Blood of the Fey (Morgana Trilogy)

by Alessa Ellefson

  “I knew you guys were high-tech, but to use radioactive animals like that…” I say, craning my neck up as we walk out, but the light fixture is now empty.

  The sound of bells in the distance makes Bri jump. “Malediction! We’re going to be late for Lauds! Hurry up and put on your jacket, unless you don’t mind showing up to mass half naked!”

  She flashes me a grin before dashing back into the now-deserted hallways. Struggling to put my shirt on the right way, I hurry after her.

  “North,” Bri tells me when we hit the ground floor.

  We hurry after a couple of other stragglers. The bell rings once more, then remains silent.

  “Oooh, not good,” Bri says, bolting through the north door and into the open air.

  At the other end of the long paved path stands a large white church with a single steeple and long, narrow stained-glass windows. We make it inside before the double doors close and, gasping, stop long enough to dip our fingers into the holy water bowl and make a hurried cross sign, then head down the aisle to find Owen and Jack.

  “What took you so long?” Owen asks, scooting over to let his sister and I sit.

  “Hey, we’re on time. Give us a break,” Bri says.

  “Just in time,” Jack says, pointing toward the front.

  Dressed in a long black cassock, a priest is now making his way to the front of the altar. He bows, crosses himself, then turns to face us.

  The heady smell of incense reaches me before I see two boys and two girls walk down the nave toward the front, then settle to each side of the altar.

  “Greetings, brothers and sisters, daughters and sons,” the priest intones in a steady voice. “Let us begin this day in prayer. In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.”

  “Amen,” I say in unison with the rest of the congregation.

  Once the first notes of the Kyrie Eleison ring out, my brain clocks out. From where I sit, I have a direct view of the priest and, in front of him, a cordoned-off section of pews where, to my surprise, is Arthur, his back straight, dark blond head held high.

  My gaze roams about my new surroundings, resting occasionally on some of the people assembled—more students, I guess from the uniforms. Even with the whole school present, only a third of the benches are filled, giving the place an impression of emptiness.

  Large votive candles hang along the pillars above us, their flickering lights turning the capitals’ carved figurines into grotesque demonic forms that seem to be laughing at me from their lofty heights.

  Despite my best intent, my eyelids start to droop, and I nod off. I get brutally awakened when Bri jabs me in the ribs with her sharp elbow.

  “Ow, what?” I snap, blinking.

  My words echo under the now-quiet ribbed vaults. Bri gestures toward the front of the church, where the priest is focusing his whole attention…on me.

  “What?” I mouth to Bri, shrinking lower on my bench.

  “You’re supposed to go up there,” she replies in the same manner.

  I force myself to my feet and nearly trip on the kneeler. I hear a couple of people laugh, but I remain stoically standing.

  “We are welcoming today our newest member,” the priest says, motioning me forward.

  Legs shaking, I manage to make my way over to the chancel, where the priest has me kneel down. One of the altar boys brings him a thurible,6 and the priest proceeds to incense me, which only makes me feel more drowsy.

  “Dear God Almighty and Victorious,” he says, “you sent your Son into this world to banish the power of Satan and his evil horde, to rescue mankind from darkness, and to bring your servants into your light.

  “We pray for Morgan Pendragon, who has decided to join our ranks today. Set her free from sin. Make her a temple of your glory, a warrior of your kingdom, and a defender of our brethren against the demons who try to take us over. Send your Holy Spirit to dwell within her and help her in these troubled times to resist the lures of evil. We ask this of you through Christ the Lord.”

  I nearly jerk back when he steps away; what is this mumbo jumbo about warring and demons and whatnot? I squint at the man. Despite the severity of his features, he doesn’t seem to be a cult leader, but then again, wasn’t Lucifer the most beautiful of angels?

  The priest makes a small cross on my forehead with his thumb, leaving a damp mark on it.

  “We anoint you with the oil of salvation, that Christ our Savior may strengthen you. Do you, Morgan, accept your place amongst us?”

  I look back down, noting in passing the spots of mud on the priest’s black shoes. Does he expect me to be honest, or is this a rhetorical question? Because, to be quite frank, I have no inkling of staying here, at least not past my eighteenth birthday, which is in less than a year. Nor do I want to go to any war!

  My silence stretches for a long minute until I hear people shifting uncomfortably in their seats. Sweat beads on my forehead as I try to decide what my best course of action is.

  On the one hand, I’m going to be stuck here for a while still, so why not give them the answer they expect and do my best to remain as inconspicuous as possible? On the other, if I say yes, I may be doomed to remain with them or die. Which is not exactly my current life goal.

  Just go with the flow, my guardian angel chimes in. You can figure out how to deal with the consequences later.

  “Yes,” I say out loud.

  “Amen,” the priest says, laying a hand on my head in benediction before stepping aside.

  Before I can get back up, however, another pair of feet enters my line of vision—black steel-toed cowboy boots. I snap my head up and find myself staring straight up into Arthur’s nostrils.

  “Rise, and come make your pledge of allegiance,” he says.

  Great, now what did I get myself into? I follow him to the edge of the altar, a large, rectangular block of stone with strange design patterns carved into it, similar to those I’ve seen on the mantelpiece back home. The odd characters spiral around a large black jewel set into the center of the stone itself.

  “Raise your hand before us all,” Arthur commands.

  Casting furtive glances at the sea of faces turned to me, I raise my hand in the air.

  “Over the altar,” Arthur adds quietly, raising a few chuckles from the crowd.

  “Right,” I say, shifting positions.

  In a silvery flash, Arthur pulls out a knife and pricks my palm with it.

  “Ouch!” I exclaim, pulling away in outrage. “What did you do that for?”

  A burst of laughter erupts at my reaction, and Arthur grabs my hand before I can escape.

  “Trust me,” he whispers through clenched teeth.

  “Why should I?” I reply in the same way.

  Arthur doesn’t bother to reply and instead forces my injured hand on the gem. Reflexively, I clutch the smooth stone as he keeps pressing my hand down.

  “Do you swear,” he says, “on pain of death, never to reveal what you will see and learn here to the laity, nor to disclose our location to anyone outside our order?”

  I struggle against his hold, but his grip only gets stronger.

  “Let me go, you maniac,” I whisper harshly. “I take it back. I don’t want to be a part of your swag crew.”

  “You can’t take it back,” Arthur says, keeping my hand firmly anchored to the large precious stone below. “Swear it if you have the slightest desire to survive this.”

  “Is that a threat?” I ask.

  The temperature around us seems to drop below freezing level. Even the students have stopped fidgeting and are watching us with bated breath.

  “It’s a fact,” Arthur says, sounding genuinely worried. “Now make the bloody oath.”

  Biting my lip, I take in a few short breaths, then say, “I swear.”

  Arthur removes his hand, and I try to pull away as well, but for some reason, I can’t seem to move. The gem beneath my fingers takes on a glowing red tint, turning my hand translucent for a moment; then it dies do
wn, and whatever pressure kept me locked on it releases me.

  As if burned, I yank my hand away quickly. “What was that all about?” I ask Arthur, cradling my hand to my chest protectively.

  “You just sealed your oath,” he says. “Now bow.”

  We both bow before the altar, then join the rest of the assembly as it files out. Everyone’s all smiles again.

  Everyone but me.

  The moment we step into the nave, the beautiful girl who’d witnessed my near drowning grabs Arthur’s arm, casting me a disdainful look as she pulls him away.

  “There you go,” Bri says to me with a big smile. “Now you’re one of us!”

  “Who is that?” I ask, pointing with my chin to the blonde girl’s back.

  “You don’t know Jennifer?” Bri asks.

  “Only the hottest girl in the whole wide school!” Owen says.

  “You don’t say,” I mumble.

  “And a member of KORT,” he adds.

  “By association,” Bri says. “But I guess it’s the prerogative of the president’s fiancée.”

  “She’s engaged to the president of the United States?” I exclaim.

  “The president of KORT, of course,” Owen says, holding the door open for us.

  “Didn’t they say your name was Pendragon?” Bri asks me.

  “So?”

  “So aren’t you related to Arthur?”

  “He’s my brother,” I admit, pulling a face.

  “You’re kidding!” Owen exclaims.

  “Trust me,” I say, “it’s really nothing to be excited about.”

  “You’re joking right?” Owen asks, his voice reaching unmanly octaves. “You’re related to the head of KORT, who also happens to be the youngest president in three centuries, and you think it’s nothing? Do you even know that he fought his first battle, and won it, at the age of seven? That he’s set a record of elemental captures just over the summer, and that he has the ear of most of the Board?”

  I back away under this verbal assault; not only is this way more information than I’d ever wanted on Arthur, but all that jargon is giving me a headache.

  “Hold on,” I say, then lower my voice so no one else can hear me. “What’s this court you’re talking about? Is there a king or something like that down here?”

  “KORT stands for Knights of the Round Table,” Bri says before either of the two boys can voice their obvious shock.

  “You’re his sister and you didn’t even know he was the president?” Jack asks.

  “She didn’t even know he was engaged,” Owen adds.

  Bri punches him in the shoulder. “She’s new here. Be nice.”

  I stumble to a halt as the coin finally drops. “You mean…you mean that my brother’s engaged, and to her?” Not that I care who has the bad luck of being stuck with Arthur, but I don’t want to end up being related to someone who, with a single word and a twist of the mouth, makes me feel like I’m no better than bat droppings.

  “They had their handfasting this Lughnasadh,” Bri says.

  “It’s a trial marriage,” Jack says before I can ask. “If they choose to, they can annul it after a year and a day. Otherwise, they stay married.”

  I knew that my family was weird, but this proves it.

  “Wait,” Bri says, stopping Jack from entering the school.

  “Now what?” Owen asks.

  “You’re telling us you really don’t know anything about this place?” Bri asks me. “Your parents never talked to you about it?”

  I swallow hard—my parents never talked to me, period. I shake my head, hating how conspicuous this makes me.

  To my surprise, Bri’s face lights up. “Then you need a tour!”

  Jack and Owen groan, but Bri shushes them. “Come on, guys. At least we got to go through orientation.”

  “But there’s hardly any time for breakfast—” Owen starts.

  “It’ll be quick, promise,” Bri says, grabbing my arm and steering me around another gravelly path to the end of the building.

  The two boys hurry to keep up with us.

  “Shouldn’t we go through the school?” Jack asks, the pace making his limp more obvious. “It’ll be faster.”

  “Just to let her see the stadium,” Bri says as we round the corner.

  And there, on the other side of an empty patch of dirt, lies a perfectly circular arena, its solid stone walls reaching high up into the sky.

  “Nice, ain’t it?” Owen asks, sticking his hands deep in his pockets. “It’s where all the tournaments take place and the knights practice.”

  I lick my lips, staring at the gray structure. “You mean…real knights fight there?” I ask. This whole KORT thing isn’t just the name of a drama club?

  “Of course!” Owen says, flinging his arm out as if holding an imaginary sword. “They get to fight with weapons and elementals in their noble quest to defend the world against the Fey. Whoosh, he creates a wall of fire for diversion”—he dodges and twists around an invisible foe—“dashes around the Fey’s attack, uses an air shield to protect himself from the poison, and then”— he jumps toward Jack, bringing his arm down in a swinging motion—“defeats the enemy and captures his ogham.”

  “Stop,” Bri says. “I think she’s going to get sick.”

  And she’s right. My vision’s a fuzzy blur of grays, and my breath comes out in short gasps. I feel someone move me, and I find myself sitting down. The coolness of the stone bench seeps through my clothes, slowly helping my mind to clear up.

  “Are you all right?” Bri asks, her small face concerned.

  “She looks pale,” Jack says, pushing his glasses up the ridge of his nose. “Maybe we should take her to the infirmary.”

  I shake my head. “I’m OK, thanks,” I lie. Just a little panic attack, nothing I haven’t dealt with before.

  “Didn’t think she’d faint at the mention of knights,” Owen says. “Girls can be so delicate.”

  “I thought this was a Catholic school,” I say.

  “It is,” Jack says. “Weren’t you in Mass with us?”

  “I thought I was going to go to a normal school,” I retort, tears streaming down my cheeks, “with normal people, and learn normal things, not…”

  “Not learning how to become a knight and fight?” Bri asks, sitting down next to me and patting my back. “There, there, it’s not so bad, really.”

  “Not bad?” Owen exclaims. “Being a knight is an honor! Only those who pass the test are able to come down here and train, and even then, not everyone gets to be knighted! It’s very difficult to even make it to that level.”

  “But I didn’t ask for any of this!” I say, yelling despite myself. I wipe my runny nose on my coat sleeve. “I don’t care about your knights and your Fey creature thingies!”

  Owen’s eyes widen, and he snaps his mouth shut.

  “It’s really not that bad,” Bri says again, grabbing Jack’s tissue and using it to dab my eyes. But that small act of kindness only makes me cry harder.

  “Truly,” Bri says, looking pleadingly at the two boys. “I mean, what Owen says is right; not everyone gets to become a knight. There’s lots of people who end up having a pretty regular life after school.”

  I blow my nose hard. “Really?” I ask with a hiccup.

  Bri nods emphatically. “Yeah, and even being a knight isn’t so bad these days, compared to what it was like centuries ago, when they were constantly at war.”

  “Actually, it’s been reported that Fey activity’s increased in recent years,” Jack says.

  “You’re not helping here,” Bri says, throwing him a warning glance.

  But I’ve cried so much, I’m left feeling strangely empty, and Jack’s comment doesn’t stir me.

  “So you’re supposed to take a test to get here?” I ask, trying not to think too hard beyond the present moment.

  “It’s usually pretty straightforward,” Jack says. “They see if you have any affinity for controlling elementals, and
then you’re good to go.”

  “Elementals?” I repeat.

  “Fey creatures that are linked to the elements,” Jack says.

  “You know, fire, water, and all that,” Owen adds.

  “They used to be the lowest angelic form,” Jack explains, “which is why their powers are so basic. But there are all sorts of Fey, and some of them are quite powerful—those are the ones you really want to avoid.”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” I say. My hands clench convulsively around the edge of the bench. “You mean…these Fey are angels?”

  “Fallen angels,” Bri says, “so more like demons.”

  “Well, technically, they weren’t bad enough to end up in Hell,” Jack corrects her. He clears his throat at a look from her. “But yes, in essence.”

  “And these demonic angels have…magic?” I ask, feeling lightheaded once again.

  “Well duh!” Owen says, giggling. “They’re ex-angels!”

  Two pairs of arms grab my shoulders as I sway on my seat, preventing me from toppling to the ground. Just breathe, I tell myself. This will all be over soon. I’m going to wake up and I’ll laugh at myself for being this ridiculous. And to prove my point, I let out a nervous chuckle.

  “I think she’s lost it,” Owen whispers.

  Someone slaps me, and I stop laughing, the sting making my cheek feel warm.

  “What did you do that for?” Bri exclaims, holding me close.

  “That’s what they usually do in movies,” Jack retorts. “Besides, it worked, didn’t it?”

  More tears spring to my eyes, for I realize what this means— it’s real, it’s all real!

  Jack eyes me suspiciously, his hand still raised. “Do you think she’s going to need another one?”

  Holding my cheek, I recoil. “No, I’m fine. I’ll be good now.”

  “Are you sure?” Bri asks.

  I nod. “Let’s just keep going.”

  The three of them look skeptical, but I jump to my feet and force a smile. “Where to now?”

  “I suppose the dining hall,” Bri says hesitantly. “We could do the rest of the tour some other time…”