Blood of the Fey (Morgana Trilogy)

by Alessa Ellefson

  “I don’t recall you being invited to my get-together,” Lugh said, putting himself between Mordred and us. “But of course, you’re more than welcome to partake in the festivities, though you have made quite a mess of the victuals.”

  Mordred raises his hand. “Spare me,” he says. “I don’t have much more patience for you. I’ve come to collect my answer.”

  Hands deep in his pockets, Lugh shrugs. “I cannot speak for my people. Everyone’s his own, and can do as he or she wishes.” He flashes the intruder a bright smile. “Free will is, after all, the one gift the Lord Almighty was kind enough to bestow on us. You wouldn’t want to take that away, would you?”

  The blue-skinned guy gives him a cruel smile. “We got it because we fought for it.”

  A lumpy man the size of a dog approaches them. He bows to Mordred, the skin of his face flapping before him like it’s been partially melted off his skull.

  “A word, sire?” he asks in a raspy voice.

  Mordred leans down to hear what the half-melted creature has to tell him. He stiffens, then straightens up.

  “Seems like you have some interesting guests tonight,” he says.

  My throat dries up as his eyes first scour Arthur, then lower to me. Like a predator locked on to its prey, he makes his way over to us. As he comes closer, I see that the blue tint of his skin is the result of thousands upon thousands of thin lines tattooed on his body in tight coils and swirls that accentuate his sharp features.

  He stops a few feet away from us. For a second, his golden eyes flecked with violet fix on me, and his eyebrows rise a fraction. Arthur comes to stand before me, drawing the man’s scowl to him. Being the older sibling, I should technically be the one to protect him, but I’m forced to admit that I’m scared shitless.

  “What is that one doing here?” the blue-skinned Fey growls.

  I see his knuckles whiten as he clenches his fists, sending tiny sparks of blue-and-green lightning over his skin.

  “Just a guest,” Lugh says, striding over while maintaining a safe distance from Mordred. “Must’ve gotten lost. Tonight’s his lucky night, though, as I’m in a very good mood and do not object to his presence.”

  A strained silence stretches between them while the three guys glare at each other, and I hope for the Fey’s sake, and mine, that Lugh and Mordred don’t make any sudden movements. Though he’s taken off most of his weapons, I know Arthur still has a couple of hidden knives on him, and he’s wound up as tight as a coil waiting to spring.

  Maybe Mordred senses this, or maybe he decides he has better things to do, because he marches back to the edge of the trees, where his followers await.

  “Time is running out, Prince,” Mordred says, getting back up on his horse. “You better come up with an answer. Next time, I won’t be so lenient.”

  He turns the colt around, and, as silent as the Angel of Death, he and his cohort are gone.

  “Let’s get a move on,” Arthur urges me.

  “But I—”

  “Now.”

  We move through the dispersing throng, back toward the large oak tree at the center of the glade. Nobody seems to care about us anymore. But when we reach the tree, an unhappy surprise awaits us.

  “The mushrooms have been trampled over,” I say.

  Arthur muffles a curse and looks about. But everyone else is too busy running away to help, and I don’t see Lugh anymore either.

  “Curse it,” he says, “we need to find another fairy circle.”

  What was it that Lugh had told me? Something about circles being circles. And though some of the fungi are no more than unrecognizable lumps in the mud, the circle is still somewhat intact.

  “Wait,” I say before Arthur leaves. “Let’s try it.”

  Arthur’s about to protest, but I pull him inside the ring with me. Holding on to him tightly, I close my eyes and think back to the woods as they were before I came to Avalon.

  It seems to take an inordinate amount of time for me to conjure the right image; I’d been so distracted by my own thoughts that I hadn’t paid much attention to my surroundings at the time, just enough to realize that the place was dark, and cold, and not a little creepy.

  I hear Arthur’s slight intake of breath and open my eyes. Gone are the tiny lanterns glowing warmly in the air, and the scattering Fey. We’re back in the woods by our school.

  “I did it!” I shout, bursting with pride.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Arthur says, dashing down the small hill. “It’s nearly time for Lauds.”

  I glimpse the sky through the overarching branches and notice it’s gone from deep black to a warm violet shaded with pinks and oranges. I can’t believe it’s near dawn. It feels like I’ve been gone for barely a few hours!

  “Why aren’t you coming?” Arthur asks, coming back for me.

  I hesitate, still staying within my fairy circle. If I made it here, I’m sure I can make it back.

  “Can you please stop making me worry?” he shouts. “Can you, for once in your life, think about someone other than you?”

  “I didn’t—”

  Arthur cuts me off. “How do you think it felt to learn you were missing, not just from the infirmary, but the whole school, again? I kept on thinking I’d find your body lying somewhere, like we found Rei, or that you’d have disappeared like Kaede.”

  He stops suddenly and takes a deep, shuddering breath.

  I’m too stunned to speak at first. I’d never have thought anyone cared about me that much, least of all him. I’m so used to being left to my own devices. This is completely uncharted territory for me.

  “I’m sorry,” I say at last. “I’ll try to be, uh, better about it in the future.”

  Cheeks still flushed, Arthur nods. “You should also stop skipping classes,” he adds.

  “Don’t push it.”

  Arthur flashes me a smile, then holds his hand out to me, just like he had when he invited me to dance. This time, I don’t hesitate and take it. He closes his warm fingers around mine, and we race away.

  The run back home is quiet, not that I can spare a single breath as I concentrate hard on keeping up with Arthur. I don’t know where he gets all his energy from, but the bloke is bloody tireless!

  When we reach the northern standing stone, Arthur finally slows down. Some of the night’s great bonfires are still smoking in the distance as their embers burn down to ashes.

  “Good,” Arthur says, looking grim, “we haven’t lost any time.”

  “Why?” I wheeze. “We’ve only been gone a night.”

  “Time over there can run differently,” Arthur says. “Or so the tales say, and I’m inclined to believe them.”

  The desire to tease him rises in me despite my fatigue. “But what if we got here a year and a day later? Then these would be the fires from a year from when we left.”

  Arthur drops my hand, his lips thinning out in a scowl. “This is no laughing matter,” he says. “You should pray this is not the case. A great deal can change in a year. Countries and civilizations have disappeared in less time than that, and, in case you haven’t noticed, things were not peaceful when you decided to run away again.”

  “Some people just can’t take a joke,” I mutter, walking behind Arthur toward the church. We’re too early, and the courtyard’s empty, forcing us into an uncomfortable silence as we wait for the others to arrive.

  I wonder if the whole school knows already of my punishment, then remember Jennifer’s gloating face and know that’s the case. I look back longingly at the line of trees along the horizon, where Avalon and Lugh await. Thinking about him reminds me of the kiss we shared, and I can’t stop a blush from heating my face.

  “You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?” Arthur asks in disgust. “You said you wouldn’t go back there!”

  “All I said was that I’d try to warn you before I leave next time,” I reply, not liking his tone. “And why wouldn’t I want to go back? They may not all like me over there
, but I can’t say it’s much better here.”

  Arthur rolls his eyes. “How many times do I have to tell you, you’re not a prisoner!”

  I let out a very unladylike snort. “Puh-lease. Tell that to someone dumber than me.”

  “Look, this is all temporary,” he says. “Maybe if you weren’t foolish enough to wander beyond the school’s protection all the time, this wouldn’t have been necessary. As it is, we obviously can’t trust you to not put your life and those of others in jeopardy, so until we’ve caught the one behind all these killings, you’ll have to deal with it. You should be happy you didn’t even get in trouble for doing EM.”

  “In public, you mean,” I say. “Since you’re the one who gave me that ring.”

  “True,” Arthur agrees, to my greatest surprise. “No one was supposed to teach you how it works, least of all me.”

  “Why ever not?” I ask, too stunned to be mad anymore. “Isn’t it the point for everyone here to learn how to use oghams, to become proper knights and protect Earth and all that?”

  “Yes, but…” Arthur balks, at a loss for words. Guess not even he can come up with a good excuse, which is reason enough for me to grow deeply suspicious.

  “Just why, exactly, would I be the only one not allowed to learn how to do EM?” I ask, seeing him grow more and more unsettled. “And why would I not have been sent here at fourteen, like everyone else? Or why not let me finish at a regular school instead?”

  He’s prevented from answering me by the appearance of the first early risers, who are none other than Gareth and Gauvain.

  “Where were you yesterday, little mademoiselle?”25 Gareth asks, giving me a lung-crushing hug.

  “Don’t tell me you were grounding her all night long,” Gauvain tells Arthur.

  “If you mean to say ‘scolding,’” Arthur says, “then you’re right. Somebody’s got to do it, however annoying.”

  “Don’t let him bully you,” Gareth tells me.

  “And if he does,” Gauvain adds, “you let us know, and we’ll pummel him.” He stops at the church entrance to look me up and down appreciatively, until I turn crimson.

  “It’s no wonder he keeps you away from the rest of us,” Gareth adds, his grin so wide his eyes are but half-moon slits.

  “Enough, guys,” Arthur growls, and the cousins burst out laughing.

  “No, no, no need to get naked,” Gauvain says, stopping Arthur from taking his jacket off.

  “We’ll be chevalier-russe,”26 Gareth says, setting his own coat, which falls below my knees, around my shoulders.

  “It’s ‘chivalrous,’ you airhead,” Gauvain says before adding to Arthur, “You’ll need yours for the ceremony.”

  Before Gareth can start another fight, Lucan arrives, sitting uncomfortably in a wheelchair pushed by his squire. The cousins’ faces fall at his sight, and I remember the night we faced the banshee. A good thing it was a knife she used and not poison, or Lucan and I would both be dead.

  Knife. Poison. A thought strikes me, and I grab Arthur’s arm before he can go to the section reserved for KORT members.

  “Wait,” I say.

  “What is it now?” Arthur asks.

  I ignore his sulky tone. “Those murders, I don’t think it’s the banshee.”

  Arthur straightens up, more alert. “Why not?” he asks cautiously.

  “I just remembered,” I say, “but when I was up on the island, it used some kind of flint knife to kill. There was no Fey magic involved, with poisoning or black veins or whatnot. And my lacerations—”

  “Didn’t show any sign of being contaminated the same way as Rei had been,” he finishes for me.

  We both stare at each other as the implications sink in. The church doors swing open to let in more students, breaking our moment of understanding. Arthur heads over to the cousins, who are arguing again, while I return to my bench.

  When Bri, Keva, and Jack arrive, I greet them with a smile. Despite my new sentence, I don’t feel quite so alone anymore.

  Bri and Jack’s questions stumble over each other in a confused jumble of words the moment they see me, but Keva raises her hand, and they both shut up.

  “What we first need to know,” she says, “is where you got those clothes.”

  I blush, holding Gareth’s jacket closer to me. I should’ve changed as soon as I got here. Keva narrows her eyes at me.

  “So you were at the party,” she says with an evil grin. “It’s just that you weren’t anywhere quite so…public.”

  “Ooooh,” Bri says.

  “That’s so not how it was,” I say.

  Keva forces the blazer open to get an eyeful of the Fey dress. “Look at that,” she says, loud enough to draw the attention of the squires seated before us. “Look at the finesse of the fabric, the delicacy of the design.” She draws so close to me it almost feels like she’s trying to smell my boobs.

  “Back off,” I say, batting her away.

  Keva sits back with a deep, heartfelt sigh, tossing her braid over her shoulder. “You can tell the Pendragons are an old family, to be able to afford such a refined dress.” She glances at me. “Whoever the fellow is, he’s lucky. I’ve never seen you put so much effort into your looks before.”

  The entrance of a group of white-clad young men and women denotes the start of Mass, and I’m saved from having to explain my whereabouts. I know how they all stand on anything concerning the Fey here, and I doubt they’d approve of my little sojourn in Avalon.

  Slowly, the procession makes its way down the nave, singing the Iesu Salvator Saeculi with voices so pure they could rival those of angels.

  “Who are they?” I whisper in Jack’s ear, pointing toward the formation as it marches past our pew.

  “Fey,” he answers in the same manner. “The history books say they’ve remained with us since Carman’s defeat, but that they’ve vowed to never fight again, and to atone for their sins through constant prayer.”

  “Is that all they do?” I ask, unable to tear my eyes away from them as they fan out around the back of the altar.

  Jack nods. “Yeah, they have their own room in the catacombs beneath the school, though they come out on special occasions like today, or to observe.”

  “Observe what?”

  He shrugs. “Who knows? But that’s what they call themselves: Watchers.”

  The whole school remains transfixed throughout the liturgy, which consists mainly of the choir singing hymn after hymn to the glory of God and of the knights who have fallen to protect us.

  Kneeling before the altar, dressed in white-and-red robes, are three students, their heads bent down in prayer.

  “What are they doing?” I ask Keva.

  “They’re about to be dubbed,” she says, her face a mixture of admiration and envy.

  “Dubbed what?”

  “That means knighted,” Jack whispers.

  “Brothers and sisters,” Father Tristan says, “before us today are three brave students who have proven themselves worthy of joining the ranks of knighthood, who are willing to put their lives down for the service of others and the protection of this land that was bequeathed to us by the Almighty.

  “In King David’s words, ‘He whose walk is blameless and who does what is righteous, who speaks truth from his heart and has no slander on his tongue, who does his neighbor no wrong and casts no slur on his fellow man, who despises a vile man but honors those who fear the Lord, who keeps his oath even when it hurts, who lends his money without usury and does not accept a bribe against the innocent. He who does these things will never be shaken.’ Are you ready to uphold these principles?”

  “We are,” the three kneeling answer in unison.

  “Please present their arms,” Father Tristan says.

  Three knights move forward, each carrying a shield bearing the school’s heraldic blazon, and lay them on the altar.

  Father Tristan raises his hands over them. “Show us Thy mercy, O Lord.”

  “And grant us T
hy salvation,” the crowd says.

  “Lord, hear our prayer.”

  “And give ear unto our cry.”

  “May the Lord be with you,” Father Tristan says.

  “And with your spirit,” I mumble, my eyes roving to the unusual choir.

  There’s something odd about those Fey as they stand still as statues, their eyes fixed to the cupola above, oblivious to the ceremony unfolding before them.

  Father Tristan finishes his blessing of the weapons and, looking regal, Arthur steps to the forefront. He stops before the three kneeling students.

  On the other side of the transept, the whole of the knight corps is similarly decked out. The only one not wearing fancy armor is Jennifer, who manages to look politely bored in her deep blue gown that makes her hair look like a cascade of gold.

  “Do you swear fealty to KORT and all that it upholds?” Arthur asks, his voice ringing clear.

  “We here swear fealty and do homage to KORT,” the three squires intone, “to ever be good knights and true, reverent and generous…”

  I scoff at the thought of Jennifer having ever been able to utter such a vow. Bri digs her sharp elbow into my side, and I grow quiet.

  “To shield the weak, be obedient to KORT’s president, foremost in battle, courteous at all times, champion of the right and the good, and loyal to God Almighty. Thus we swear.”

  “Acknowledging your prowess on the training field,” Arthur says, “and responding to the wishes of your sponsors, I am minded to make you knights. But know that to wear the arms of one is to hold a sacred trust, and that your obligations will follow you until your death.”

  From a pocket, Arthur pulls out a small escutcheon that shines dully before him, and hands it to the first kneeling boy.

  “Wear this as a token of your fealty,” he says.

  With trembling fingers, the boy reaches out and takes the small token representing his new status. Arthur moves on to the next boy, then the girl after him, repeating the same speech each time.

  Despite the novelty, this process is quite a drudge. I can even sympathize with Jennifer as my mouth extends in a wide yawn.