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

by Alessa Ellefson

  “Please take care,” I whisper, throat constricted. I let my hand hover over his without touching, and, before I lose my will, I flee.

  My legs feel like lead as I retrace my footsteps down the long hallway, head lost in thought. This is the best I can do, the best chance of success I can offer, however flawed my plan may be. Yet why do I still feel so wretched?

  A slight rustle draws my attention to the left. I start to turn towards it, when I register movement on my other side, and a fist connects with my temple. My head snaps sideways, stars bursting in my vision. My legs give out, and someone catches me before I can fall, wrenching my arms behind me at the same time. I choke back a gasp of pain before a thick piece of cloth is forced into my mouth.

  Within seconds, it’s all over.

  I whimper, still dazed, as both captors carry me away. My knee bangs against the banister as they rush down the stairs. When we reach the bottom, they turn into a narrow hallway that leads to a side exit. Sweat beads on my forehead despite the cold night air. The wind nips at my face. My shoulders hurt, arms tingling from being nearly twisted out of their sockets.

  The two men haul me across the gravelly path towards the Central Ops building, and I glimpse the warm fires that line the main alley where knights are standing watch. But they’re keeping an eye out for invaders, not for a couple of their own soldiers carrying a girl between them, and we slip by unnoticed. Up a flight of stairs, across another hallway, and out again into a small, inner courtyard.

  Finally, the men stop. Light spills on the flagstones as they open a door, stabbing at my eyes.

  “Here’s the demon,” the man to my left says, as both toss me down.

  I’m still too stunned, my arms numb, to try to soften the fall, and I crack my head on the stone floor. I moan in the gag, roll slowly into a kneeling position, and blink blearily around.

  We’re inside a small chapel, judging by the large wooden cross that takes up half the far wall. In front of it is a lonely prie-dieu[30], the wood smoothed down where countless people have knelt before to pray.

  And standing to the side, is Sister Marie-Clémence, her pale face stern inside her coif[31].

  “It is time for you to repent of your sins,” she says.

  One of the men grabs my hair, and I growl in pain and fear as he drags me across the chapel towards the forbidding woman.

  I try to fight back, scratching uselessly at the man’s gloved fist. Sparks shoot out from my fingertips, and the knight jerks back in shock. But the second man is on me in a split second, and drags me the rest of the way, chaining me down to the prie-dieu, before finally removing my gag.

  “You,” I spit.

  I glare up at Sister Marie-Clémence’s lined face, her own flinty eyes boring into me like a scientist before a dissection of a particularly gnarly toad.

  “What do you want from me?” I ask, pulling futilely at my chains.

  One of the knights hits me hard on the shoulder with his sheathed sword, and I yell sharply, folding over the prie-dieu in pain.

  “You will only speak when spoken to,” the man says gruffly.

  “I know what this is about,” I say, breathing hard. “You’re afraid of me. Afraid of what I may have planned for Luther. Didn’t think I’d talk for him, did you?”

  This time, the knight hits me in the back of the head. Pain explodes behind my eyes. I pull at my chains, but they’re made for the toughest Fey and only cut into my wrists.

  “Sir Luther would have been found innocent even without your intervention, girl,” Sister Marie-Clémence says scathingly. “All he’s guilty of is defending our Order against a growing cancer before it could wipe us all out. A cancer you are working to bring back.”

  “Peace is a cancer to you?” I say through gritted teeth.

  Sister Marie-Clémence motions with her pointy chin at the man behind me, and a pair of gloved hands grabs the back of my shirt, before ripping it in two. Goose pimples spread down my spine.

  “What are you doing?” I shout.

  “I don’t trust you,” Sister Marie-Clémence continues. “I know you’re planning our downfall. But our Board’s been blindsided by your little display of power the other day. They forget that the only good thing about the Fey is their ogham.”

  “But that wasn’t m—”

  The first lash hits my back, tearing a cry from my lips. The second lash hits. Burning pain cuts across my skin. I slump forward on the prie-dieu, body jerking as the whip cracks across my back, again and again, until I lose count.

  “In my generosity, I am giving you two choices,” Sister Marie-Clémence says as the flogging continues. “Either you tell me where you’ve hidden your ogham, or we carve you up until we find it ourselves.”

  A bark of laughter escapes me. “Go. To. Hell,” I gasp.

  The lash bites into my flesh again, spraying blood across the white stone floor. I scream, dark spots swimming in my vision. Tears stream down my face. My whole back is blazing, throbbing in agony.

  Indistinctive shouts reach us from outside. And despite the pain, a little part of me perks up—they’re here.

  “Make sure we’re not interrupted,” Sister Marie-Clémence says.

  The whip strikes again, tearing another cry from my bloody lips. A shudder passes through me as the knight pulls his arm back, readying for another hit.

  “She’s in there!”

  Keva’s voice sounds so distant, but I can still hear the panic in it.

  It’s time. I grip the prie-dieu, knuckles turning white around the wood. Heat blazes from my hands, and Sister Marie-Clémence jumps back in surprise as it bursts into flames. I grit my teeth as I pull at my chains, flesh sizzling against the now hot iron, until the wood finally disintegrates, and I break myself free.

  “Don’t let her use her powers!” Sister Marie-Clémence shouts, the flames forcing her further back.

  The chapel door bursts open, letting through a group of knights.

  “Everyone, stop!” a deep voice booms out. Gauvain.

  I whirl around, my manacled hands up, blood dripping profusely around my feet, soaking my boots. The man closest to me drops his whip, reaching for his sword instead.

  “Drop it!” Gauvain shouts at him.

  “How dare you interfere?” Sister Marie-Clémence says. “This is my jurisdiction! Leave!”

  “Our Order is no longer yours to control,” Hadrian says, slipping inside with a wide-eyed Keva. “You’ve been deposed”—he checks his pocket watch—“as of two hours ago.”

  Sister Marie-Clémence’s face contorts in rage. “I will have you boys sentenced for this!” She motions for her men to seize me. “Get that ogham out of her now! I don’t care if you have to hack her to pieces to retrieve it.”

  But the game’s over. She’s played her role, even if a little too well. It’s time to put an end to this charade.

  “I wouldn’t come any closer if I were you,” I tell the two knights as they try to corner me against the wall.

  Behind them, the fire is growing bigger, fed by my pain and anger, and cutting me off from my would-be rescuers.

  “Come along nicely now,” the one who whipped me says, while the other unfolds an iron net used to capture Fey.

  I smile grimly. Just as I’d planned.

  “Morgan!”

  I shiver at Arthur’s cry, see him try to drive past Hadrian and Gauvain, Excalibur flashing angrily in his fist. I try not to look at the horror on his face as his friends keep him away from the flames. This is why I didn’t give him the details, why I wanted him to sleep through the rest of the night.

  “Stop,” I mentally tell him, willing him to hear me.

  I see Arthur hesitate, looking confused.

  “Trust me,” I continue pleadingly.

  Don’t make this harder than it already is, I want to add.

  I duck as the iron mesh flies at me, missing my head by inches, then blast the two men back with a strong gust of wind, sending them flying across the chap
el. Finally, I return my attention to Sister Marie-Clémence.

  “I have tried time and again to be understanding,” I say, watching the nun blanch as I stalk towards her. “I’ve worked so hard to get you to accept me despite my tainted blood, as you like to call it. But no matter what I did, you people always found an excuse to turn a blind eye to my efforts and good deeds.”

  Someone’s shouting to put the fire out, and I think I recognize my uncle’s voice.

  “Yet you do not mind using our powers as long as it raises you from the mud where you belong,” I continue, stopping in front of the old woman, smiling at the fear in her usually malevolent eyes. “But I am done with your hypocrisy.”

  Steam fills the room with a deafening hiss as people pour water on top of the flames to douse it. But it’s too late.

  “Help!” Sister Marie-Clémence cries out at them.

  I grab her arm, digging my fingers in until she flinches with pain.

  “Thanks to you,” I say, “my eyes have been opened. I will return to my kind. There, at least, I know I’ll be judged not by what I am, but by what I do. And I’ll let you in on a little secret…” I lean into her so I can whisper in her ear. “The next time you see me will be the last time you do.”

  “Over here!” Hadrian shouts.

  But as my uncle and his men come rushing at me, I throw Sister Marie-Clémence at them, letting her stumble into their surprised arms. I point at the floor with my index finger, and an invisible hand swipes my blood over the floor in long stroke, tracing a double triangle with a large V on top of its curling edges—Lucifer’s sigil.

  I catch Keva’s look and nod my thanks to her. She nods back in acknowledgment. There’s no going back now.

  “Morgan, please don’t go!”

  The pain and fear in Arthur’s raw voice make me hesitate, but only for a second. I smile sadly at him from across the room.

  “Stay safe,” I mentally tell him.

  Then I close my eyes, concentrating on the picture of Mordred’s face. Brother, I call out to him, I am ready. Bring me home!

  Chapter 32

  You need to have lived with the enemy to understand how its mind works. Father Tristan’s words are part of the reason I’m back at Lake High, standing smack dab in the middle of a mass of demons without a single weapon on me.

  The sound of Arthur’s shout still ringing in my ears, I scan the crowd, faces sniffing the air in my direction, drawn by the blood still dripping profusely from my back. Saint George’s balls, but there’s a lot of them!

  “Well, well, well, what kinda dumbass has decided to land here?” I jump at the sudden voice and scowl at a pimply-faced boy as he ambles over from the other side of the burned-down docks, a large spiked mace weighing his shoulder down. “No longer showing off, are we?”

  “Brockton, what a pleasure,” I say through clenched teeth.

  The boy sneers at me. “Did ya get lost or something?” he asks, before noticing the manacles around my wrists. “Could show ya where the prison is, case ya don’t remember.”

  “Very sweet,” I say, a fake smile frozen on my face, “but I doubt that was Mordred’s intention when he brought me here.”

  Brockton frowns so severely, it makes him look cross-eyed. “Mordred, huh?”

  I scrutinize him from head to toe with derision, although I know that his presence among all these demons is a sign he’s more dangerous than he seems. “I don’t suppose you’re my escort, are you?”

  “I’ve actually got some serious work to do,” Brockton says at last, evidently not wanting to trouble himself with me. “Here’s to hoping you die on your way in,” he adds, flipping me off as he struts off.

  Crap.

  A part of me was kinda hoping he would take up the suggestion.

  I return my attention to the horde of Dark Sidhe and demons I need to go through to reach the school, gauging their mood, and note their interest in me seems to have grown along with their numbers. Time to get moving.

  For a second, I entertain the thought of flying over them, but quickly dismiss it. I’m here to make a mark, impress Carman somehow with my abilities, show her I can be useful at her side instead of locked up. And I won’t be able to do so if the first thing I do here is cower before the grunts.

  With a resigned sigh, I push my way through the thick bodies, trying not to make any eye contact. My show of confidence seems to work, until I reach the landing docks. Something grunts to my right, feet trample the earth. I duck as a large, hairy arm swipes at me, feeling a serrated claw slice up my cheek before it takes out another demon that venture too close. Ichor sprays out in a dark mist.

  Chaos breaks out.

  Shouts erupt as demons charge, turning on those trying to push through. I lunge clumsily out of a rusty spear’s way, but a meaty hand closes over my foot, and I fall heavily to the muddy ground. I kick back violently, feel something crunch beneath my heel, and the hand finally releases me. I roll out of the way of spike. A beast howls overhead.

  I need to do something.

  Need to show I mean business.

  I let my power crackle along my skin, then hurl it deep into the crush of demons, blasting them away from me. I quickly push to my knees in the temporary breach, and slam my hand down. Power rips deep into the soil until it reaches the aquifer, then, at my coaxing, hurls back up. There’s a low rumbling, barely noticeable over the frenzy, before the water punches through the knot of snarling beasts with an earth-shattering roar.

  The powerful jet spreads sideways like a giant wall, then the wave crests, blotting out the rising sun. I spread my fingers out, release my breath, and the water comes crashing down like a tsunami, washing demons and Dark Sidhe out like a pile of dead leaves. If leaves could scream in terror.

  I raise a shaky hand to wipe the sweat from my brow, and freeze.

  No.

  No, no, no, no.

  I stare at my fingers in incomprehension. The dark spots that the Siege Perilous had left on me are back, spreading to the edges of my wrists like a pair of gloves.

  “I was hoping ya wouldn’t come,” Nibs says, eyeing the wreckage from the top of the burned down docks.

  “Ah, did that finally draw your attention?” I ask sharply, storming towards him.

  If Nibs had come sooner, I wouldn’t have had to make this disgusting show of force, and my hands would still be free of taint.

  Nibs eyes my approach with a grimace. “I take it ya’re still goin’ through with yer bullshit mission?”

  “I thought my being here made that pretty clear,” I say, still irritated. “Lead on.”

  Nibs shakes his head as if to say I’ve gone completely mad, but starts walking anyway, picking his way around the corpses I’ve sown across the fields, his small boots squelching in the mud.

  “Have ya considered not killin’ off all her soldiers?” Nibs asks as we draw near a long line of spiked heads. “’Specially considering ya want to get on Carman’s good side.”

  There’s a strident sniggering and I startle to a stop.

  “Everyone’s on edge with Algol up and shining so brightly,” a disembodied voice says.

  I shiver, recognizing the line of spiked heads as Mordred’s. The talking heads are now circling the southern tip of the school’s main building instead of the old fort he’d used as a base. His perfect, if oh-so-creepy, alarm system.

  “Hello ladies and gentlemen,” I make myself say with a stiff nod at the heads still putrefying on their stakes.

  “It’s soon going to reach its peak,” another says, still talking about that star, the very same I’d been able to see down in Hell.

  “I’d give it a few more days,” the long face of a man says.

  “And once it does,” the first talking head says, that of Martha, their leader, “the link between here and Hell will be at its strongest, and therefore the most opportune time to free—”

  “Balor,” I finish for her.

  A few more days, only. Guess I did get here
right on time,then.

  Nibs lets out a loud, moist burp. “Gotta give it to ya, kid, ya’ve got the balls of a bull on steroids comin’ like this. But if I were ya, I’d worry more ‘bout Carman rippin’ them right off, than ‘bout some locked up demon.”

  The heads start cackling again. “Are you so sure?” Martha asks.

  “I think the clurichaun’s brains must’ve melted along with its face,” a bald man with decomposing jowls says with a guffaw.

  “Nobody asked ya for your opinion,” Nibs retorts, kicking the closest head’s post, “and ain’t nobody that’s goin’ to, neither. Just stick to yer job.”

  Without caring for a reply, Nibs trots on ahead, as eager as I am to put as much distance between these creepy heads and us, the cackling of the talking heads following us all the way to the school.

  Now that I’m not stealing my way in, I have more time to assess the damage the building has sustained over the last couple of years, and am surprised at the pang of sadness I feel.

  The wing where the dining hall once stood is now but an empty, burned down carcass; the façade leading towards the arena is pockmarked from the aftermath of blasts and explosions; and, topping it all, are the blackened branches of Myrdwinn’s decaying Apple Tree. Lake High’s golden days are no more, relegated to tales, and fading memories.

  A pearly-white figure pops out from one of the second-floor windows at our approach, and I instinctively flinch.

  “There’s a couple loose ones!” Urim shouts excitedly, looking up instead of at us.

  Thummim’s dark shadow zooms out of the window next to him with a loud whoop, followed a split-second later by Urim. Both Dark Sidhe heading for the sky-lake, where I can barely spot a pack of demons trying to break free into the surface world.

  “Morons,” Nibs says, spitting loudly on the ground. “All that power stolen for nothin’. Though I can’t blame ‘em for gettin’ antsy bein’ all cooped up down here with so many helpless humans so close at hand.”

  “But…I thought the goal was to destroy humans,” I say tensely, “so why are the, um, loose demons being chased down?”