“Misssstressss.”
I glance up to find the banshee helping Blanchefleur over.
“You don’t have enough energy left to heal on your own,” Blanchefleur says, as the banshee drops her next to me. The black bruises left upon her skin by Dub fading away.
I glare at her through bitter tears. “You don’t think I know that?” I ask.
“That’s what we’ve been trying to teach you,” she says, ignoring my biting tone. “You need to link up to the Aether.”
“If I knew how to do that, I’d have done it already!” I snap, jerking away from her consoling hand.
With a sigh, Blanchefleur seizes my hand and places it back upon Arthur. I bite down on my lip to stop it from trembling. I can barely feel his ribcage rise and fall anymore.
“I will therefore lend you mine,” Blanchefleur says.
I allow myself a flicker of hope as a warm tingling sensation washes through me, soft yet strong. I close my eyes to calm myself down, imagining the energy pouring into Arthur’s body, his skin returning to normal, the poison leaving him like Dub’s shadows dissipated under the broadsword’s flare.
I feel Arthur take a shuddering breath, his heartbeat stabilizing at last.
“Morgan?”
I crack my eyes open at the thin whisper and choke back a laugh threatening to spill out of me. In the hazy light of day, I see Arthur smiling up at me, his face mark-free.
“Looks like I’m sticking around, huh?” he says.
I help him sit up and he winces as he tries to push himself back up.
“What’s the matter?” I ask, scrutinizing him from head to toe for any remaining trace of Dub’s poison, but not finding any.
“I’m fine,” Arthur starts, then his breath comes out in a hiss as he catches sight of Percy, Blanchefleur kneeling quietly at the fallen knight’s side, her face blank.
“It’s OK,” he says at last. “I’m OK.”
But I know him enough now to know when he’s lying. My fists lay on my knees, as useless as I feel. If I hadn’t been so incompetent, if I had trained better, none of this would have happened.
“Sweet mother of sin!” Blanchefleur exclaims, shocking us out of our dark thoughts.
“Are you talking about Eve?” I ask, looking around nervously. Then, remembering what I’d once read, I add in a small voice, “Or Lilith?”
Blanchefleur thrusts the broadsword towards me and I gulp as the blade nearly slices my nose off.
“Do you even know what you have here?” she asks, unable to mask her awe.
Arthur sucks in his breath, then clumsily grabs the sword back from her. Again, I’m filled with a strange warmth as he lays it on his lap then runs his fingers down its long blade.
“What?” I ask, still not getting what all the fuss is about.
“Excalibur.”
The name leaves his lips in a reverent whisper just as the sound of a distant horn reaches our ears. Blanchefleur and I tense up.
“It’s started,” she says.
Arthur looks back and forth between Blanchefleur and me, confusion blunting the pain in his eyes.
“It?” he asks.
“Mordred,” I whisper, awash in fear.
“I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” Arthur says.
“That blue-tattooed Fey we’ve been seeing everywhere,” I say. “He wants to open the Gates of Hell.”
Arthur laughs, a low, mirthless chuckle, then stops when he sees neither Blanchefleur nor I are joining in.
“You’re serious?” he asks.
“Dead serious.”
“But how is it possible?” he asks. “I’ve never even heard of—”
“All you need is the right key,” Blanchefleur says, looking up at the rising sun still low over the horizon line.
“And where is this…gate of yours?” Arthur asks struggling to get up.
He vacillates on his feet and I grab him around the waist before he can knock himself out on the stone altar—at this point, I don’t think neither Blanchefleur nor I have enough energy to patch him up again.
“Maybe you should stay here,” I say, straining under his weight.
Arthur casts me a weary look. “Not a chance,” he says.
“You can barely hold a sword,” I retort.
“But I’ve got Excalibur,” Arthur says, “in case you haven’t noticed.”
“Which might make things more difficult for you,” Blanchefleur says. We both look at her eyes gleaming golden in the hazy sun. “You think the Dark Sidhe won’t recognize it?” she asks. “Why do you think Dub was so keen to get his filthy paws on it? Instead of giving you an advantage, it’ll make you the central target.”
“Good point,” I say, jumping at the opportunity to leave Arthur behind, nice and safe here on Island Park now that the Shade’s history. “So you stay here,” I tell him, “while I pop on down to the school and check things out.”
“The school?” Arthur asks, shocked.
I bite on my lip—if there ever was a chance Arthur would listen to me, I just blew it.
“Help me get down there,” Arthur says.
I shake my head. “If you want to get to Lake High, you’re gonna have to find a way on your own. You’re a liability and I’m already tired as it is.”
Arthur looks at Blanchefleur.
“I’m sorry,” the Fey girl says, “but I can’t…I can’t leave…”
Her gaze shifts to Percy’s lifeless body and I feel myself grow pale. I clench my teeth together to stop myself from crying. If I break down now, I’m not going to be able to do what needs to be done and stop Mordred—if I even have a chance of succeeding which, considering my track record, is highly doubtful.
“Please…,” Arthur starts before taking a shuddering breath, “please take care of him. He doesn’t have anyone else….”
I steel myself against another wave of grief before my resolve can falter. I need to go, now, before everyone else joins Percy in the afterlife or, worse, the afterlife is unleashed upon the world.
I try to leave Arthur with the Fey warrior, but he follows me doggedly, wincing with every step.
“You’re going to follow me down no matter what, aren’t you?” I say, unable to curse his pig-headedness considering I share the same trait. “Even if it means you’re going to drown yourself on the way down.”
“You managed to do it before in one piece,” Arthur says with a small smile.
“I had help,” I say. “Somehow I doubt Lugh’s gonna come to your rescue.”
Arthur’s smile falters as I rip the bottom of my muddy dress off and wrap it around the sword. “And getting naked’s gonna help?” he asks.
“So it won’t be recognized,” I say, before handing the sword back to him.
“But I won’t be able to use it like this,” Arthur says.
“In your state I don’t think that’s going to matter much,” I mutter, wondering what I did wrong in my healing process that he’s not doing any better than when Dub nearly killed him.
Could it be because I used Blanchefleur’s energy instead of mine? Could I fix him if I got the Sangraal back? I shake my head to dispel the distracting thoughts, and hold out my hand to him.
Even with his use of the sword as a cane, I struggle to help Arthur walk up to the lake’s shore, the feet of snow acting like a barricade.
“Come on you big lump, we haven’t got much time,” I say as we make our unsteady way onto Lake Winnebago’s ice sheet, Arthur threatening to spill out of my tenuous grasp at any moment.
“Missstressss?” the banshee asks dejectedly, shuffling over to us.
“I don’t have time for creatures with abandonment issues!” I shout at her, feeling every second that passes could signify our defeat. “Dean’s gone, so go away!”
The bansee whimpers and I look over my shoulder to see her hunched over herself, wringing her hands, one of the pixie’s red light flickering feebly about her shoulder.
I take in a l
ong, shaky breath, the glacial air burning down my lungs. I shouldn’t be short with her, especially when she’s saved me so many times at great risk to herself.
“I’m sorry,” I start. Then, upon second thought, I add, “Can you help me carry him?”
The banshee shakes her cowled head up and down enthusiastically then pads over to Arthur, wedges herself under his other arm then lifts him up, letting him lean against her.
“And down the rabbit hole we go,” I whisper, pointing down at the ice and hoping my powers don’t misfire.
For a moment, we all three stand perfectly still, the pixie now hovering over my head, then my power comes shooting out of my fingertips in a burning rush.
Suddenly, the ice evaporates from under our feet and we fall through. I instinctively grab onto Arthur as I steer us through Lake Winnebago’s murky waters in what I hope to be the right direction.
Finally, we emerge high above the school and I stop our descent to hover over the grounds, chaos and death waiting below. All our reconstruction work after the first battle has gone up in flames, gravel paths blown to smithereens, and patches of grass incinerated where knights fought off our latest assailants.
“Is everyone dead?” I whisper, choking on the last word at the desolation Mordred’s army has left behind.
The muscles in Arthur’s jaw shift. “I hope not.”
As I slowly bring us closer to the ground, I force myself to keep looking, scouring the area for a sign of life but only finding dead bodies, weapons dropped from lifeless hands scattered around.
Arthur stiffens. “Over there,” he says, pointing straight below at the wharves which are burning brightly.
Using the thick smoke as cover, we land on the uneven ground and I grunt as Arthur slips from my grasp.
“Morgan!”
I jump at Keva’s sharp tone and find my roommate lying in the cover of the pier’s smoky remains, Hadrian crouching at her side. The latter stiffens at the sight of the banshee and in the fire’s light I see that he’s got his knife out.
“Don’t hurt her, she’s with us,” I say, sinking to the ground next to them, my eyes stinging from all the smoke.
“What happened?” Arthur asks.
“We just got here,” Hadrian says, relaxing a little though he doesn’t put his knife away. “But it appears they have the school hostage.”
“They got in? But how—” I start
“Everyone?” Arthur asks, cutting me off.
“Everyone still alive,” Keva retorts.
“What about the rest of our convoy?” Arthur asks.
“Still with Lugh, as far as I can tell,” Hadrian answers. “We tried to follow you and Percy, and thought you’d come here but… where is Percy, by the way?”
The silence that follows is answer enough.
A wet cough makes us jump and Hadrian swings his combat knife around. My eyes swivel back and forth in search of the noise’s source when I see a small ball of fur hobble in our direction. Like a fox finding a prey, the banshee jumps on it. There’s a muted grunt and she stands up again, holding a grunting animal at the end of one fist, her obsidian knife in the other.
“Stop!” I say, finally recognizing the creature. “Let it go, it’s only Puck.”
The banshee drops the little hobgoblin and, at the sound of my voice, Puck hops quickly over to throw himself into my arms.
“There, there,” I say, patting his shaking body and bringing up little puffs of soot. “We’re here now, you’re safe.”
“No he’s not,” Keva says. “None of us are!”
“How did he manage to follow us all the way here?” Hadrian asks. He raises himself up enough to check the school’s environs again, in case someone else might be coming.
“Who cares?” Keva says. “What we need to figure out is how to get in there past all those demons. If it isn’t too late already.”
Arthur and I look at each other knowingly, the same thought forming in our minds.
“The tunnels,” we say together.
“But I don’t know how to access them outside of the school’s enclosure,” Hadrian says.
“Morgan used one of its external exits when she left jail,” Arthur says, looking at me expectantly.
I shake my head. “I had no idea where I was going,” I say. “All I was doing was following Lugh’s cat, and”—I look down at the hobgoblin as he readies himself to pounce on his own shadow, fluffy butt wagging in the air—“Puck.”
Puck looks up at the mention of his name then hops over to me eagerly to get his belly scratched.
“That thing? Hadrian exclaims, watching the hobgoblin rolling around in the grass, snorting in delight.
“He is actually much smarter than people give him credit for,” I say.
Hadrian coughs, and I know it has nothing to do with breathing in any smoke. “Uh, sure,” he says at last. “Whatever you say. But we’re in the middle of a battle here, and you want us to trust a Fey to get us to the catacombs unseen?”
“Correct,” I say. I look over to Arthur for support, but he’s just staring at Puck with a frown on his face, and I let out a tired sigh. “Look, we don’t have time to pussyfoot around,” I say, my voice quivering as a terrifying idea forms in my head. “By the time we manage to get around the Fey, he may have already opened the gates to Hell.”
“The gates to what?” Keva squeaks. “And who’s ‘he’?”
“You heard me,” I say. “We’ve already wasted too much time as is. You guys can follow Puck through the tunnels, I’ll take the direct route.”
“Don’t be silly,” Keva says. “They’re not going to just let walk up to that door and welcome you in. You’ll be long dead before then!”
“They won’t kill me,” I reply, “because I’m one of them, and…they need something from me.”
“Why can’t you go through the tunnels with us?” Hadrian asks. “If they really want something from you, having you surrender to them is a very bad idea.”
“If I go with you, it’ll take too long,” I retort. “Someone needs to stall Mordred until you guys make it over.”
“Again with the name dropping,” Keva mutters.
“And I’m not surrendering,” I say, ignoring her, “but joining with them. Or at least that’s what I’m going to make them think. And I’ve got a very good reason for them to believe I’ve turned coats too, so don’t worry about me, OK?” I get up briskly before my mind can come up with a dozen reasons why this plan is totally insane and prone to fail, then give everyone a shaky smile. “Guess I’ll see you guys when you get there.”
Then, without giving them the chance to stop me, I crawl up the hill towards the school, flanked by both the banshee and the pixie. The building quickly comes into sight, the giant apple tree cresting over the building like a green mushroom top.
I take a cursory look around me before getting up. The fields separating me from the school are devoid of any roaming Fey, and a small part of me hopes it means they all decided to up and leave. Then I see movement at one of the arched windows, a large shadow marching back and forth, too big to be human. Guess I’m not that lucky after all.
I take a deep, steadying breath, then force my legs to keep moving, despite knowing that I’m headed straight for a most certain and inevitable death.
“Come on, Morgan,” I chide myself as the school looms larger, foreboding. “Grow a pair, why don’t you? Saint George doesn’t condone cowardice.”
“Well, well, well,” a voice says somewhere above my head, startling me. “Look what fell into our lap.”
“I believe it’s a lost princess,” another voice hisses.
I force myself to stand my ground as Urim and Thummim drop down from a tree and slink towards me.
“We were waiting for a different mutt,” Urim says, his white skin dazzling in the morning sun.
“Probably shouldn’t have said that out loud,” Thummim says, looking slightly paranoid all of a sudden.
I snort—wha
t the hell is this guy worried about? I’m not Carman, I don’t have any superpower of doom.
“Still, I think AC’ll be happy to see this one too,” Urim says. “Don’t you think?”
“Quite,” Thummim says.
And with a predatory smile, both Fey seize me.
The banshee growls in warning, but I shush her down. “Let these gentlemen be,” I say. “They’re not taking me anywhere I don’t want to go.”
I repress a shiver as Urim opens the door for me, like a proper host, and I wonder if the fall of the inner school’s wards is also the work of the mysterious traitor in our midst.
We pass by ranks of Dark Sidhe crowded inside Lake High’s hallways, then make our way up one of the staircases to the second floor. I try not to look around too much, as the signs of fight are everywhere—stones scarred by weapons and EM attacks, trails of blood and soot, and bodies. More bodies than there were before, and not all of them Fey, or even that of full-fledged knights.
I bite the inside of my cheek really hard, tasting blood. I can’t let myself show any weakness. If I do, my game will be over; Mordred will sense any vulnerability like a wolf in its prey.
To my surprise, Urim and Thummim lead me straight to the KORT room, its gaping entryway beckoning us in. Kneeling along the walls, hands attached behind their backs, are the surviving knights. My heart squeezes at their sight, noting how few of them are still around.
Lance lifts his head up at our arrival. His deep blue eyes light up with surprise in his beaten-to-a-pulp of a face, then look behind me, and I know he’s wondering whether Arthur’s been caught too or not.
Next to him, Sir Boris leans dangerously forward, his bald pate red with blood, his long mustache drooping to the floor.
I look away quickly before my insides can get too mushy with emotion. I need to play my part to perfection, convince Mordred I’m on his side. And for that, I need to convince myself first that I don’t care for these men. These people have lied to me, put me in jail, shamed me for being part Fey. Yeah. That’s right. None of these people here cared for me when I was down, let’s see how much they like it when the tables are turned.
Rise of the Fey Page 41