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

by Alessa Ellefson

  The ray returns as the monster opens its single eye again, red light instantly filling the void. Slowly, the giant’s hairy face turns, seeking the exit. I roll out of the way before the laser beam can cross the threshold, and watch in terror as it hits the earth, splitting the ashy ground with a deafening CRACK. I stare, shaking, at the yawning chasm of molten rock the light leaves behind as it progresses inexorably further away, burning through every layer of Hell.

  The world fragments. Screams of horror in the distance. A part of me can see the KORT room teeming with the demons I helped escape, each one scrambling to get out of the red beam’s destructive path. My breath hitches. Fear prickles all my senses raw. At this rate, the whole world’s gonna burn within seconds.

  Jaw clenched, I slowly crawl forward, pushing against Balor’s power that wants to grind me into the ground. I have to pause at the bottom rail’s edge to catch my breath. My head’s spinning from the poisonous gases spewing from the bottomless chasm left by Balor. I stare up blearily at the giant door, then slowly push myself to my feet.

  Another tremor sweeps across the barren plain, and I have to brace myself against the door to keep from falling. There’s a sharp hiss as the red panel scorches my flesh, charring my skin until it splits and cracks open, fat bubbling from between my splayed fingers.

  I fight back my instinct to pull away, and instead lean in to try to force the door back shut. Sweat drips down my face and arms, pooling in the small of my back. The earth shakes again, rattling my teeth, and I nearly lose my grip. Balor’s moving.

  I push harder, grappling for a solid foothold, put my shoulder into it. Tears haze my view, but at last I feel the door shift the other way, ever so tentatively. I take a half-step forward, reducing the gap by a third. Just a couple more steps, and the seventh Gate will be closed once and for all.

  Hands and shoulder slide on the burning door as my scorched flesh parts from my bones in long strips. I snarl. Take another step. Balor’s killing beam finally stops in its progress. So close!

  Then a dark blur appears above me, and I forget to breathe. My heart’s hammering in my chest. I watch in terror as the scarred hand grips the edge of the red door to pry it open from the inside. Blinding pain shoots down my spine, tearing a scream from my parched lips. My knees buckle and I drop to the ground, letting my head hang low in defeat.

  I can’t do this. Balor’s too powerful and I’m not strong enough.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, hating myself for being so weak. “I’m so sorry…”

  The door thumps against my side, gaping wider still.

  Stop fighting, Morgana.

  My heart stutters to a stop. Mother.

  Remember who you are. Remember the good inside you; it is the source of your strength, and will lead to salvation if you so choose.

  The whole earth shudders as Balor tries to force his way past the threshold. My eyes snap up to his knotted hand, burning away against the door like mine did. But the beast is so desperate to escape from its prison, it doesn’t care. And, somehow, a part of me finally understands.

  Balor’s no more evil than Carman, or even me. He’s lost in his own rage, a cry of distress that’s long been ignored. This place is of his own doing, a representation of himself, of the darkness that has gnawed at him for ages. I know it. I recognize it in myself.

  But my friends, my brother, and even Danu, have taught me that I was never truly alone, that there is more to live for. That there is a place for me too, no matter how different I may be.

  To my surprise, I find myself reaching up, small fingers coming to rest upon Balor’s burning hand to let him know he’s been seen. That he’s being heard.

  And for a long second, everything stills. Balor’s stopped trying to pry the door open and must have closed his eye, for the beam of red light has winked out of existence. I feel a soft smile spread on my face, all fear gone. Then a violent tremor passes through Balor’s body, and he jerks his hand back.

  “Wait!” I call out.

  But the red door slams shut again, the wood quickly cooling under my hands.

  “It’s OK,” I say quietly, sagging against it. “There’s no need to be afraid…”

  Tears stream down my cheeks in the answering silence.

  The seventh Gate is closed at last, so why does it feel like I’ve failed?

  Do not cry, child. You did well, and I am proud of you. But it is time for you to return to us.

  I pull away, and have to stifle a gasp. I’m back inside the KORT room, sitting on the Siege Perilous, a foot away from where Balor’s laser beam sliced through the building, the cut extending from the center of the floor to the windows. I expect it must have cleaved through the school grounds as well, though I can’t tell how far it went before it stopped.

  “NO!” Carman screams as her shoulders hunch over, jet-black hair turning grey in lumpy strands around her now disfigured face.

  The others must have finally defeated her dragon and gotten hold of her ogham.

  Beneath my fingers, the Siege Perilous’s carved angels are pushing the few demons left down to the base of the chair. I lift my hands, noting the rosy new flesh that’s replaced the parts that were burned off by Balor’s door.

  “No, no, no…,” Carman keeps repeating, wringing her spotted hands in despair.

  She, like Balor, has tried to remake the world in her own image—one where everyone else would be as lost and angry and empty as she feels.

  “I understand how one can never truly recover from being abandoned by those who should’ve been the first to show us love,” I say, surprised to feel pity for the old woman now huddling by the arched windows in defeat. “But this path of destruction is not the answer.”

  Carman’s withered face contorts in fury. “Do not presume to know anything about me!” she spits.

  I lean back in the Siege Perilous, no longer under its evil influence. The carved angels are now climbing back up towards the armrest, carrying some shapeless thing between them.

  “I, too, had to live my life being continuously cast away,” I continue wistfully, “as you well know. I always thought there was something wrong with me, that there must’ve been a good reason for everyone to reject me. And when I found out what I am”—I look down as the first angel reaches my hand and pulls free from the chair, holding out a small lump of metal for me—“I figured that, if they were going to reject me, I would do the same with them.”

  I grab the surprisingly heavy nodule and, with a slight shock, realize that it’s a piece of iron. I smile in derision, wondering how it is that these wooden angels would know what I haven’t told a soul about.

  “But I later realized,” I say, tossing the lump of iron into the air so that it floats at eye-level before me, “that I was focusing too much on what set me apart from everyone else, on our differences, when I should have focused instead on what we had in common.”

  I direct my energy into the floating piece of iron, heating it up until it glows orange.

  I look back at Carman. “In a way, I have you to thank for making me see that.”

  I let my gaze travel past the windows. Although it feels like an eternity has passed, it is still night, and fires have been lit across the school grounds. My thoughts turn to all my friends out there, to Arthur gone with Puck and the banshee, and I send out a prayer that they’re all safe, wishing I could’ve said goodbye properly.

  I take a deep breath. Release it slowly.

  Then, with a tiny flick of my finger, the iron flies straight for Excalibur, the blade lying discarded in the middle of the room. At the last second, the sword leaps into the bubbling metal’s path until every side of it is covered in iron. All but the tip of the sword, pointed in my direction.

  Carman lets out a dry laugh. “You wouldn’t,” she says, understanding my actions.

  I smile despite the woozy feeling that’s overtaken me, then give Excalibur—my ogham—one last command.

  The sword streaks across the room, so fast
I barely see it. I feel the blade slide easily between my ribs, as if it’s always belonged there, followed by the dull thud as it lodges itself inside the back of the Siege Perilous. Then, with the last of my power, I coax the iron layer to close over the sword’s tip, cutting me off entirely from my ogham.

  My breath bubbles. I cough, bringing up blood, feeling the sword’s sharp edges pull at my lung.

  Carman hobbles over to my side, ungainly with sudden age. “You fool,” she snaps, grasping Excalibur’s tang in her feeble hands. “You ran it through while the chair was still active!”

  “All…over…,” I say, wincing. This hurts. A lot.

  But it was the only way for me to destroy the Siege Perilous, and make sure that no one would ever be able to use it to unleash Hell’s fury upon the innocent again.

  Carman lets out a startled shriek as a carved demon pulls free from the chair’s base to jump on her, claws out. Another follows, then a third, all three eager to escape the inevitable. Behind me, I can hear the Siege Perilous splintering, the sound like ice breaking.

  “Get these off!” Carman shouts.

  I watch through lidded eyes as she stumbles around in a clumsy attempt to pry the wooden creatures off. But the demons only latch onto her more firmly, biting hungrily at her exposed flesh. I close my eyes in exhaustion. Somewhere in the distance, I hear a horn blast. I feel the corners of my lips lift slightly. It almost sounds like Mordred’s back, calling everyone to safety.

  I grip the sides of the chair as Lake High starts to shake, heaving violently one last time before the Siege Perilous explodes.

  Chapter 42

  There are no flames, no smoke, no skeleton guy to ferry me across some river, nor any judgment scales to weigh my sins against my good deeds. Just lots and lots of dull white, like I’m in the middle of a really thick fog.

  I let out a silent sigh, both of relief and of disappointment.

  “If someone had told me this was what was waiting for me, I wouldn’t have bothered to get here so quickly,” I mutter, kicking at empty air.

  “You’d rather still be facing Carman and her hordes of demons?”

  I jump at the jovial voice. “Who’s there?” I squeak out, bringing both fists up defensively. “Show yourself, you coward!”

  A bark of laughter greets my threat, and I turn towards the sound to find a form condensing itself into a familiar shape.

  “I don’t know who taught you to fight, but I can tell you’re terrible at it.”

  The boy steps up to stand in front of me, his long hair tied in a low ponytail to display an open face and large violet eyes full of mirth.

  “You always were, you know,” he adds, eyeing me up and down as if expecting me to sprout a new limb.

  I tilt my head, then let out a gasp of recognition. “Mordred?”

  “In the flesh, so to speak,” my brother says with a toothy grin. “Thanks to you and the time suspension Danu’s holding until this whole business is finished.”

  “Business? What happened?”

  “You sat on the Siege Perilous.”

  “I know,” I start. “I didn’t mean…you look so…different.”

  Mordred rubs a hand down his pristine cheek, the thousands of blue woads gone. “Does it look bad?” he asks, embarrassed.

  “Not at all.” I smile. “You look better. Younger.”

  Mordred lets his hand drop back down, and looks away. “I feel naked without them,” he admits.

  It’s now my turn to laugh, and the sound of it surprises me. It’s been so long I’d almost forgotten I could.

  “Morgan?”

  A thrill courses down my spine at Arthur’s voice. I turn slowly, scared that this is a cruel trick of my imagination, and suck in a breath at finding him staring at me. My eyes travel down Arthur’s body, detailing every inch of him, searching for traces of previous injuries through his torn uniform. But there are none.

  Arthur smiles at me, hazel eyes crinkling at the corners. “You did it,” he says, voice catching hesitantly, as if afraid to scare a bird away.

  Breaking into a smile of my own, I throw myself into his arms, hugging him close, wanting to feel the reassuring solidity of him. If this is a dream, I don’t ever want to wake up.

  Arthur’s lips leave a trail of light kisses along the top of my head, his muffled laugh tickling my ear.

  “If I’d known you’d greet me like this, I would have tried dying earlier,” he says, his hands warm against my back.

  I jerk away from him, punching him on the arm. “That’s not even close to being funny,” I say, turning away so he cannot see the tears burning in my eyes.

  His words have brought the terror and emptiness that followed his loss back in full force, reopening a deep wound that was still too raw.

  “I’m sorry,” Arthur says, drawing me back into his arms. “I won’t joke about it anymore, promise.”

  I tuck my head against his shoulder, breathing the familiar scent of blooming flowers and ripening fields of wheat on him. A smell that reminds me of rolling hills of flowers in the springtime, and of lazy warm summer days.

  “Wait a minute,” I say against his shirt. He should be smelling of sweat and coffee, of metal and leather grease. Not like…her.

  With another hug, Arthur steps away from me, and that’s when I hear the soft footfalls making their steady way over to us. I look over my shoulder, and have to squint as a star-bright figure parts the mists around us. Danu, in her full splendor, the way she must have looked at the height of her glory, before she was cast away from Heaven.

  I feel Mordred move beside me, and glance at him to gauge his reaction. I almost expect him to burst out in rightful anger at this mother of ours who did even less for him than she ever did for me. But instead, Mordred’s eyes grow wide in a face gone pale with shock.

  “M-Mother?” he whispers hoarsely.

  He may be as tall as she is, but he looks for all the world like a lost child, unsure of the welcome he is to receive now that he’s found his way back home at last.

  “My child,” Danu says, beaming proudly at him. “How I have longed for us to be reunited.”

  To my surprise, Mordred drops to a knee in front of her, a mute request for her benediction. Danu’s smile deepens as she sets her long-fingered hand on his brow. I turn away, feeling like I’m intruding, and frown at Arthur instead.

  “Are we dead?” I whisper to him.

  “Doesn’t matter as long as I get to stay with you,” Arthur replies, making my stomach flutter.

  I clear my throat, embarrassed at how much I enjoy hearing him say such corny things. “I’m serious,” I say. “This whole place, that”—I point behind me to Mordred and Danu—“you…”

  “You’ve got a point,” Arthur says, wrinkling his nose. “I doubt you’d smell so bad if we were dead.”

  “Oh, excuse me!” I say, crossing my arms tightly. “But when one’s at war, one doesn’t have the time to take a bath, and—”

  I pause as his meaning finally sinks in, and I can see Arthur’s struggling not to laugh out loud.

  “OK, so where are we then?”

  Arthur’s warm hand grabs mine, and he pulls me after him. The ambient light grows brighter as we go up a hill, stabbing at my eyes until I’m forced to close them. My fingers tighten around Arthur’s, trusting him entirely. He could be marching me back down to Balor’s Gate, I wouldn’t let go of him. Not again. Not anymore.

  At last, we slow to a stop. “Open your eyes, Morgan.”

  I crack an eye open, then both as I take in the tall, ancient tree, its gnarled branches heavy with ripe figs that glow like hundreds of sparkling amethysts.

  “How…,” I start, voice trailing off as I realize we’re somehow inside Danu’s cave.

  “Your mother used her power and ours to bring you and the rest of us here, before Avalon collapses completely,” Arthur says. He frowns slightly. “Though from what I’ve heard, that’s going to happen any minute now.”

 
; “So we really aren’t dead,” I say.

  “We are and we aren’t, and we have you to thank for it,” Mordred says, startling me.

  I didn’t realize he’d followed us, and I cast him a questioning look.

  “It certainly isn’t something I’d expected to happen,” he continues, looking at his hands, before dropping them to his sides with a shrug. “But what you did back there…”

  A sick feeling slithers up from my stomach as those last, horrifying moments come crashing back down on me. The pain. The darkness. The loss…

  “It broke the spell,” Arthur says, leaning down so we’re eye-to-eye, and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

  “A curse, really,” Mordred adds. “Yet here we are, thanks to your sacrifice.”

  I look back and forth between the two of them. “I don’t get it,” I say. “Are you talking about me destroying the Siege Perilous? But that’s only normal, anyone would’ve done the same if they could’ve.”

  Mordred shakes his head. “Not me. The thought didn’t even cross my mind.”

  “But you were helping me,” I say. “I saw you—”

  “I wanted to thwart Carman,” Mordred cuts in, “but I didn’t want to let go of the power the Siege Perilous gave me. But you…you let go of all of that. That’s why I’m here now, along with all the others.”

  “Not everyone,” I say, with a twinge of guilt, thinking back of all those who have gone, dead in this terrible war. And I think also of Carman and Balor. They may have been terrible people, and nothing can excuse what they’ve done, but to live like they do or did is a hell in and of itself.

  I feel Arthur’s hand tense around mine as Danu joins us.

  “Look, child,” she says.

  She waves gracefully outward, and the blinding light slowly dims to reveal the tranquil lake that surrounds her tree island, its surface glittering like it’s made of liquid diamonds. I draw in a sharp breath at the sight of the long line of people that darken the opposite shore, recognizing the little ball of white fur hopping excitedly at its front beside a figure cowled in grey.

  “Puck? Banshee?” I whisper.