◆◆◆
“I want everyone to write an essay on the Aos Sí,” says Sir Lincoln. “The main ranks of their society, how they lived before and after Milesians defeated them, where they fled, and their new habits and lifestyle.”
I write the teacher’s instructions in my notebook, wishing he’d call the Aos Sí a more regular name, like fairies or elves instead, but Sir Lincoln’s always a stickler for precision.
“Do we have to go back all the way to the Tuatha Dé’s fight against Carman, sir?” Keva asks.
“You can refer to it,” Sir Lincoln answers, “but there’s no need to go too much in detail. The essay doesn’t need to be a hundred pages long. Fifty is good enough.”
“But that’s a whole history book’s worth of writing!” I hear Dina exclaim.
“Your point being?” the teacher asks, his voice as cold as an Arctic wind. When Dina doesn’t answer, he adds, “All this will be on your test before Samhain, so you better get this down, or I will flunk you.”
Carman sure seems to creep up in conversations a lot these days. I almost expect her and her ten plagues to pop out on the front page of the news if this keeps up.
And then it hits me—the answer I’ve been looking for. I raise my hand.
“Yes, Miss Pendragon?” Sir Lincoln says.
“Sir, I’ve been thinking about what you said the other time,” I say, ignoring the grunts of annoyance coming from Daniel, Ross, and Brockton, who are itching to get away.
“And what was that?” Sir Lincoln asks with a heavy sigh.
“About that Carman woman,” I say. “Remember how you said that she was always accompanied by the ten plagues?”
“Well, that’s what the poem says…” the teacher starts.
“So what if those plagues were appearing now?” I ask. “Like those described in the Bible, but they’re because she’s coming back? Is that possible?”
The teacher’s face closes up. “Don’t be preposterous,” he says, curt. “She’s been imprisoned for so long now, she might as well be dead.”
“But she was only imprisoned, not killed!” I retort. “All these disasters that have been happening, the frogs in Louisiana, the pestilence in Texas, the gnats who killed those tourists in Death Valley, the hail and thunder on the East Coast, and even those strange boils that have spread on the politicians in Congress…surely that can’t be all a coincidence?”
A silence greets my words, pregnant with fear and distrust. I pause as I recall what I saw on Island Park the night I followed Arthur, Nibs, and the others, and everything seems to click.
“That’s what my parents were talking about,” I say. “How all those bad things were centered around one point. It’s all coming from Carman’s prison, isn’t it? And that prison’s here, on that island!”
Someone gasps.
“That black sentinel the poem talks about,” I continue without paying attention to the warning looks the teacher’s giving me, or the growing fear on the students’ faces around me, “it’s that stone on Island Park! All along, her prison was right here, under our very noses!”
“They do say that she and her sons were sent over the Atlantic after the war,” Keva says, a note of worry in her voice.
“Her sons, yes,” Jack says, “but not her. Nowhere does it mention where the location of her prison is.”
“But you’re the one who said that was her stone!” I exclaim, shocked at this reversal.
“This is all stupid,” Daniel retorts from his corner. “You’re all going to go crazy scared just ’cause of what some stupid nobody who doesn’t even know anything about our history is saying?”
“It’s not stupid,” I retort. “You’re the stupid one if you refuse to see what’s in front of your nose.”
Daniel stands up so quickly his seat clatters to the floor. “I’ll teach you who’s stupid!” he yells.
I sneer at him. “Oh yeah, if you can’t solve it with your intellect, there’s always your fists, huh? Shows how often you get stumped mentally.”
“Enough!” Sir Lincoln barks, his white hair fanning out around his purple face. “I don’t see how this is related to the subject at hand.”
“But I—”
“I’m speaking, Miss Pendragon!”
I look back down at my lap.
“Mr. von Blumenthal is right,” he continues. “You should not speak thusly about things you know nothing of. Besides, I feel someone who’s gotten a C on her last essay is hardly a reference on the matter.” He flicks his hand. “Class dismissed.”
I hear Daniel snort in derision before he races Ross and Brockton to the dining hall.
I curtsy to the teacher on my way out, but his ordinarily cheerful face is now wearing a sour look of displeasure.
“A word with you, Miss Pendragon,” he says.
I try hard not to roll my eyes at him. “Yes, sir?”
“I’m going to ask that you keep your opinion to yourself from now on,” the man says, his bushy brows unable to hide the gleam of disapproval in his eyes. “There’s no need to cause a panic over nothing, however justified you feel you may be. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” I say, talking to the floor. I bow again, then hurry to join Bri and the others.
“Wonder what bit him,” I say to them. “It’s not like what I was saying was that crazy.”
“Actually, it was,” Keva says.
“You agreed to it too,” I retort.
She shrugs. “Even crazies have a certain logic to them.”
“Did you really get a C on that last essay?” Jack asks, as if my grade’s more important than everything else. “Even after all I did to help you?”
“Hey, history’s never been my forte,” I say as we round the corner and the lunch crowd appears before us.
“If you don’t improve by exam time, he’ll definitely flunk you,” Jack says, shaking his head.
“Look, I’ve already gone back three years. I doubt a quarter more’s going to make much of a difference.” Besides, I silently add, I’m still not sure I’ll stay here past my eighteenth birthday.
I crane my neck over the sea of heads bobbing before the news board as students file their way into the dining hall. But all I can read is an announcement for a tournament during the Samhain festival, and that a spot at KORT will be filled with the new winner, in addition to the usual trials.
“What’s Samhain?” I ask, trying not to think about Agravain’s torn up leg—there’s no doubt he’s the one being replaced.
Keva laughs, and Bri shushes her.
“What?” my roommate asks. “I’ve got every right to laugh at her if I want to. It’s not my fault she’s an ignoramus.”
“You could just tell her without making her feel bad about it,” Bri says.
“It’s a holiday to mark the beginning of winter, at the end of October,” Jack says. He raises his voice to overcome the loud cacophony that reigns in the hall.
I thank the Fey girl who hands me my lunch plate, remembering Ella as I do so, and wondering if every servant in this society’s Fey too.
“But it’s better known around here as the Triduum of All Hallows,” Jack continues, oblivious to my lack of attention. “You have All Hallows’ Eve, All Saints’ Day, and All Souls’ Day. Samhain is an older lay term for it.”
“And of course the professors have to make us work extra hard before the holidays,” Bri adds.
“But that’s next month!” I exclaim, horrified at all the work I still need to get done, and all the pages upon pages I need to memorize. Within seconds, I’m mentally drowning under a couple truckloads of books and papers.
“Yes, but think how glorious the celebrations are,” Keva says, looking ecstatic. “Bonfires are lit everywhere, people are dressed all fine and pretty, there’s a feast, dancing, rituals—”
“Rituals?” I ask. “We have to perform something?”
“Not you, silly,” Keva says, clasping her hands before her in adoration. “KORT mem
bers. And some teachers. They’ve got to cleanse the land to help protect us.”
“From what?”
Keva throws me her usual death stare. “From the Fey, stupid. What else would we need protection from?”
Jack nods. “Winter’s the time when we see the most activity from the Fey world,” he says, opening the door for us. “You’ve got to be especially careful of cross-quarter days, like Samhain.”
A group of squires barrels through the dining hall doors, tossing each other an orb of water with the use of sylphs to keep it from splattering all over the place. I yelp as one of the guys’ throws goes wide and the missile flies right past my nose to end its existence on the stone wall behind me.
Looking furious, Keva wipes the couple of drops that have besmirched her perfect makeup.
“You did that on purpose!” she yells, her dark cheeks getting even darker.
The boys laugh. “What are you gonna do about it, page?”
“I could go find an instructor or a knight,” Keva says, cool and collected once more.
“Why not go straight to your mommy?” says one. “Maybe she’ll care.”
“Besides,” the other says, “if the tall one had stayed still like she was supposed to, you would’ve been just fine.”
“Ah, well, in that case, I could go straight to KORT,” Keva says, “considering Morgan’s brother is the president.”
The laughter dies, and one of the boys leans toward Keva. Bri, Jack, and I tense up.
“You wouldn’t want to do that,” the squire says. “You see, if you did, everyone would know you’re a squeak, and nobody likes those. Besides, we were doing her a service. I mean, look at her!”
The other boy shakes his head like something tragic has happened.
“She should thank us instead,” the first boy continues. “She needs to realize she can’t be compared to Jennifer.”
They both laugh like it’s the most ludicrous thing in the world and leave me seething in their wake. I wish people here left me alone like they did at Notre-Dame rather than be constantly belittled and insulted until I feel I’m no bigger than the size of a squashed pea.
“Don’t worry,” Bri says. “It’ll pass, like everything always does.”
I bite my tongue before I snap back; Bri’s the last person who needs to get a snide remark from me.
As we’re walking past the KORT section, another squire intercepts us.
“What is it this time?” Keva asks, exasperated. “Decided you wanted to get back at us?”
“Keva,” Jack whispers to her, “this is a different person.”
Keva looks the boy up and down. “You people all look the same,” she says before walking away.
The guy doesn’t let her get him sidetracked from his target, namely me.
“Morgan?” he asks, looking at me uncertainly.
I’m still mad, and I won’t suffer another self-righteous dweeb. I stare at him, daring him to try anything with me. I twirl the ring on my finger; I may not be able to control elementals yet, but vengeance will be that much sweeter when I can.
“Uh, for you,” the boy says, flushing to the roots of his copper hair.
He holds out a note to me, and I grab it, so surprised my anger gets flushed down the drain. If my instinct’s correct, this could be…
“A love confession?” Bri says, voicing my own thoughts while the boy dashes away.
I turn the simple piece of folded paper in my hands, at once eager and intimidated. I’ve never had anyone confess to me before, and I’m not quite sure how to take it. Especially when I don’t even know the guy’s name.
“What are you waiting for?” Bri asks.
Her excitement finally overcomes my initial timidity, and I open the letter. Disappointment sinks its fist in my guts, though I’m too proud to show it. The crisp, tight handwriting is but a brief set of instructions given by none other than Arthur. So much for feminine intuition.
“Well, what does he say? Does he want to go out with you?”
“Of course not,” I say, forcing myself to put the note safely away before I destroy it. “It’s just a reminder from my brother.”
Apparently my disappointment does not translate properly to Bri, for her eyes shine with greater excitement than ever. “Arthur? What does he want?”
I sigh. “Just reminding me to be a good girl and not get in trouble.”
I grab my tray of food and go find Keva, sitting in a reclusive corner of the wide room—most certainly in an attempt not to get noticed by any more of Jennifer’s fans. Bri sits down next to me.
“That’s it?” she asks.
I smile at her and shrug. “What can I say? I’m the least reliable person in the family. I shouldn’t taint his reputation.”
Keva nearly chokes on her salad. “You can say that again!”
◆◆◆
The moment I’ve returned my wooden stave to the armory, I remove myself from the rest of the class, eager to remain unnoticed. The last thing I need right now is to let either Jennifer or one of her groupies catch me during my little escapade, especially when it’s tied to her fiancé.
Looking left and right for any sign of life, I make my way south, as per the instructions, past the dining hall, and down a set of stairs toward the sounds of clanging pots and pans, oven furnaces being fired up, and cooks yelling at each other.
I pause, glancing back down at Arthur’s now-smudged directions. Am I really supposed to be down here, or did I miss a turn?
“What are you doing here, girl?” a plump woman asks me, her apron sprinkled with chicken feathers.
“I was, um, looking for—” Dang it, I really ought to practice my lying skills.
There’s a loud crash by the kitchen door, and the woman forgets all about me to yell at some poor scullion who’s dropped a large pot of beef stew on the floor.
I sigh in relief and hurry in the opposite direction until I’m sure I’m safe. My pace slows as I realize I’m in a completely deserted part of the basement, dust lying thick in the corners.
I crack open the first door I find. Torches set in sconces throw up enough light to show me rows upon rows of large wine and beer barrels lined up like a military regiment.
“Arthur?” I call out, stepping inside the cellar.
The door squeaks shut behind me as I venture farther into the chamber, until I’m sure either Arthur’s not here or he’s trying to scare me—in which case I’ll have his hide tanned.
I trip and catch myself on a wine cask. Looking down, I notice a strange protuberance rising off the floor. As I bend closer, I find that roots have grown in between the flagstones, molding themselves to the floor.
“Stupid thing,” I mutter, slapping the one that nearly had me losing my teeth on the flagstones.
The root rears up like a snake at my touch before pulling away as if stung. I let out a strangled cry, fall back, and knock my head on a barrel before I scramble to my feet and hurry back out the way I came.
I hear light footsteps run ahead of me. Then someone grabs my hand, pulls me inside another room and shuts the door.
“Let go of me,” I say, pulling my hand out of the tight grasp.
There’s a pop, and a small flame appears close to my face, singing my eyebrows, before it flies over to an old, musty torch.
“Oops, sorry about that.”
“That was intentional,” I say through clenched teeth.
Arthur’s lips quirk at one side. “Nobody’ll notice,” he says. “Now let’s get going.”
“Get going where?” I ask, looking about us for more crazy roots.
The room is rectangular and filled mostly with disused furniture, broken jars, and baskets full of holes. A place where people are most likely not going to bother us.
“What spooked you?” Arthur asks, clearing some of the debris out.
“Have you been in the cellar?” I ask. “It’s like there’s an alien living in there!”
Arthur coughs back a laugh. “There are no aliens.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” I mutter.
“You’ve got your ring, I see,” Arthur says, dusting his hands on the seat of his pants. “Excellent. Remember what I told you last time?”
My ears tingle with exhilaration. “You mean we’re going to practice now?”
“Why else did you think I wanted to meet you down here?” he asks, pulling on the collar of his shirt, then rolling up his sleeves. “It’s certainly not for your pleasant company.”
I’m too happy to care about that last jab. Instead, I thrust my hand forward and concentrate on projecting the Fey outward before I realize I’m missing something.
“What’s the matter?” Arthur asks, standing as far away from me as possible.
“I don’t know the Fey’s name,” I say, “its rune.”
“Perth,” Arthur says, and I feel an answering prickling in my little finger.
I ogle at the jewel like it’s just grown some teeth and bit me. “I think it felt you,” I say, awed. “But I thought these things were only supposed to respond to the wearer?”
Arthur nods. “That was the first Fey I captured,” he says. “And over the years, a link must have formed between us. It happens sometimes.”
Wide-eyed, I scrutinize the tiny silvery circle. “How long have you had this?”
“Since I was five,” Arthur says, motioning for me to get back to work.
EM practice, as it turns out, ends up in total failure once again. No matter how many times I try to project my thoughts into the ring and try to nudge the Fey inside it, it’s pointless. The only thing I manage to do is give myself and Arthur a headache.
“Stop,” he says, with a wide yawn. “That’s enough for today.”
“But I—”
A single look from Arthur tells me to drop it. I scratch at my shoulder, sorely disappointed. I had felt the Fey answer to Arthur’s call, and he had been five feet away from me! Maybe it’s not the oghams that are defective after all, I realize. Maybe it’s just me.
“Does it always take this long for people to get it?” I ask, afraid to look at Arthur and read the truth in his eyes.
Morgana Trilogy Complete Series Page 21
