She ignores me, and so I push forward through the mass of bodies, getting my feet trampled in the process.
“Oh, that one’s a fine young man,” I hear a girl say, giggling.
“True, true,” replies another, a woman with a slightly greenish tint to her. “But he’s still a far cry from Lance. That one’s made to charm the ladies.”
The first girl laughs. “I won’t disagree with you there. I’d give my ogham to spend a night with him!”
The other grins. “If only you still had it.”
With a shock, I realize that they’re both Fey, finally noticing the wide berth the students are giving them.
The first Fey girl catches me staring. “What do you want?” she snarls.
I jerk away and do my best to disappear in the crowd, my mind reeling—how could there be so many Fey here when the whole point of this school is to get rid of them?
The sound of metal hitting against metal gets suddenly louder, distracting me from my own thoughts. I elbow my way through the throng, feeling the crowd’s excitement peak around me.
“Fifty on Arthur!” someone yells.
I duck beneath an angry fist.
“Seventy on Arthur!” says someone else.
A couple of heads down, I see Gauvain, writing frantically in a small notebook. “Won’t anybody go for Percy?” he calls out.
“Seventy on Percy!” says Gareth next to him, and they both flash their dazzling smiles.
My heart beats faster as I make my way to the center of the crowd. I freeze. Arthur’s standing over Percy, a long sword aimed at the shorter boy’s head. Both are wearing the same type of leather-and-metal gear that the teachers wear, but I have no doubt that, should Percy get hit with that sword, he’s going to be in trouble.
“Aren’t they breathtaking?” someone whispers next to me.
I cast a sidelong glance and find Keva, her hand over her chest and her mouth slightly open as if on the verge of swooning.
In a shining blur, Arthur’s sword swings down, and Percy intercepts it with his. The twang that results is so loud it makes my ears ring. The cry of outrage I’d been meaning to yell dies on my lips. Mesmerized, I watch their deadly practice.
Without warning, Arthur attacks. Percy parries the thrust, then pushes forward, feints, and makes another cutting motion. This time, it’s Arthur’s turn to defend his position, and, slowly, Percy forces him back toward the crowd.
Before Percy can strike again, however, Arthur’s mischievous grin flashes on his sweaty face, and he opens his left fist toward the ground. A green flash sizzles from his gauntlet to the ground, propelling Arthur into the air. I watch him spin, then land gracefully on the ground behind Percy.
“Surrender,” he says, his sword aimed at the open part of Percy’s neck.
I hold my breath as I wait for Percy’s next move. For a second, it looks like he’s going to give up. People boo as he extends his hand out and deliberately drops his sword. But the moment the weapon hits the ground, Percy rolls backward into Arthur, kicks up, and disarms him.
Before I can blink, Percy’s sitting on Arthur’s chest, perspiration running down his grimy face. “Do you surrender?” he asks, his breath short.
I snort, enjoying the bewildered look on Arthur’s face. Then, with a smile, I make my way back out to the groans of people counting their losses.
As I reach the end of the crowd, a terrible cry rends the air. Every single hair on my body stands up, and I know at once its source: Owen.
I run, dodging confused onlookers. My skin prickles as I emerge from the slowly dispersing crowd in time to see a large blaze of fire reach up to the sky.
“Owen!” I yell.
The flames slowly dissipate to make room for a large red bull the size of a cottage. I gasp, slip on the ground, and nearly lose my balance. I can see the boy, lying between the gargantuan bull’s front paws, seconds away from being trampled to death.
Before I know what I’m doing, I find myself sprinting toward the bull, yelling and waving my hands frantically like my arse is on fire.
Without breaking my run, I swoop down and grab the biggest rock I can find, then hurl the stone as hard as I can at the creature. “Over here, you measly piece of steak!” I yell, trying to draw it away from Owen, toward the empty fields.
The missile ricochets off the bull’s hide with all the effect of a gnat. But the bull swings its massive head toward me, steam puffing out of its cavernous nostrils like a forge. The insult must’ve gotten to it after all.
My stomach lurches, but I can’t stop now. Owen hasn’t moved an inch, which means either he’s fainted with fright or— and I don’t like this idea at all—he’s badly injured.
“Come over here!” I yell to the monster, pointing at my feet. I can’t believe I’m talking to it like it’s nothing more than a puppy.
To my surprise, the bull hesitates, then takes a step in my direction, then another. The ground shakes under its weight. I hear people scream in the background, the noise muffled by the beating of my heart.
“Good boy,” I say as the bull moves farther from Owen. One of the knots tying my insides uncurls. “Keep it steady.”
Another step and it will be trampling me. The heat emanating from its body hits me like I’ve walked into a sauna. Sweat drips into my eyes and soaks my uniform. The bull stops in its tracks and bellows, and my mouth runs dry—what am I doing?
The blaring sound of a distant horn cuts through my concentration, and I break my gaze away from the creature. The horn sounds again, its piercing cry overwhelming every other sense. The bull answers with a deep bugle of his own, then rushes at me.
My legs turn to mush, and I sink to the ground. The creature lowers its head, but all I can do is watch as a glinting black horn draws nearer and nearer to me.
A sword swings before me, diverting the horn down and spearing my skirt to the ground.
“Move!” Arthur yells.
We roll away just as one of the bull’s hooves hits the ground where I was lying. I blink the dirt away as Arthur pushes himself up. I see something shimmery fly over the bull, then fall onto its wide back with a sizzling sound. Screaming in pain, it rears up on its hind legs in a desperate attempt to get the metallic net off him, but Percy and another boy use that moment to cut him up.
Flames spout from the unexposed parts of the bull’s body, but it’s too late. I can see it clearly: Percy, Arthur, and the hot guy from before are distracting the Fey while a team of four teachers, Gareth, and Gauvain attack it from behind. Another net is thrown, and the bull stumbles, its rear legs unable to support it anymore. It gives a pitiable cry, smoke billowing out of its mouth, before it collapses onto the ground.
A chill sets over me, but I can’t look away. Slowly but methodically, the nine of them hack at the creature, reducing it in size until I can’t see it anymore. Finally, Gauvain hands my brother a metal box. With precise movements, Arthur bends down, picks up what seems to be a stone, sets it inside the box, then snaps the lid shut.
“Somebody help me, please!”
The plea comes as a high-pitch shriek. I barely register Bri, kneeling next to her unconscious brother, his head in her lap. I lick my parched lips. Somehow, I’d forgotten about him. I make to stand up, but can’t feel my legs, and I collapse like an old rag doll.
“Owen,” Bri cries, holding his bloodied hand to her tearstained face. “Owen, open your eyes!”
Lady Ysolt’s suddenly next to her. Her face strains as she lifts Owen in her arms and carries him away.
“Tell Daphne to get the surgical room ready,” she tells Percy, who sprints away.
As they hurry by, I call out Bri’s name, but her paper-white face doesn’t register any of her surroundings. A hand grabs me by the elbow and helps me up.
“How about you?” Arthur asks, his hazel eyes scanning my face.
“Owen—” I start to say.
“Do you need to go to the infirmary too?”
I shake myself free. “I’m fin
e. But what about my friend? Is he going to be all right?”
Arthur looks away, his brow furrowed. I notice that he’s still holding the metallic box in which he’s placed that stone; the stone that used to be a magical bull.
“I don’t know,” he says. “We’ll have to wait until Dr. Cockleburr’s done with him.” He takes another quick look at me, seemingly satisfied. “You should still get a checkup.”
I think instead about Bri waiting for news of her brother. No one should ever have to face that sort of ordeal alone, and I’m not going to let her. I take a shaky step after her and nearly pitch forward.
Keva appears at my side, a dreamy look on her face. “Amazing those three, aren’t they?” she says, keeping me steady. “And right when Arthur and Percy had just had a grueling match to boot! But it’s to be expected from the Triumvirate.9 There’s nothing they can’t do.”
“Can you just shut up?” I say. “There’s more important things going on right now.”
I take another step and wince as my ankle twists. I must have injured it when Arthur dragged me out from under the bull’s hooves. Biting on my lower lip, I proceed through the now-quiet field as fast as my injury will allow.
“You, page!” says a sharp voice behind me.
A few paces back, her golden hair streaming in the breeze, is Jennifer. Her pale blue eyes are staring at me, emotionless but for a cold anger I don’t understand.
I point at myself. “Me?”
“Where are you going?” she asks.
“To the infirmary.”
The remainder of the crowd stops its exodus to train hundreds of questioning looks on me.
“You should be cleaning the mess you’ve created,” Jennifer says.
I lower my fists to my sides before I can punch her. She may be beautiful, but she’s really starting to get on my nerves.
“I can’t,” I say, proud of myself for my unusual diplomacy. “My friend needs me.”
Jennifer stalks up to me. “And I,” she says, “need you to clean this area up, page.”
“My name. Is. Morgan.”
Before I can go berserk, Keva nudges me. “You’ve got to listen to her,” she whispers, fear and awe in her voice. “She’s higher ranked than we are.”
“Why?” I ask. “Because we’re only freshmen? For your information, I’m probably old—”
Keva shakes her head, then taps the cross on my jacket’s front pocket. “No, we are pages. She’s a knight. Pages have to follow orders from everyone above.”
I stare at her, dumbfounded. “What is this nonsense?”
But Keva’s moved away from me before Jennifer can unleash her anger on her as well.
“I will have you clean the entire practice field, on your own,” Jennifer says, her full lips curling up scornfully. “And nobody’s to help you. Got it?”
With a toss of the head, she strides away, drawing the remaining crowd along with her.
“You better get to it,” Keva says. “You’ve got to take all the equipment down to the armory, and there’s a lot of it.”
I stare at the empty stadium, taking in the discarded weapons strewn about the dirt floor.
“But, isn’t it dangerous?” I ask, darting glances about. The sun’s low on the horizon now, and every shadow seems longer and deeper than before. What if there’s another Fey monster lurking somewhere around here?
“Don’t be stupid,” Keva says with a smirk. “That Fey escaped because its iron restraints shattered, not because it appeared out of nowhere. Besides, they can’t just come to Lake High without permission. Really, I can’t believe I have to be your roommate.” She shakes her head and starts to go after the others.
“But I’m going to miss the boat back home!” I tell her.
She stops. “You think they’re going to let us go home after what just happened? This is a state of emergency. Nobody leaves until it’s all been cleared up.” She pauses to consider something, then adds, “And you better not make Jennifer go after me, or you’ll really regret it.”
I grab the last of the equipment and place it inside the now-thousand-ton basket. My back’s aching, and my ankle’s so sore I can’t feel my foot anymore. The worst part is going up and down the stadium’s seats for any additional gear I might have missed.
With a mighty huff, I sit down, leaving the basket aside. Of course, with a prat for a president, it’s only normal the rest of the student body wouldn’t learn to put their own things away.
The wind nips at me, mocking my plight, and I shake my fist in the air. “It’s all your fault!”
A questioning meow startles me. I find a cat sitting a few levels up from me, its golden eyes almost glowing against its raven-black fur. I extend my hand toward it and make small, friendly noises.
To my utter annoyance, the cat royally ignores me. Fuming, I grab the first thing from the basket I can find and throw it at the feline. The cat easily dodges the projectile, a glove with iron meshing, spits at me once disdainfully, then, tail held high, trots away.
“Yeah, just leave me behind,” I grumble. “Let me do all the work on my own, like everyone else!”
Joints stiff, I slowly make my way up to retrieve the gauntlet, regretting my burst of anger—as if a cat could actually understand me.
“What an odd thing to wear…” I say, turning the glove in my hands.
I slip it on. It’s too big for me and jingles when I move. Lodged inside the metallic rings, I notice a small emerald-green jewel. As I angle it toward the remaining daylight, a strange symbol flashes just below its surface. I shake the gem around like it’s a Magic 8 Ball, but nothing more appears, and I wonder if my vision’s playing tricks on me.
I put the gauntlet back in the basket and pick up a dagger instead. It doesn’t take me long to find what I’m looking for: set deep within the handle are three small round stones of a creamy white tint. I drop the knife back in and grab another weapon. Again, I find what looks like a ruby set into the blade itself.
I squint in the near darkness. What are these things? A picture of Arthur propelling himself into the air during his practice fight with Percy comes back to me. Are these the sources of power I’ve been hearing about, those things called oghams?
I grab the glove again and put it back on. “How, exactly, does this work?”
Tongue stuck out, I point my hand out, as far away from me as possible. The last thing I need now is to lose an eye or an ear because I don’t know what I’m doing.
I squeeze my eyes shut, imagining the green flash coming out of my hand. Nothing. Tentatively, I open an eye, then the other. Maybe something happened, but I didn’t see it because my eyes were closed. I concentrate again, pretending laser beams are shooting out of the gauntlet. Still nothing.
“Open sesame,” I say, shaking my arm.
I tap on the stone, but no symbol appears, not even the tiniest bit of a glow.
“Stupid thing’s broken.”
I fling the glove back amongst the rest of the gear and lug the basket back into the armory. It takes me another half hour to put everything away, but, finally, the task is done, and I dust off my hands.
All I need now is a hot bath, a warm meal, and heaps of sleep. I limp to the door and freeze at the sound of something rattling.
“Is-Is someone here?” I call out.
Stillness greets my words, and I slowly let out my breath.
As I open the door, the sound comes back again, louder. I fling myself against the wall, wary of any attacker. I gasp as a large trunk in the opposite corner hops and shakes furiously, bouncing over the tiled floor. I feel the blood drain from my face. Is this another demon beast?
I inch outside the room, then waver. Keva was clear that what happened to Owen had been an accident and that no Fey could enter the school uninvited.
Unable to decide what to do, my thoughts grind to a painful stop, until, at last, I make up my mind. Slowly, I tiptoe up to the chest, unfasten the lock, then carefully ease the cover open.
Something small and black bounces out of it. It lands on my head, sharp claws digging into my face, then latches on to my hair. I shriek.
“Gerroff! Gerroff!”
I reach back to find scruffy fur, then try to pull the thing off of me. Finally, after much effort and many tufts of hair lost, I hold before me the hobgoblin from my first morning here.
“Puck!” I say, shocked. “What are you doing here?”
The little creature flinches, and I soften my tone.
“What were you doing in there?”
I glance down and notice the bottom of the box is strewn with small shards of glass and spilled…
“Milk,” I say. “Did someone play a prank on you?”
The small creature’s shaking so badly that I’m afraid to let it down. Despite my initial disgust, I cradle Puck in my arms like I would a small child.
“There, there, you’re fine now.” And if I ever get my hands on the one who did this to you, it’s going to be someone else’s turn to lose hair!
A few moments later, the hobgoblin falls asleep in my arms, snoring peacefully. I look around, but quickly realize I cannot leave him in here, not after what’s been done to him, so I take him with me.
“Incoming!” someone yells.
I duck as a jet of water blasts into the wall next a foot from my face. An older boy laughs as he runs past me, his uniform soaked. He then turns around and punches the air. A blue glow surrounds his hand, then propels itself into another boy, farther down the corridor. Some girls squeal as water splashes onto them.
“Enough!”
The two boys disappear around a corner as a plump woman hurries behind, her hair undone from too much running.
“Ewww!” says one of the splashed girls as I head their way. “What’s that thing?”
I instinctively hold Puck closer to myself. Avoiding any eye contact, I try to hurry past them but they block my way.
“It’s Puck,” the second girl says with a grimace. “How disgusting!”
The first girl chuckles. “What are you doing with it? Breast-feeding?”
All three girls laugh at that. I want to ignore them, prove that I’m above petty insults like these. But I’ve never been good at being the center of attention, mainly because it’s never been for a good reason, like now.
Blood of the Fey (Morgana Trilogy) Page 8
