Morgana Trilogy Complete Series

by Alessa Ellefson

  ◆◆◆

  With a sinking heart, I walk over to KORT’s headquarters. I stare for a minute at the hunting scene carved into the black doors, sympathizing with the dragon surrounded by vicious hounds.

  An appropriate depiction of my own life. I sigh. Arthur must really hate me.

  I knock. The indistinct murmurs coming from behind the closed doors cease, then Gareth lets me in. He winks at me as I step inside.

  The room is the most beautiful one I’ve seen in the whole school—tall arched windows let in light from the two angled walls, while colorful tapestries depicting knights on their various quests hang opposite them.

  Along the wall closest to me are suspended twelve banners, each displaying different coats of arms. I immediately recognize the one at the forefront—two dragons standing back-to-back, the Pendragon sigil.

  Taking up most of the room is a wide, ringlike table of dark wood, around which are enough straight-backed chairs to seat thirteen people, though only seven knights are now present.

  Despite having met most of them, only the cousins smile at me, and Percy gives me a small nod. The others stare at me like I’m some cockroach that needs to be stomped on.

  “Have a seat,” Arthur says.

  I go for the chair nearest me. The seat looks more like a throne, made out of a single piece of dark wood. I grab the back of the chair to pull it out, admiring the carving of an angel descending along the back, sword first, onto a horde of snarling demons depicted about the feet.

  “Not there!”

  I freeze at the shouted order and notice the shocked looks of the people around me.

  “You told me to sit,” I say, exasperated.

  “Yes, but not there.”

  I raise my chin. Guess I’m not worthy of being at his hoity-toity table.

  “I prefer to stand then,” I say, staring straight ahead of me, above the heads of the seated knights. Maybe I should look bored, to show them I don’t care.

  “Miss Pendragon,” Arthur says, “you are here now on trial for reckless behavior that not only nearly cost you your life, but those of others as well.”

  My jaw unhinges from its socket. “On trial, me?”

  “As well as for theft,” Arthur finishes without looking at me. “In the second case, we found a knife missing from our armory, which was presently found with you in the surface world.”

  “I object!” I say. “First of all, I did not steal that knife. I borrowed it. Second of all, who is to blame my reckless behavior, as you call it, but you people?

  “You allow base accusations to be thrown at me that are false and unsubstantiated, turning my life into a living hell. Yet you take your sweet time with your so-called investigation of that squire’s death and K’s disappearance. How can you blame me for wanting to take things into my own hands and solve the case myself?”

  “By risking other people’s lives?”

  “I got there after those two knights had already been attacked. You can’t blame me for that.”

  Every knight there is poised at the edge of his seat, waiting with bated breath for the result of this exchange. Arthur pinches his lips together in displeasure.

  “How did you find out about the banshee?” he asks.

  I shrug. “Heard some people mention strange noises at night coming from around the island, and when I…overheard…people talk about a banshee roaming about…I put two and two together. It wasn’t very difficult.”

  “Why didn’t you report it to us?” Percy asks.

  I let out a short, derisive laugh. “I was already being accused of murdering a person and kidnapping another. Who would have believed me?”

  A silence settles over the assembly that seems to stretch on for hours. I shift my weight from one foot to the other, scared despite my bravado. Nobody’s ever told me anything about these KORT meetings, least of all about trials. And here I am, facing both at once, and with no idea what type of punishment I’m facing. I pray it doesn’t entail being quartered or beheaded.

  “How did you manage to get to the surface?” a knight asks, a spindly boy with long black hair slicked back into a ponytail.

  I cross my hands behind my back. “I, uh, I flew.”

  “You flew?”

  I ignore the shocked looks crossing between the knights.

  “You mean to say someone flew you there?” the boy asks.

  “No. I mean I flew there.”

  “But that’s not possible,” another boy with spiky red hair says. “The only way to do that is with EM, and everybody knows you can’t do it.”

  “Ah, but it appears that she can after all,” Percy says with a tight smile. “And well, too, from the sound of it. A rare feat for a page, I may add.”

  Lance whispers into Arthur’s ear.

  “A moment, please,” Arthur says, getting up, then heading for the back wall, where beautiful drapes of damask hang down in shimmery gold and burgundy, the colors of our school.

  Arthur pulls one of the curtains aside to uncover a small passage into which he disappears. We all remain motionless, like the standing armors displayed outside, while we wait for him to come back.

  When my legs are about to cramp up, the drapes open up again to let Arthur through. His face is pale, but otherwise betrays no emotion as he resumes his seat.

  “The Board has spoken,” he says, avoiding all eye contact with me. “Miss Pendragon is now forbidden from going anywhere without reporting to one of us directly. She is also not allowed to go anywhere beyond Lake High without supervision, which means the only way in and out for her is with the barges, like every other freshman here.

  “In the matter of the theft, the Board agrees to drop all charges, as the knife was recovered intact. The case is now closed.”

  The moment the verdict is given, there’s a flurry of activity as every knight rushes to join the feast outside. Each one passes by me without so much as a glance in my direction, not even Percy and the cousins, until only Arthur and I remain in the room.

  He stops before me, opens his mouth to say something, but I throw him the dirtiest look I can muster, and he shuts it again.

  I wish he knew how much I hate him right now, how much I wish I could shove his stupid rules down his throat and have him choke on them.

  There’s a slight clearing of the throat, and we both turn to find Jennifer. She gives Arthur a kind smile and reaches for his hand. I can tell she’s enjoying this as much as a dog loves to roll in poo.

  “Everyone’s waiting,” she says. “They can’t start the festivities without you.”

  “I’ll be right there,” Arthur says.

  “What about her?” she asks, threading her arm through his.

  Arthur doesn’t answer, but I know exactly what he’s thinking: I can’t go to the festival unless I’m accompanied, which means that I’d have to go with them, like an obedient lapdog. And there’s no way I can watch Jennifer preen before me all night long.

  Without a word, I flee.

  ◆◆◆

  I run past classrooms, down long hallways and dark staircases, not caring who sees me. Once outside, I keep running, across the now-empty courtyard, my feet pounding against the ground. I wish the Banshee had killed me. It would have saved me from this latest degradation.

  And to think that I owe it all to Arthur and that stupid, evil witch Jennifer. I’ve never felt worse in my whole life, not even when I was at the police station back in Switzerland.

  Burning tears stream down my cheeks. Out of all the people at school, it had to be Arthur. Why did he even bother teaching me how to fight and use oghams if I’m not supposed to use them? And now he’s punishing me for it?

  The party’s lights rise in the meadow east of me and I veer in the opposite direction. The sound of distant shouts and singing carries over to me; everyone’s having such a jolly good time while I have to watch my whole world crash and burn around me for the second time this year.

  I wipe away at the tears angrily. I shoul
d not be crying, especially not because of Arthur. That boy doesn’t deserve anything from me, except perhaps a solid kick in the crotch.

  It’s not until the forest’s looming high over me that I pause. Panting, I stare back over my shoulder. Dusk has taken over the school, and the multiple bonfires are glowing like fireflies in the distant fields. I bet no one’s noticed I’m gone, or even cares.

  I really can’t trust anyone; I see my error now, but the little girl who believed in fairy tales and happy endings has finally grown up.

  I face the forest’s foreboding recesses and, without a second glance backward, step inside them.

  ◆◆◆

  The darkness that lurks within the woods quickly closes around me until I can no longer tell which way I’m going. I dare not stop, afraid of becoming easy prey to some nocturnal beast should I stand still.

  Breathing heavily, I force myself to go faster.

  I try not to think about what I’ve heard of this forest, but the more I try to forget the stories, the quicker they come back to me. No one who’s ever come here has come back out again, at least not intact, and I catch myself wondering if that is my fate too.

  At least it’s better than what I’ve left behind, I keep telling myself.

  I trip on a root and sprawl down on the ground, dried leaves crackling under my weight. Something warm and bristly brushes against my legs and I yelp in horror.

  I feel around the ground for a weapon and come up with a large stick. Eyes darting all around for the creature, I wield the branch before me, but the grunting seems to be running away and quickly dies down.

  When it’s quite clear I’m not under attack, I forge ahead deeper into the woods, too scared to stop again.

  As my heartbeat finally slows down, I catch the faint echoes of a lively tune. Music! I’m saved!

  Waving the bough before me protectively, I follow the merry sounds until I end up in a wide clearing. Standing in the middle of the glade is a solitary tree basking in a warm glow. It’s not until I’ve taken a few more steps toward it that I realize the light is coming from the full moon shining above it, a silver disk larger than any I’ve ever seen in the upper world.

  The music changes into a sweeter melody, full of tender promises, but I don’t see anyone, nor do I see any of the Samhain bonfires that are supposed to blaze throughout the night.

  A shiver runs up my spine and raises the hairs at the back of my neck. Could it be…Fey people?

  “Stop right there!”

  I jump at the voice, not sure whether I’ve heard right or if it’s just the product of my imagination. I take another step.

  “I said stop!”

  I find the source of the voice, hiding in the oak tree’s wide branches. A pair of eyes is shining straight at me like two glittering sapphires. I pull away from the massive trunk as a whole face emerges before me, followed by shoulders and a torso, until I find a little boy leaning toward me.

  “Who are you?” I ask.

  “Who are you?” the boy replies.

  “I’m Morgan. Are you lost?”

  “Are you lost?” he says petulantly.

  I stare at the little boy hanging from his bough. He can’t be more than five or six years old at most.

  “Yes,” I reply, giving up on the idea of teaching him manners. “No. I don’t know. I just heard some music, and I wanted to check it out.”

  Cocking his head, the boy seems to think about it for a while.

  “You’ll have to get rid of your slave accessory if you want to enter,” he says.

  “My what?”

  I look about myself in confusion. I don’t have any chains on me that I can see. Then I catch the small glint of my ring, the one Arthur gave me, and I know that’s what he meant.

  I twirl the jewel around my finger, reluctant to part with it. It’s the first present I’ve ever received, and one that’s proven quite useful. But it also belonged to Arthur, and he turned out to be a big, fake, two-faced prick.

  With a savage glee, I take the ring off and throw it to the ground.

  “There,” I say, “it’s done.”

  The little boy smiles, revealing two rows of pointy white teeth.

  “Excellent,” he says. “Step inside, and welcome to our feast!”

  I wait for him to open a door, eager to find out what the Fey land is all about. My foot’s already tapping to the rhythm of the music. I stare at the trunk for a good minute before the little boy laughs.

  “You must step through the circle at your feet, princess!” he says, disappearing once again into the oak tree’s foliage.

  “Princess my ass,” I mutter, looking down.

  It takes a moment for me to notice that the circle is, in fact, a small ring formed by a bunch of mushrooms.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” I say, nonetheless stepping inside the band of fungi.

  The world around me seems to flip upside down, and I close my eyes before I get sick. When I open them again, everything’s changed.

  Chapter 22

  “Saint George’s balls,” I whisper, ready to freak out.

  I stay rooted to my spot, my eyes roving about the festive crowd. There are so many Fey, all dancing to the cadence of the cheery music, their colorful dresses and long manes of hair and furs twirling about in a hypnotizing pattern under the twinkling lights of a thousand floating lanterns.

  “Welcome to Avalon,” the boy with the pointy teeth says, before disappearing up his tree again.

  I pinch myself on the cheek hard enough to leave a mark, and my nerve endings’ immediate response tells me this is definitely not a dream. Perhaps a hallucination then.

  A purr the decibel of a lawn mower greets me, and I find a familiar black cat trying to imprint my boots.

  “You again,” I say, bending down to pet its luscious fur.

  But the cat darts away into the crowd of dancers.

  “Wait,” I say, following after it. “You’re going to get trampled!”

  The cat disappears behind a tall woman’s shimmering green dress, then dives between the furry legs of a satyr.[23]

  “Come back here,” I say, getting stepped on by a wide woman with a round, protuberant face that reminds me of a hippo. When the hippo-lady sees me, however, she hisses and veers away from me like I’ve got the plague.

  A group of beautiful girls waltzes from across the glade toward me, their dresses so ethereal I feel they would disintegrate like clouds under my fingers.

  “Oh, a new one!” one of them says, her limpid blue eyes twinkling.

  “Can we play with her?” another asks, her cheeks as rosy as the ribbons tied in her golden hair.

  They giggle, and I have a bad feeling it’s not out of mirth, but something far darker. The first one draws closer.

  “Of course we can,” she says with a cold smile. “I’m sure she’d love to join us, wouldn’t you?”

  I don’t move or say a word. I’ve learned not to trust pretty people, and these are definitely no exception.

  “Oh, don’t be afraid,” a third girl with fiery red hair says, grabbing my hand so tightly my phalanges crunch. “Come play with us!”

  She yanks on my hand so hard I tumble over and end up lying on the soft earth, gagging on some dirt.

  “She’s a wee little thing, isn’t she?” the redheaded girl says with a gleeful laugh.

  “Here, let me help you,” says the one with the unsettling blue eyes.

  Pulling on my hair, she forces me to stand up. I try to shove her away, but something cold and sharp jabs me near my jugular. I freeze.

  “What do you want?” I whisper.

  “Giving you a taste of what you do to us,” the girl replies. “How do you like it?”

  “Not that much,” I say.

  All around us, couples keep on dancing, oblivious to what’s going on or pretending not to see us. I swallow hard, feeling the blade dig a little deeper into my throat.

  “Let’s not get hasty,” I say. I try to move
away, but the girl’s grip is surprisingly strong. “Uh, parley?”

  Another Fey girl approaches, sniffing me like a dog. “There’s something different about this one, Blanchefleur,” she says, scrunching her nose up.

  “She’s filthy, that’s what,” the one holding the blade says, her breath tickling my cheek. “Polluting Avalon.”

  The blade slashes down along my sternum and cuts my shirt open. I yelp, trying to hold the remains of my jacket together so as not to expose myself.

  “Please let me go,” I hear myself say. I know I’ve had a miserable excuse of a life so far, but I’ve suddenly grown extremely fond of it.

  The girls giggle around me. “Hear how she pleads, Sister,” says one.

  “I think her cries will sound nicer to my ears,” the one called Blanchefleur retorts, pointing the knife back toward me.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see a tall figure emerge.

  “Try me,” the Fey girl says.

  The knife is cold on my neck. Eyes closed, I wait for death to swoop down on me. A sharp pain vibrates in my shoulder, and I hear the girl yelp in surprise.

  “I told you so,” the man says.

  When I open my eyes again, I find Blanchefleur getting painfully back up a yard or so away from me. I stare at the tall man—did he just save me?

  He strides over to me, and the three Fey sisters bow low, displaying cleavages that would give every boy in my class a nosebleed.

  I’m about to suffer from a nosebleed myself as I stare up at the man standing like a demigod before us. His black curls fall carelessly over his forehead and brush against the top of his shoulders that seem wide enough to carry four people. But what strikes me the most is the gold of his eyes, which are currently leveled at the three girls.

  “You know better than to treat our guests this way,” he says, his voice as smooth as hot chocolate on a winter night.

  “But she’s one of them,” Blanchefleur says, full of indignation.

  The tall Fey doesn’t have to say anything; his presence alone exudes anger and repressed violence. I shiver, and not because I’m half naked. There’s something terrible yet fascinating about him.