Curse of the Fey: A Modern Arthurian Legend (Morgana Trilogy Book 3)

by Alessa Ellefson

  “Sister Marie-Clémence would never have allowed such a travesty to pass,” Luther says.

  “Sister Marie-Clémence had nothing to say,” Arthur retorts.

  Luther’s eyes grow wide as the truth finally sinks in that his own son has turned against him. Frankly, neither can I. Whatever happened to the goody-two-shoes I knew who always followed every rule by the letter?

  “So, to finish what I was saying,” Arthur continues, “not only have I asked our retired forces to return, but I’ve also requested help from the other knight factions.”

  “As in the Errant Companions?”

  “Among others,” Arthur says.

  Luther casts the two Fey a sardonic look. “Well, perhaps you won’t be too badly off, then,” he says, knowing as well as I do that the leader of the Errant Companions is a born Fey-hater. “But though you’ve managed to rob me blind, don’t think they’ll be fool enough to follow a twenty-year-old kid who diddled with a Fey.”

  I recoil at the insult, feeling like I’ve just been slapped.

  “You’re lucky I don’t hit a man who’s already down,” Arthur says, his voice full of barely-contained wrath. “But say that once again, and I won’t stop myself.”

  “I could do it for you,” Sameerah offers, with a corner smile in my direction.

  “As for the leadership of our combined forces, you are right,” Arthur continues. “Sir Cade was picked to lead. You see, funding our armies and leading them are two very different things, father, as you should know. Although they did pick me to lead the joint taskforce to free my people from Lake High.”

  “They’re no longer your people, Arthur!” Luther shouts, and for the first time since I’ve known him, I wonder if he’s truly worried for his son. “They turned their backs on you the moment you lost your place in KORT, so why are you throwing your life uselessly away like this?”

  A large shape suddenly lands in their midst, spraying them with snow, and cutting their argument short.

  “Sorry for interrupting,” Gauvain says, flashing a wide grin at Sameerah, “but I’m afraid I have bad news.”

  “Funny way of showing it,” the Fey warrior mutters.

  “Lord Oberon’s replied to our latest missive,” Gauvain says, sidling up to the Fey warrior despite her evident disinterest, “and this time he made it very clear that he wouldn’t join us unless this Danu of yours showed her ass.”

  “Watch it,” Lugh growls.

  “His quote,” Gauvain says, his eyes not leaving Sameerah a second. “So, I’ve been thinking. What if we could entice him, and the other recalcitrant lords and ladies who haven’t yet spoken for Carman, with something else?” He pauses for effect, looking rather cocky, then adds, “Fey weapons.”

  “Don’t be absurd,” Luther says. “There’s a reason your Order decided to lock them away.”

  “Those weapons could give us the edge we need,” Arthur says pensively.

  “Out of the question!” Luther explodes. “Think of all the knights we lost over the centuries to secure those weapons. And now you want to hand them back to the very same demons we took them from? The ones who abused of their power to subjugate mankind for centuries? I thought you were smarter than that!”

  A bright light blazes next to the toolshed, its beam melting the snow as it cuts a circled trefoil pattern on the ground. An instant later, a short Fey boy appears in its center, looking out of breath.

  “My lord,” Pigfain says, bowing with some difficulty.

  “Did they respond to the message?” Lugh asks.

  “Not sure, my lord,” Pigfain says, “but the package was sent for delivery.”

  “Then we can only wait and hope,” Arthur says.

  “Can’t wait much longer, I’m afraid,” the Pigfain says, sounding strained.

  “Another attack?” Sameerah asks, and Gauvain finally stops fidgeting.

  Pigfain’s throat convulses. “A monster was signaled leaving Lake High, heading for your Demesne, my lord.”

  “The children!” Arthur exclaims, and the world blurs, as if I’ve stood up too quickly.

  “Take us there immediately,” Lugh says, springing into the still-active portal, the others following close behind.

  “Hold your breath,” Pigfain says, and there’s another bright flash.

  Screams of terror greet us before the light subsides again, followed by a thunderous roar. A stab of panic goes through me.

  Sameerah steps in front of us, looking up. “Don’t tell me it’s a—”

  “Dragon!” someone shouts, barreling through the clearing.

  Then the heat wave hits us, turning the whole forest hazy before the treetops burst into flames.

  “I thought they were extinct,” Gauvain says, his eyes round with disbelief.

  They were, I want to say, until Carman had me bring one back to life.

  “Get everyone to safety!” Lugh shouts before shooting into the sky to fend off the beast.

  “I’ll cover you guys,” Arthur says.

  “Are you insane?” Sameerah hisses, lowering herself into a fighting position. “If anything happens to you, I’ll get my hide skinned by that bitchy girl of yours when she returns.”

  Another wave of heat blasts through the forest, blurring my vision.

  “Raido!” Arthur intones.

  A green sheen envelops me, and I find myself flying, stopping only when I’m high above the burning forest. Sameerah’s at my side, and we all watch as the fire spreads in every direction, advancing in waves that devour everything in their passage. Movement at the edge of my vision catches my attention—a flock of small birds that’s taken flight, wings batting frantically at the air to get away from the blaze.

  “The extra weight is slowing them down!” Arthur shouts at Sameerah.

  I realize then that the birds are actually very frightened pixies, many of them carrying small Fey creatures in their tiny hands who couldn’t flee the deadly fires on their own.

  And, growing larger behind them, is the sinuous shape of Carman’s dragon.

  “They’re not going to make it,” Sameerah says.

  A light dives at the flying beast, glancing off the dragon’s thick hide. Lugh, I realize, heart beating erratically. But not even the Fey lord seems to have any effect on the beast. The dragon rears its head, black scales turning red as it prepares to blast the hapless pixies with its deadly fire.

  NO!

  Something inside me breaks loose. I hear a distant shout of surprise as a long thunderbolt flashes through the sky, striking the dragon in its flank. The beast bellows, its attack thwarted, and I watch in relief as the pixies fly away, almost out of the creature’s range.

  “Not bad, hopper[7], not bad,” Sameerah says, and I have the strong suspicion that she’s talking to me. “Now try to aim for its wings. I’m afraid you’ve just tickled it, and dragons don’t like to be tickled.”

  I feel faint, bile rising up my throat, like I do every time I use my powers. Did I really just do that?

  “It’s gearing up for another attack!” Arthur exclaims, and I find myself pelting across the sky to meet it, Sameerah a half-beat behind.

  The dragon’s belly has started to shine again, its veins standing out against its glowing hide. A series of frantic chirrups erupts from the flock of pixies, and their tiny wings beat at the air ever more furiously.

  “Hopper?” Sameerah calls out, sounding worried.

  But whatever I did, I don’t know how to do it again. Sameerah hesitates for a long second, perhaps hoping for another miracle, then lets out a long hiss.

  “Carnage on the way!” she yells, hurling herself ahead towards the pixies.

  The dragon unleashes its fury, fire spewing forth in a long, smoldering jet. Shrieks of pain and terror rise from the first wave of pixies and their passengers, before the flames hit them.

  “Sameerah!” Arthur shouts, his voice strangely muffled as the pixies’ burning bodies drop out of the sky, a shower of tiny comets.

&
nbsp; I scan the skies for the warrior Fey, finding a small group of Fey to have survived unscathed. But Sameerah’s not with them. A hole forms in my chest, dark and cold. This can’t be happening. The Fey warrior is fierce and strong, she can’t just be…gone.

  “Help!” someone shouts from somewhere below, the cry barely discernible over the raging forest fire.

  Still stunned, I find myself streaking through the air, right under the dragon’s nose as it dives towards something far below.

  Knights, I realize, quickly picking out the squad in the middle of the devastation. At least a dozen men and women, clustered tightly around a group of children, shields up in a vain attempt to keep the dragon at bay.

  Faster! I chance a glance backward. The dragon’s catching up with us, maw open wide, teeth gleaming. The children’s cries grow louder. Light blazes from inside the dragon’s gullet. I whirl around to face Carman’s creature, a cold wave spreading through my limbs, and open my mouth in a silent scream of hate and anger. Then the white-hot flames hit us, and the whole world turns into a blinding furnace.

  Chapter 13

  “Nobody knooows the trouble I’ve seeeen,” a low, raspy voice intones in a familiar if dissonant melody, “nobody knooows but J—”

  An annoyed hiss cuts the voice off, and I realize I’m not the one who was singing.

  No. I was the one dreaming of dragons turning the world to ashes. I cough feebly, as if still caught in the middle of the flames, and crack my eyes open. I’m back on the plain outside the demon city walls, the sea of draugar standing obliviously still around their fuming cauldron. As if the world above wasn’t coming to an end.

  “You know what I hate about this place?” Keva asks hoarsely now that I’m awake.

  I turn to her, and note that the banshee’s been tied to a third whipping post on Keva’s other side. At least Carman’s kept her word in keeping her alive. If letting us three rot together here counts as living.

  “That it’s turning me into a pathetic wreck,” Keva continues with a mournful sigh. “I don’t want to be like you. I actually have aspirations.”

  The banshee grunts.

  “Fine. Had aspirations,” Keva says with a deep frown. “None of which were to play martyr at your sides, by the way.”

  A shiver runs down my tied-up arms. I wish I were still passed out so I could find out what’s happened to Arthur and the others, instead of being forced to listen to Keva’s complaining.

  “And if Arthur, Percy, or Lance had kissed me, I sure as hell would have made sure to repeat the act.”

  I blink at the sudden change in topic. “Percy’s dead, Lance is with Jennifer, and Arthur may be gone as well,” I say, my voice breaking at the end.

  “I know, such a terrible loss,” Keva carries on mournfully, “and if—wait, what? Jennifer and Lance? Since when? Does Arthur even know?”

  I shrug in annoyance, the movement reopening the scabbing wound on my arm. What does it matter anymore who did what? My eyes settle upon the lone star twinkling brightly from within the grey sky’s vast emptiness. The hollow ache inside me since I stabbed Arthur has grown, turned into a black hole, drawing the last of my hope into its abyss.

  I should’ve died a long time ago, as Irene so fervently wished. Then Carman would still be stuck inside her prison, and she wouldn’t have had the chance to destroy so many lives.

  “Definitely not a good sign when Algol’s getting stronger,” a young voice says behind us, startling us.

  And as I twist around to get a look at Gale, I find myself blushing in shame at the dark thoughts I was just entertaining. I’m the last person on earth who should be allowed to think like this—I’ve got too many things to make up for.

  “You’re too late,” I tell him accusingly.

  “Am I?”

  “Who the hell are you?” Keva asks.

  “Gale,” Gale tells Keva, his upturned face coming into view before the banshee’s hunched figure.

  “Is that supposed to mean something?” Keva retorts snidely. “Now, why don’t you move along instead of staring at us like you’re at a zoo. We’re rather crowded over here.”

  “I’ve got a better idea,” Gale says, and I hear the sound of chains hitting the ground.

  Keva lets out a shocked moan as Gale eases her away from her post. I cringe as Keva whimpers again. Even with Gale’s gentle touch, she’s been tied up too long with her hands above her head for every movement not to hurt. Finally, when he’s made sure Keva can handle herself, Gale moves onto the banshee.

  “OK, let’s rewind,” Keva says, as the banshee’s chains clatter to the ground. “Who are you again, and who’s this Algol you mentioned?”

  Algol. The very same word I heard Lugh mention in my vision. I frown. Strange.

  “Misstressss,” the banshee exclaims in a harsh whisper the moment she’s set free.

  I grin at her as she hurries over, eager to cut me loose despite her evident limp.

  “I’m waiting,” Keva says with her usual impatience.

  “He’s talking about Ra’s al-ghul[8], you moron,” Nibs cuts in.

  The banshee whirls around with a growl, but the clurichaun pushes her aside disdainfully.

  “Rosh ha Satan[9], Tseih She[10], the demon star?” Nibs continues, eyeing our blank faces with disgust. With a resigned sigh, he points to the single star I was staring at. “Suffice to say that star’s getting stronger because Carman’s almost done synching up this place with earth.”

  “What’s your business, clurichaun?” Gale asks curtly.

  I groan as the banshee finally frees me, test my joints, and shudder at the still-suppurating black and blue cut on my arm. Trying not to gag, I jerk my coat sleeve down over the wound, hoping that the blood shadow hasn’t infected me somehow.

  “Eww!” Keva exclaims with a little squeal. “That is seriously the grossest things I’ve ever seen.”

  I look up to find that Nibs is now staring cross-eyed at the pointy end of a golden spear.

  “Tell me what you’re plotting now, clurichaun, or I will end you,” Gale says calmly, the lance steady in his hand.

  “Here might not be the best place to discuss such matters,” Nibs says in a strangled voice. “If Asheel comes back, we’re all gonna be turned into draugar.”

  “I actually want her to come here,” Gale says evenly. “Now speak.”

  Nibs swallows audibly. “Let’s just say that in the witch’s vision of the future, however lovely it may be, there doesn’t seem to be much place left for those of us who want to enjoy life’s little pleasures.”

  “You mean alcohol?” Keva says disdainfully.

  “Amongst other things. Oh, I’m sure Carman isn’t all that bad”—I let out a loud snort, and Nibs rolls his eyes at me—“but Balor’s another thing altogether.”

  The banshee whimpers softly and even Gale’s spear dips in surprise. I frown. Who is this Balor? And why does that name ring a bell?

  “And even with that toy of yers, Gibborim,” Nibs continues, using that strange word the blind Watcher I’d met at Lake High used with me, “you wouldn’t stand a chance against him. Lugh himself barely managed to get him locked up, and he got help from higher powers.”

  “I know our history, clurichaun,” Gale says, his spear now leveled at Nibs’s belly. “But is that really the reason you’re so intent upon helping us escape?”

  “Correction,” Nibs says, “that’s why I’m helpin’ Morgan escape.”

  “You should’ve done that before,” I snap.

  “Spare me yer pity party, princess,” Nibs says. “Yer the one who sought Carman out. I don’t know which part of your bird brain gave ya the idea she’d treat you like anythin’ more than a slave. And then ya seriously expected me to come to yer rescue when ya realized ya’d messed up?”

  Nibs spits in my direction, and the banshee growls at him, shackles raised.

  “So why now?” Gale asks.

  “Because her ladyship believes Morgan’s of no us
e to her no more,” Nibs replies.

  “Because it’s too late,” I repeat for the third time, teeth clenched.

  Nibs raises his remaining eyebrow quizzically. “Look,” he says, “Carman’s still very much dependent on her troops, despite yer latest gift to her. But rallyin’ all of these demons to her cause is no easy feat. Which should give ya some time to work somethin’ out.”

  “Work what out?” I ask.

  Nibs’s smile stretches the melted part of his face into a hideous grimace. “There’s one thin’ the witch is still scared of for now. Or rather, one person.”

  “Lucifer?” I say, recalling all those endless lectures I received from Sister Marie-Clémence.

  “Danu?” Keva asks at the same time.

  “Exactly.” Nibs points at me with his knobby finger. “And ya may be a key to her power. Hence, why yer still alive.”

  “What?”

  But Nibs’s attention is back onto Gale.

  “Satisfied?” the clurichaun asks. “Now if ya could stop pointin’ that fancy toothpick at me, we could get movin’.”

  After a moment’s consideration, Gale finally lowers his weapon, the golden spear retracting into his arm with a wet, sucking sound.

  “Absolutely disgusting,” Keva says, dry heaving.

  “What are you?” I ask Gale in shock. No human, not even a knight, is capable of making a weapon disappear into his body like that. But if he isn’t human, then…

  “Are you one of those skin stealers?” I breathe out.

  Nibs coughs back a laugh. “He’s a knight, bozo. And a dangerous one at that.”

  “But knights can’t…” I wave wildly about, as if it’s going to make up for my inability to explain what just happened.

  “Can’t have things sprouting out of their bodies like a bunch of freaks?” Keva finishes for me, still eyeing Gale suspiciously.

  “Lance can’t do that,” I say.

  “It works like an ogham,” Gale explains, staring at his forearm. “You simply need to figure out how to absorb the object. Granted, it can’t just be any object.” He extends his arm, the point of the spear already pushing through his skin without so much as a trace of blood. “Want me to teach you how to do it?”