by Eddie Patin
How did Lillian get away that last night that they were raided and nearly everyone—Morgana included—was arrested or killed?
Morgana looked at Jason, who caught her gaze and seemed to be waiting for her next move.
She felt the tears welling up again, but a madness bubbled up with them. Morgana felt a fiery, raging need to know the truth rise up deep in her guts and fill her entire body with desire. The red-hot steel of determination spread through her and she felt that—even if the rest of her life and New Bozeman fell apart around her—at least she would find out the truth. At least she could enact some vengeance if she could learn the truth.
Morgana had to confront Lillian. She would learn what the woman knew, one way or another.
"Jason," she said, her voice shaking far more than she felt it would. Her heart was a bonfire and she felt like her spirit and eyes were solid. "Send me home."
The man's blue eyes widened in confusion.
"Uh ... why?!"
"Send me back to my house—just like you did before. Use your magic and send me there at once!"
"But ... Morgana..." The man stammered, and the young woman suddenly felt how vulnerable and real Jason was. His eyes darted around searching for words. He looked at his friends. The bearded soldier and the dark skin-walker stared back at them without expression, weapons slung and waiting. "Why do you ... does it have to be this second? Let's finish what we're doing and—"
"I have business to attend to," Morgana said.
The image of Lillian sitting at the end of the dining hall table with a book, tea, and a candle flashed into her mind. Morgana imagined the older woman's thin smile and the dead, grey eyes. Her eyes never smiled with the rest of her face.
Maybe she wasn't a spy. But maybe she was. And Morgana had to know right away.
"I ... uh ..." Jason said, concern playing across his face.
"We'll head back in a little while," Riley said suddenly, approaching with steady steps through the shifting shale and handing the Soloster necklace to her. "We can all go to town then—after we harvest some more hearts and rift home to drop them off." His thin face was unmoving. Morgana noticed some fine scars running along one cheek.
Morgana took the necklace with trembling hands. Some bloody grime on its chain made a wave of revulsion fly through her. She turned away and resisted gagging.
It was her brother. His blood.
"I've got to go now!" she exclaimed, focusing on Jason again. He was the one with the power. He was the one she had to convince. "Please, Jason! Send me home!"
"Why can't you wait for us to go with you?" Jason pleaded.
Riley sighed loudly. "Let her go, Jason," he said.
"Yes, please, let me go! I have some personal business I must attend to right now."
Jason looked at her and visibly tried to sooth whatever pain he was feeling in his heart. Either that, or he was enjoying watching Morgana squirm—she wasn't sure. Her mind raced with fire and need and thoughts of Lillian helping to kill all of her people still loyal to the Soloster family. She thought of her sister-in-law meeting with that bastard Estren in secret, and her heart flared with pain and hatred. Her eyes flickered up to the sky and she gasped when she remembered seeing Lillian meeting in secret with that Chosen soldier.
"Okay," Jason said with a sigh. "Please ... don't do anything rash, okay? We'll catch up to you later in the night after going home again. Will you wait?" He pulled up the strange artifact that hung from his side, made it glow, and started touching the words on it with his fingertip.
"I will wait after I tend to my needs," she replied, watching Jason work his otherworldly machine, feeling like the fire burning through her breast was about to jump out of her skin.
"Don't do anything crazy...?" he repeated with his blue eyes full of pain. "I feel like you're gonna do something nuts, and if only you would just wait..."
"Send me home, Jason," she demanded. Then, "Thank you."
With a sigh, Jason closed his eyes for a moment in concentration then opened another one of his wild, magical portals. A bright orange fireball appeared near them near the dead gargoyle—near Owen—and immediately began spinning and expanding until it was a frantically whirling disc hanging in the air. Bright, sputtering sparks cast off of the portal's swirling rim, flying off all over onto the shale ground as the blinding gateway roared like a thousand fires in a heavy wind. The center of the spinning doorway calmed and smoothed into a dark scene that Morgana eventually recognized as her dining hall.
Despite the brilliant orange fire spinning around the scene, Morgana could see Lillian sitting in her seat like usual in contemplation, one slender hand resting on the inside of a book. Her sister-in-law stared at where the front doors would have been—a place out of sight from Morgana's vantage through the portal—with no expression on her pale, wooden face.
Without another word to the warriors from the stars, Morgana looked down at Owen's necklace clutched in one hand then plunged through the portal. As she did, she heard the one named Riley speak up.
"Now come on, Jason," he shouted over the roar. "We need to get back to—"
Riley's words cut off when she stepped through to the other side.
Morgana found the solid floor under her feet familiar as she stood in her family's dining hall, surprised and slightly disoriented. She'd stepped through several of Jason's portals by now as they traveled around the valley—along with that trip to Jason's house back on his own world—and each time she stepped through was still very strange.
The table and Lillian sitting near its head closest to the kitchen were suddenly bathed in the flowing orange light of the portal's fiery rim. The older woman nearly jumped out of her chair, staring at Morgana and the spinning whirlwind of orange fire behind her. Lillian's face stretched long and her eyes and mouth widened in shock and fear.
The roar of the portal was almost deafening inside the hall and its sparks spit and sputtered all over like motes of blinding white-orange light in the darkness.
Morgana took several steps toward Lillian with the necklace clutched in her left fist, then paused when the swirling portal behind her suddenly shook and quieted. She looked back and saw it collapsing into itself; a shrinking, speeding wheel of fire. The strange vision shrunk to the size of a dazzling pebble then winked out of the hall with a pop.
When the portal was gone, the large, vaulted room was nearly silent.
Lillian was making panicked sounds of fear.
"Lillian!" Morgana bellowed, taking several more steps toward her.
The older woman—now in her lavender dress with her blonde curls up in an elaborate, twisted bun—gasped then smiled, stumbling over herself as she suddenly seemed unsure whether to approach or run away.
"Oh, Morgana! Sister!" Lillian exclaimed, her face full of unmasked horror but her voice stabilizing as she struggled to compose herself. "How did you appear here?! Where have you been?"
"I've been out killing gargoyles, Lillian! And guess what I found...?!"
She held up the necklace. Its pendant hung below her fist. The sapphire gleamed in the candlelight.
Lillian gasped and stumbled backwards again.
"What ... ah ... what is that, sister?" Her eyes darted to their sides. "I've been worried sick about you! Magister Estren has been ... looking for you to ... to pardon you!"
The words felt desperate but they hit Morgana in the face.
"Pardon me?" she asked. "Pardon me for what?! This is Owen's necklace, Lillian! Your husband! Why did I find it in the body of a gargoyle in the mountains?! I thought you saw Owen on the night he—"
"I did!" Lillian cried, her legs shaking. She reached out to catch herself on something with trembling hands but she'd left the table behind and was backing to a wall near the kitchen door. "He lost the necklace!" she stammered. "He gave it to the necromancer—he told me!"
A tiny part in Morgana still felt doubt, but the rest of her knew.
"You're the spy, aren't you, Lillian?!"<
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Blood pounded in Morgana's ears and she felt hot. Deep in her bones she knew that her sister-in-law had done wrong. She was confused by everything, and her whole life—at least after the Darkness came—felt like it was crumbling into a sea of madness. She certainly recognized the anger flowing through her.
"I'm not! You've gone mad! I—"
Morgana found herself suddenly running at Lillian and the older woman screeched and dashed off past the kitchen door to the side of the hall.
"Oh, Goddess—help me! Chosen! Now! Please!"
As Morgana pursued her sister-in-law into the shadows at the side of the hall, her mind reeled when she suddenly recognized the forms of men emerging from the shadows there. Their cream-colored clothing under their armor made them appear like ghosts and the golden masks filled Morgana's fierce heart with terror. As Lillian scrambled away—her elaborate hair bouncing as she ran with fearful eyes—there was a heavy scuffle all around the room. Chosen soldiers appeared from hiding all around them. Some held spears. Others had short swords drawn. They all rushed forward.
Morgana froze, dropping the necklace to the floor as her determined fury was instantly chilled by the golden masks. Hands reached out for her, armor shifting, as men rushed Morgana without words.
The young woman was tempted to draw Dawnbringer then and there and cut them all limb from limb as fear buzzed in her joints and belly. But when Morgana felt heavy hands seize her upper arms, she merely struggled instead. She searched for Lillian. She had to avenge her family! Armored bodies pressed against her. A golden mask appeared on the girl's left, and another was suddenly standing solid on her right. Morgana could smell the man's vinegary body odor as he pulled her close to his armored chest. Several of the Chosen gathered around her with weapons drawn, none speaking a word.
"Lillian!" Morgana growled, feeling tears rush into her eyes again. She thought of all of the men that she'd seen die on the crosses or in the streets, torn to pieces by the monsters. She thought of the families murdered in the night. "Why, Lillian?!"
There was silence for a moment, save for the shuffling of boots and armor. Morgana felt her heart beating in her neck and heard her own panting breaths.
Then, Lillian walked her way from the dim corner of the dining hall, straightening her dress and trying to fix her hair.
"Oh, Morgana," she said with a prim smile. Her dead eyes didn't smile, of course. "You are so naive."
"You are the spy!"
Lillian laughed—a small, dramatic laugh that served no purpose. "The time of the Solosters has passed, sister," she said, stepping up. Lillian reached out with a slender hand and stroked Morgana's face. Her fingers were cold. The touch brought a wave of raw hatred under the young woman's skin. "I have tried to tell you to stop fighting. All you needed to do was let go of all of this resistance nonsense and embrace the Golden Lady in your heart! Those who do are immune to the touch of the Darkness."
"You're in the Communion?!"
The older woman walked past Morgana and her captors, tracing the path of Morgana's quick chase around the back of the table. She reached down and picked up Owen's necklace, grimacing at its bloody grime in her hand.
Lillian looked up and walked back. "The Golden Lady is the salvation of New Bozeman, Morgana," she said, her face still edgy from the fear she no-doubt had felt when Morgana rushed her. Lillian smiled again, her delicate mouth upturned barely at the edges. "Magister Estren has been trying to save this village for years—ever since the Darkness came—and most of the people have turned to the Goddess's light and love. Most except for you and your confused rebels, that is."
"Lillian," Morgana replied, her mind clamped with sorrow, "You killed those rebels! If you were the spy and you were telling Estren about our meetings and our plans, their blood is on your hands!"
The woman looked down at her hands, frowning at the rotten filth that had rubbed off onto her lily-white palms from Owen's necklace. "They were standing in the path of the new way of the people, Morgana. You were, too. I tried to help you; I tried to convince you..."
"You're a traitor. You're a traitor to these people and a traitor to our family!"
"Your family, Morgana!" Lillian snapped back like spitting out poison. "Owen was a brute! I hated being his wife—subjecting myself to him! I was happy to send that bastard to his death!"
Rage bloomed in Morgana and blood pounded in her ears.
"What did you do?!" she bellowed.
Lillian smirked as if very much appreciating Morgana's reaction, then she walked closer with slow, clicking steps.
"I convinced Owen to lead the attack against the necromancer," she cooed. "The two soldiers who had returned wounded were some of the Chosen—still in hiding at the time. Owen and the others were no doubt killed or..." She looked down at the necklace in her hand. "...worse."
"But why?!"
"To provoke the necromancer of course! And it worked! The attack that killed Roland allowed enough instability to let Magister Estren take control!"
Morgana's chest hitched up. She thought that she would sob. Instead, her heart seemed to compress and focus like red-hot metal on an anvil.
"You did this with Estren I take it? You worked together?"
"Yes," Lillian replied with a smile.
"Because of you, Lillian, my whole family is dead. Bryant is dead."
"Yes, yes," she replied, waving a hand. "And now you're dead. Frankly, I'm glad that this is finally over. It's just been so stressful watching you go back and forth, fighting and hiding, captured and released..."
Morgana glowered. "Why are you telling me all of this? Why would you even bother telling me your secrets?"
Lillian sighed. "Tonight is the full moon, Morgana. You'll be sacrificed with the others that are still alive. This is over. The Solosters are dead. It doesn't matter if—"
That was enough.
The instant Morgana felt the Chosen soldier holding her right arm shift his weight—relaxing his grip on her shoulder for just a moment—she pulled Dawnbringer from the space in between. Her sword's brilliant, golden glow lit up the dining hall like a large cooking fire, and beyond its gleaming, silver edge, she saw over a dozen Chosen soldiers standing by on her right.
Before anyone could react, Morgana spun—still helpless in the grip of the man on her left—and swung her blade at the legs of the Chosen soldier on her right. She felt the faintest bit of resistance, but the sword sliced clean through the man's armor and thighs as if she was passing the blade through water. He screamed—high and loud and like an animal—and released her right arm, toppling to the floor with his legs severed.
Morgana turned to the left again with the tip of Dawnbringer arcing with her, and stabbed through her other captor's chest, piercing through the soldier's armor and body as easily as if she was stabbing through a bale of hay. He grunted from behind his mask and staggered backwards and away.
She was free.
Morgana looked at Lillian, who stopped speaking as her face twisted into a mask of horror again, coiling up with a huge breath as if to scream...
Lillian spun to flee and Morgana sprinted at her, swinging her brilliant sword down in a powerful arc. She was on the traitor in an instant and Dawnbringer's fierce blade cut into Lillian's slender back, into the purple dress between the woman's neck and right shoulder, swiping down and severing collarbone, ribs and organs, muscles, and halfway into her belly full of guts with hardly any effort.
Falling forward with her body splayed open and splashing red blood and sloppy entrails all over her dress and the floor, Lillian collapsed with nothing more than a gurgle as Morgana slid Dawnbringer free.
Lillian was dead. She was the spy. Now she was deader than shit.
Morgana felt the woman's hot blood all over her sword arm and neck.
Now, she needed to kill Estren.
With a heavy, emotional weight suddenly free from Morgana's shoulders, the young woman spun around, expecting to see two or three golden-masked soldiers ru
shing up to attack her. She wasn't disappointed.
Two Chosen soldiers ran at her, one with sword ready, one moving to keep his distance and circle around her with his spear. As the spearhead thrust in at her, the young woman reflexively batted it aside with Dawnbringer then she dashed in to intercept and slay the man with the sword.
Just as Morgana came in low with her gleaming blade arcing in—watching the silent soldier move his own sword to parry in response—her whole world exploded with pain and disorientation as something hard smashed onto the top of her head! Her vision suddenly panged with bright colors. She lost sense of which way was up and felt the floor come up and smash her on the right side of her face.
In the numbing darkness that was swooping in to smother her, Morgana saw the shining edge of Dawnbringer piercing the blackening world. Its golden light illuminated several booted feet gathering around her...
First came the smell of blood: sweet, coppery, and sickening. There was an underlying acrid odor that made Morgana want to gag.
Then came the pain.
The young woman groaned and cried to herself as her surroundings gradually slipped into sight from the edges of her darkest dreams...
Morgana's head hurt like hell. She felt like there was a knot on the top of her skull under her hair, but when she moved her hand to tenderly check it, she found that her arm was bound. The girl tried to open her eyes. The torchlight from all around stabbed through her cracked eyelids like yellow daggers and made her head pound.
Her right side hurt, as did the right side of her face.
She was cold.
Very cold.
Slowly, gradually, Morgana heard shuffling and voices around her. She heard the wooden scraping of a ladder or table or something moving around. A man nearby let out a long, low moan of pain. Another man coughed from somewhere far away and below her.
She suddenly felt something soft and wet stab her face and whisk from side to side, leaving her cheeks and forehead dripping. The smell of acrid, rusty blood came back in force.
Morgana opened her eyes to the familiar sight of the Crossroads at twilight. Torches all around the intersection dazzled her injured head and she looked across the open blue space of the sky in between roofs to see the blinding orb of the full moon rising in the sky. Soon, the sky would turn black. The stars would come out, but so would the mist.
