  “Nothing,” I say, trying to get my arm out of his death grip.

  “Evidently!” Arthur retorts with an exasperated sigh. “How many times have I—”

  “Squire Morgan,” a sharp voice cuts in, “I see that you haven’t lost your uncouth manners.” Sister Marie-Clémence advances upon me, a beaming Jennifer at her heels, and I repress a groan. “I know this may be too much to ask of someone such as you,” the nun continues, “but do try to keep your place—at the back, where no one will see you.”

  Years of practice incite me to bow dutifully before her, but I force myself to stand tall and grin instead.

  “I hear you wanted access to your father’s file,” Sister Marie-Clémence says, a dangerous glow in her eyes.

  I grow still, suddenly finding it very difficult to keep my smile in place.

  “But I’m afraid your little trip here will be fruitless,” Sister Marie-Clémence continues, “for that file, among a number of others, has been lost in a fire. A rogue salamander light, you know….”

  “That’s impossible,” I breathe, unclenching my jaw.

  “You’d think so,” she says, “yet accidents do happen.”

  Her spotted hand pats my shoulder in mock concern and I turn to Arthur accusingly. He said he’d seen the file, promised to let me take a look at it!

  But Arthur’s too busy keeping Jennifer’s hands off him to notice me, and as the others depart, I stay behind in the antechamber, alone and defeated.

  Sticking my hands deep in my pockets to hide their trembling, my fingers encounter the piece of paper Sir Neil gave me earlier. I pull it out and make to throw it away, but something stays my hand. Finally, slowly, I unfold the sheet and stare at its message in puzzlement:

  Hall of Mirrors

  Dec. 24th, 22:00

  “What the hell is the Hall of Mirrors?” I ask, as Arthur, after hunting me down, drags me out into the compound’s gardens where an antsy Percy is waiting for us.

  “Where did you hear that name?” Arthur asks.

  I watch him carefully, but he doesn’t seem to display anything more than a twinge of curiosi
ty at my question. Guess this isn’t a trap set up by Sir Neil after all.

  I shrug as Arthur glances my way. “Just heard it, is all,” I say. I hold my breath, expecting my stomach to clench at the intense pain that inevitably comes when I lie, but I guess my words must have been close enough to the truth, for nothing happens, and I release my breath.

  “You better not be planning on snooping around,” Arthur says, his eyes suddenly veiled with concern, “because the last thing I need to deal with right now is you getting into trouble again.”

  “Enough sweet talk, let’s get goin’!” Percy says, heading straight down the frozen grounds towards a small, dark building at the back of the large complex that is Camaaloth.

  “Halt!” a guard says, her nose tipped in red from standing too long in the cold.

  I stare at the building in confusion, for it looks barely more than a large black cube, its walls bearing no trace of a door or window. Rising on the other side of it, behind the headquarters’ gates, is a coniferous forest, its dark greens peeking from under a thick blanket of snow. Not at all what I would expect a prison for dangerous Fey to look like.

  “We’re here for the release of prisoner 789011,” Arthur says, holding up a piece of paper for the woman to read.

  I wince. “Are there really that many prisoners?” I ask Percy under my breath.

  “No,” he answers curtly. “At least they ain’t all here at the present. Some ‘ave been let go, others…in any case, considerin’ Fey lifespans, the Board decided to keep a record of every prisoner ever detained, so the list just keeps gettin’ longer an’ longer.”

  “Hand on the pledge stone,” the guard says reluctantly.

  “’Bout time,” Percy says, slapping his hand down on a large grey stone entrenched in the wall.

  “Caosga,” the guard intones.

  The stone under Percy’s fingers grows darker, a black vapor rising from it. I let out a harsh gasp of surprise as rays of white suddenly pierce the black fog, and a whole section of the wall silently slides open. Without looking at either of us, Percy rushes inside and the section of the wall slides back into place, sealing the building shut.