Morgana Trilogy Complete Series

by Alessa Ellefson

  “Just a servant,” Bri explains when I ask her, but she’s too engrossed in her brother’s conversation with his neighbor Jack to pay much attention to me and I have to quell the thousands of questions warring in my already overtaxed brain.

  “Didn’t you see the news?” Jack asks, limping ahead. “They had to close all the schools in the Bayou Bartholomew area of Louisiana”—he lowers his voice even further—“for frog invasion!”

  “I’m sorry, did you say frogs?” I ask.

  “I would love for that to happen to us,” Jack continues as if I’m not there.

  “You’re crazy,” Owen says. “This is the week we finally get to practice EM!”

  “That’s exactly why,” Jack says.

  I have absolutely no idea what these people are saying, and the farther up we go, the more lost I feel.

  “We’re in the mental hospital, aren’t we?” I finally ask Bri.

  She looks askance at me. “Does it look like we’re in an asylum? Am I wearing a straitjacket?”

  “The asylum’s next to the church,” Owen says as we arrive at the final landing, which does nothing to reassure me. “So I know that they usually start off with sprites,” he says, switching topics, “but I want to try a salamander first!”

  Bri chortles. “Right, like they’d let you. You nearly turned our yard into a swamp when Hadrian let you play with his ogham this summer.” She turns to me and adds conspiratorially, “Mother had a fit. You should’ve seen how he tried to hide behind the chicken coop.”

  “Do you eat salamanders here?” I ask.

  All three turn to me, shocked into silence, then burst out laughing.

  “Not unless you want your intestines to burn,” Owen says.

  I nod and try not to let the smile melt from my face—the fewer questions I ask from now on, the less I’ll stand out. I’ll just figure things out as I go along.

  “Right then,” Lady Ysolt says, her voice ringing out around the rafters, “time to leave your school material here. And perhaps get a little cleaned up.” Her eyes linger on me for a moment. “Miss Pendragon, I believe you are not yet acquainted with the layout of the grounds or school proper. Your room’s the third door to the right, which Miss Kulkarni will be glad to show you.” She raises her voice over the din. “Miss Kulkarni? Come over here, please, and show your new roommate around.”

  A dark-skinned girl with plaited hair makes a short curtsy, then heads straight down the left hallway. The room we are to share is small, with bunk beds set over their respective desks, and two large trunks lying at their feet. One side of the room has already been claimed, as I can tell from the slew of pictures hung over the bed and around the desk.

  Most of them are of a set of three boys, and it doesn’t take me long to recognize them. Percy I can very well understand why; his easygoing manners have already won me over. The second boy is the tall, devilishly handsome but moody boy who’d been with him when they rescued me from drowning. But the third…

  “Looks like someone’s got a crush on Arthur, eh Kulkarni?” I say, braying out a laugh.

  The girl draws near me, her perfume hanging in the air behind her. She doesn’t look too pleased with my reaction. “My name’s Keva,” she says, “and he’s the head of KORT. Who wouldn’t like him?”

  “Is that right?” I mumble.

  The girl darts me a malevolent glare; she clearly can sense sarcasm, and does not appreciate mine.

  “Great,” I hear her mutter, “now they give me a Sudra[5] to live with. Next thing you know, they’ll pick a frigging untouchable!”

  Before she can gouge my eyes out, I promptly head for my side of the room, where I rummage through what I assume is my trunk for a change of clothes. Thankfully, amongst a slew of very battered books that constitutes the majority of its contents, I find what I’m looking for. But before I manage to get more than my skirt on, the lights go out, and the door slams shut.

  “What the—” Great. Just great. Not only does my roommate have poor taste, but on top of that, she’s vindictive. Couldn’t have hoped for more luck than that.

  Not wanting to trip on anything, I feel my way over to the door and try to find the light switch. But my fingers only encounter the coolness of the stone wall.

  “Are you done?” Bri asks, slamming the door open smack on my face. “Oops, sorry. What are you doing in the dark?”

  “Looking for the light,” I mutter, rubbing my sore nose.

  “Oh, here you go.” She taps on the wall, and the light fixture on the ceiling, a glass ball, turns red to display a creature stuck inside it.

  Rooted to my spot, I point a shaky finger at the incandescent lizard still clearly visible. It stares at me for a second with one large eye, sticks its tongue out, then becomes too bright, and I’m forced to look away.

  “I think we just killed a lizard,” I say.

  Bri stares up at the ceiling. “You mean the salamander?” She slaps her hands together. “Cool, huh? But don’t worry, the elemental’s well controlled. It won’t set fire to this place. Come on, let’s get to Mass, or we’ll get detention. Besides, you definitely can’t miss the oath taking,” she adds, tapping the wall so the light shuts off.

  “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 down, 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.

  Chapter 5

  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?