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

by Alessa Ellefson

  Excalibur still in hand, Arthur rolls off me, cutting the draugar at the knees. I struggle to my feet, Puck still clutched in my arms, and choke back a gasp.

  No. How could it be, Lugh’s the most powerful Fey I know, the one who defeated this Balor Carman wants to bring back. Myrdwinn shouldn’t be able to withstand such power…

  And yet there he still stands, unscathed, strutting before his one-time lover.

  “Is that all you have to give me?” he asks, laughing.

  Puck shifts in my arms, his attention drawn to a silent shadow that’s landed behind the dead Watcher.

  “Gale,” I breathe.

  The knight hefts his golden spear above his shoulder, then hurls his weapon at Myrdwinn. The spear whirs through the air, passing inches above Myrdwinn’s head, before landing high in the Apple Tree, the blade sinking deep in its trunk.

  “How could you miss?” Keva asks, disbelieving. “He was right in front of you!”

  “No, look,” Lance says, pointing at the spot where the shaft of the spear is still visible.

  The exact place where the glowing pentacle has been carved, I realize.

  A loud, thunderous crack echoes throughout the courtyard, and Myrdwinn lets out a long, agonizing cry.

  Understanding dawns on Arthur’s face. “That tree must have been his ogham,” he says. “How did he know?”

  “Who cares?” I say, my eyes riveted to the tree as it splinters apart.

  Myrdwinn spins around to face us all. “This isn’t going to change a thing!” he spits, his features growing thicker and more tired. He’s going back to his old, crazy schoolmaster self. “Carman’s well on her way to getting what she wants and what you all deserve. Soon enough, this world that you love so much will perish.”

  Spittle flies from his toothless mouth. He’s about to shout something else, when Lady Vivian reaches out from the hedge, tenderly wrapping her arms around him. I see her whisper something in the old man’s ear, and his eyes grow round with shock.

  Then, to everyone’s surprise, a fat tear seeps out of the corner of his eye. With a muffled sob, Myrdwinn twists around in her arms and hugs her back. Gripping my arms with his tiny hands, Puck lets out a silent howl of distress.

  A lump rises in my throat. I pat the hobgoblin gently, feeling useless before the immensity of his grief, and watch his fur change again, from white to red. But when the red bleeds onto my hands, thick and warm, I look up in fear.

  Arthur tenses next to me, our fear reflected in everyone else’s faces—Carman’s here.

  Chapter 21

  Everything Carman’s done to me, all the cutting and bleeding, comes back in full force, rooting me to my spot like a rabbit in a snare. No wonder my brother didn’t bother following us. The rat bastard knew we’d get caught with our pants down anyway.

  There’s a shout, and one of the newly-released prisoners falls to a tall, eyeless woman with sallow skin, before she too gets cut down by Sir Boris.

  “Keva, to me!” Hadrian shouts, hacking through two massive draugar.

  She rushes to his side, shield held high, and throws herself forward as one of them sweeps a sword it’s found at Hadrian’s legs. The blade hits the side of the shield with a bone-jarring clang, before bouncing off. I see Keva wince as it slices her bicep, before Hadrian’s own broadsword lops off the draugar’s head.

  And then, as if in a terrible dream, the whole school vibrates with the urgent peal of the tocsin. A collective shudder runs through Carman’s army. The bells’ sounds evidently grate on their ears. But they don’t let that affect them long.

  “To the church, hurry!” Arthur shouts, parrying a Fomori’s sharp talons.

  “How?” I ask through gritted teeth.

  I sweep my arm in a tight arc, and rocks shoot up from the ground to pierce the Fomori through like bullets. But everywhere I turn there are more demons and draugar, the path Lugh’s Watchers had carved to get to us already closed up.

  Arthur’s hazel eyes quickly scan his troops, hair flattened to his scalp by sweat and gore. “Everyone, take flight!” he commands. “Grab anyone who can’t. Now!”

  At once, flashes of green erupt over the courtyard, and knights and Watchers alike leap into the air. The demons hiss and howl, trying to catch the fleeing soldiers before they can get away. It is just as Gale once said—not one of them can fly unless born to it, or have stolen the ability from another. Thankfully, none of them seem to have gotten the opportunity to do so yet.

  Holding tightly onto Puck, I spare the make-out hedge a final look—its leaves and thorny vines have turned to stone, locking Myrdwinn and Lady Vivian in an eternal embrace.

  “Goodbye,” I whisper.

  I follow after the others, the rain whipping at my face. Our troops are still fighting in the distance, but Mordred was right; we’re not winning. The earlier retreat the demons suffered was a ploy to get more blood spilled over the school’s altered wards. A sick feeling spreads throughout my body at the thought of all those lives lost to unwittingly help the enemy’s cause.

  “Leaving so soon?” Urim calls out behind me.

  “None of your business,” I say, picking up my pace.

  “We’ll miss ya,” Thummim adds, stopping so abruptly in mid-air I look over my shoulder to see if he’s OK.

  “Come back whenever you want!” Urim shouts, waving at me.

  Shaking my head in confusion, I finally reach the church tower. I slip on the windowsill as I land, boots slick with blood, and Arthur pulls me inside roughly, his face screwed up in anger. The space in the bell tower is cramped with knights and Watchers waiting to file out into the staircase.

  “What the hell did you think you were doing?” Arthur barks at me.

  I pull myself free from his painful grip to let Puck down. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Why can’t you ever listen?” he exclaims, before toning his voice down to a harsh whisper. “You keep putting everyone at risk all the time because you decide to go off on your own! Can’t you for once stop being so…so selfish?!”

  My cheeks heat with shame. “I didn’t ask you to follow me there!” I lash out.

  I immediately regret my words. Arthur’s gone sheet white, his lips thinned out. I look down at my scuffed boots, at the blood congealing on its edges, growing increasingly uncomfortable as the silence stretches between us. But what did Arthur expect me to say? Sorry for going after the one who’s responsible for the invasion of our school?

  There’s an awkward clearing of throat. “Tell me again why this is the safest place around here?” Keva asks to no one in particular.

  “Saint George’s statues,” Daniel hastens to respond. “If you hadn’t noticed, there’s a bunch of them, each with runes circling their base.”

  “Runes meant to keep everyone out?” Keva asks again, throwing me a pointed look and motioning for me to somehow hug Arthur so all can be pardoned. In front of everyone.

  As if.

  “Anyone who didn’t swear the oath on the altar, and—”

  “We should not tarry here,” Lugh says curtly, striding for the exit behind the last of his Watchers.

  I slip to the front to follow him down the spiraling staircase, glad for an escape. But we haven’t made it halfway down when Lugh suddenly flattens himself against the wall, a long, iron-tipped staff aimed at his throat.

  “Stop right where you are,” Father Tristan growls.

  “It is only us,” Lugh says calmly despite the sharp weapon inches from his face, “claiming sanctuary before the demons get to us.”

  “Sanctuary?” Father Tristan asks. “Never thought I’d see the day when the Lord of Avalon would beg me for mercy. How does it feel, huh? I don’t recall your showing me any such kindness when I begged for yours once.”

  His fevered gaze travels up to the rest of us, taking in our bloody attire and worn faces. Finally, after another long second, his shoulders slump and he begrudgingly lowers his weapon.

  “I take it by yo
ur presence here that I will now have the rest of the hordes to fend off,” he says tightly, looking through one of the stained-glass windows. “Again.”

  My fingers clench around the railing as we continue the rest of the way down, silent but for the sound of boots on stone. Though the church has not fallen, signs of the war are evident here too. Years of being besieged will do that to a place, I suppose.

  The rose window above the main doors has been shattered to pieces, the hole boarded up with hasty masonry. Pieces of the stone vault have come crashing down, pockmarking the nave’s floor with small craters. But more so than the church itself, it’s the stench that permeates the building that’s hard to bear. Of feces and spoilt food and unwashed bodies.

  “We had expected to have to pack up and go some time,” Father Tristan says, chuckling to himself. “Didn’t expect it to be in so grandiose a fashion.”

  We keep pace with him, rejoining the Watchers already gathered in the southern aisle. Ahead, grim faces stare at us from the pews—a few dozen children, teachers and farmers. The last of what once was a thriving community.

  As I pass by the pulpit, a burly figure suddenly jumps up, teetering for a moment like a drunken sailor.

  “Morgan?” Sir Boris asks, his voice gruffer than I remember.

  I freeze in my tracks.

  “Thought I’d recognized you out there,” Sir Boris continues.

  The grizzled man has to hold onto the back of the benches for support as he hobbles his way to me, a soiled bandage wrapped above his left knee. Prison hasn’t been kind to him, and our skirmish in the courtyard just now hasn’t helped. His cheeks have become sallow, his eyes sunken, and his long handlebar moustache has grown thinner.

  I give him a shaky smile. “Glad you were able to make it—"

  “No thanks to you,” Sir Boris says, Russian accent thick with anger. “How dare you show yourself to us?”

  Arthur steps protectively in front of me, trying to shield me as I stand there, stunned.

  But to everyone’s surprise, it’s Father Tristan who speaks up, “Don’t speak of that which you don’t know, old man.”

  Funny. That’s exactly what Lugh told me about Lady Vivian. The irony almost makes me laugh.

  Lady Ysolt springs to her feet, red hair wild. “There’s no need to be insulting, Tristan,” she says.

  “I was only making a statement,” Father Tristan says, looking like he’s struggling not to curse. “If you took it wrongly, that was not my intent.”

  “But it was your intent to protect this backstabbing chort[15]?” Sir Boris asks, his face turning purple.

  “Who are you referring to as a demon?” Arthur asks coldly.

  “Gah!” Sir Boris shouts, throwing his hands up in disgust, and nearly losing his balance in the process. “Slepy durak![16] We are not in class anymore. This is no place for philosophizing and—”

  An explosion rattles the doors, the deafening sounds bouncing off the church walls and columns. Howls of laughter erupt just outside, so loud it seems like the demons are with us.

  “Time’s up,” Father Tristan intones, as if he’s preaching mass again. “Once the true traitors to our Order have decided to take this place over once and for all, they will be unimpeded in their desecration of this holy place.” He pauses dramatically, making sure every eye is on him. “And then they’ll feed us to the wolves.”

  Panic sets in.

  “But we’re mincemeat if we so much as set a foot outside!” someone shouts.

  “Only if we are to go out the same way we came in,” Arthur says, joining Father Tristan by the altar.

  “We can’t all fly off again,” another voice shouts. “Our oghams aren’t workin’ proper, and there’s too many young’uns for the rest of us ter carry.”

  More distressed cries arise from our refugees. This has been their home for two years. It’s allowed them to survive much longer than most. But despite the fear, they’ve grown complacent about their precarious safety here, forgetting it’s but temporary. Forgetting that the clock’s ticking.

  “I say we tell them to stuff it and die here instead, if all they want to do is complain about everything,” Keva whispers loudly to me.

  “Keva,” Hadrian growls in warning.

  “Oh, take a chill pill,” Keva tells him. “This is definitely not the time to quibble over something we both know to be true.”

  Hadrian frowns, evidently surprised at having his own squire talk back at him, but lets her comment slide as Arthur resumes.

  “We will use the Watchers’ hall,” Arthur says, raising his hand before more people can cut him off. “I know the catacombs are infested as well, but most of the Dark Sidhe have been drawn out by our troops, far beyond the docks. As for the other demons who may still be stationed down there”—he draws Excalibur, light flaring from the sword at his touch—“we’ll take care of them.”

  Just like that, the crowd’s appeased. The miracle they’ve all been praying for has arrived at last. I shift from one foot to the next, unnerved by these people’s sudden blind confidence.

  “To avoid drawing attention, everyone is to split up into groups,” Hadrian says, taking over the logistics. “And each group will be accompanied by a contingent of Watchers who will lead you to relative safety.”

  “Relative?” a woman repeats, voice hiking dangerously high. “And where would that be?”

  “My Demesne,” Lugh says, Blanchefleur like a silent ghost beside him.

  “A Fey place?” another woman asks, holding a baby tightly to her chest.

  “Lugh’s already saved your life once today,” Arthur says calmly, though I can see that all of this arguing is taking its toll on him, the bags under his eyes darkening.

  “What if it’s a trap?” someone else asks.

  This time, Keva can’t hold herself back. “Listen here,” she shouts, drawing herself up. “I’m gonna keep it simple for you. Either you take a chance at making it alive out of here with us, or you guard our rears when those demons out there finally breach the church’s defenses. But let me tell you something else”—Keva’s grin turns manic—“I’ve just come back from Hell, and what Carman’s got in store for us is not pretty. So, make your own damn choices, and, by Kali’s sword, stop wasting our time. We’re short on it as it is.”

  A second explosion blasts against our outside walls, and another section of the already weakened ceiling comes crashing down, taking a part of the gallery with it. A baby starts shrieking, quickly hushed down by its mother. But nobody else complains anymore as Hadrian resumes his instructions.

  “Nicely done,” Daniel tells Keva.

  Keva shrugs. “Brutal honesty’s always the best way to go, I say.”

  “Definitely something you excel at,” Daniel says.

  “Daniel, I excel at everything. You should know that by now.” Keva narrows her eyes at him. “How come you’re here with us, anyway?” she asks.

  Distracted, I watch Hadrian lead the first group down to the statue of the Virgin and Child that stands in the back of the apse[17]. With a precise movement, he slashes his hand with a dagger and places it over her foot.

  The statue flares at his touch, before swiveling on itself, revealing a dark passage behind.

  “Then how come I saw Brockton strutting about the place with a Dark Sidhe?” Keva’s voice is getting louder, drawing curious glances.

  Daniel’s jaw clenches. “He’s not my slave to control,” he mutters.

  “Not for lack of trying, though, right?” Keva retorts.

  The sound of metal hitting stones makes us duck. I look to the front doors, expecting a breach, but they’re still standing. Then Jack’s voice resounds sharply from the chancel. “You have no right to flee, you filthy traitor!”

  “Ugh, not that again,” Keva says, as we all three turn to find Bri kneeling on the floor, Jack’s blacksmithing hammer held above her head.

  “These are heavy accusations you bear,” Father Tristan says, iron in his voice.
Jack must have told him the truth then.

  “I saw her fighting out there with us,” Sir Boris says gruffly, “didn’t seem like a traitor to me.”

  “She conspired against us with the school director,” Jack continues. “Heard her dad finally got that spot on the Board he’d been wanting, thanks to all the death she’s caused.”

  Bri’s face looks stricken. “That’s not fair.”

  Jack wheels on her, jabbing her in the back with his hammer. “What’s not fair is having Nadia, and Dina, and Laura chopped into bits because you sabotaged our only defense system against the Fey!”

  Father Tristan lets out a low hiss. “I knew Myrdwinn was evil all along.” He turns his cold gaze upon Bri’s prostrated figure, and I have no doubt in my mind he will strike her dead if he judges her guilty. “How many times have I preached against the demon, girl? And still you spurned my advice to listen to that despicable fool?”

  The acid in his voice makes even Hadrian flinch, and I find myself striding over to help Bri—I don’t care what Jack says she’s done, I won’t let them burn her like some witch at the Salem trials. She’s my friend, and the only reason Myrdwinn could have played her like this was because of her grief and misery at the loss of her twin.

  But before I can make more than three steps, Arthur cuts in front of me.

  “Her name is Brianna,” he says, “and though these accusations are true, it is also true that she acted without knowledge of Myrdwinn’s true intent. I believe the old Fey fooled a lot of us, Lady Vivian included.”

  “She knew enough not to temper with the wards,” Father Tristan says scathingly.

  “Look who’s calling the kettle black,” Gale says, moving away from a side chapel where he and his brother have been talking until now. “Didn’t you improve upon this church to destroy Avalon from the inside, priest? Myrdwinn just happened to be more efficient than you at it.”

  Father Tristan’s nostrils flare, deep lines of disapproval cutting his face. “I don’t know who you are, boy, but I don’t appreciate your trying to lecture me.”