“Blue, I—”
“We have a healer,” Ormé interrupted. “The place where we’re going. Her name is Elaine. She can fix your friend; we just have to get him there.”
“Should we do any more first aid first?” I asked. “We could bandage you up, Jason.”
Jason glanced at his injury then put down his shirt and stood up. “Looks like SJ’s potion is holding as a second skin. And she was right; it did make me feel better. Some of my strength is coming back. Let’s not waste any time and keep moving while I can.”
Our group moved through the trees with renewed urgency.
“Follow the fireflies” was the only guidance Ormé gave us as we delved deeper into the mist. “The more of them we see, the closer we’ll be to our destination.”
“Which is where, exactly?” I asked, hurrying after them.
“The home of a friend,” Ormé replied vaguely.
Against my normal instincts I didn’t bother her with further questions. We needed to move. And move we did. It was really lucky that SJ’s potion had given Jason a burst of energy and temporarily sealed his wound. He still leaned on us for a bit of support now and then, but he wasn’t struggling like he had been in the citadel.
After half an hour, Ormé reckoned we had put enough distance between us and the enemy. We stopped for a few minutes to let Jason rest. During the interval, Blue finally had a chance to take a proper look at my cuffs. She was seriously one of the greatest lock-pickers I’d ever seen. It only took her a few minutes to free me from my restraints. I released a huge sigh of relief when the shackles fell off. My wrists no longer felt strangled and neither did I. The Stiltdegarth blood used to forge those cuffs was no joke. I may not have fully appreciated it while they were on, but in weakening my magic they also weakened me. I felt so much better the moment they were gone, my strength returning in a powerful rush.
I only wished I could share that strength with Jason. He was trying to hide it, but I could tell that his pain was returning. We were running out of time.
For months I had been worrying about the future I’d envisioned where he would die by that river. I’d planned to stop this outcome—just this morning I’d had the idea that my magic might be the solution. But I didn’t consider that another way of preventing the foreseen fate was if Jason never made it that far.
I’d long thought of my visions of the future as being fixed points. If I saw it, it would happen. The only way to manipulate those futures was to either influence what happened before or after. However, I now appreciated that there was another option. The only way to completely stop a prophecy of fate was if the subject died before reaching it. This was why Arian had been trying to kill me for months: to prevent my prophecy from coming true. Given that, I realized the same must be true for visions. They were not finite and could be avoided if their subjects were killed unexpectedly before the foreseen fate occurred.
Looking at my struggling friend, I had never hoped so badly that we would arrive at the future I’d envisioned. Jason couldn’t die now. It was too soon and I wasn’t ready. I had no idea if I had the power to pull off a magical resurrection. The anxiety churned my stomach like spicy curry.
We kept moving for another fifteen minutes before my friend’s injury started to slow his pace again. Ormé reassured us that we were closing in on our destination and five minutes later, she stopped and held up her hand. “We’re almost there, but you need to be careful. There’s a big slope here.”
I squinted through the mist to detect a drop in front of us. I definitely wouldn’t have seen it if she hadn’t pointed it out.
As we worked our way down the incline, I saw the vague silhouettes of thorn trees around us. The ground beneath my boots was squishy, like moss. Swarms of fireflies flickered through the air.
“You’re going to start to feel a little groggy,” Ormé said once we reached the bottom of the slope. “Try not to pass out.”
I wasn’t sure what she meant. A few minutes later, I still felt as alert as ever. But when I glanced at my friends I detected a shift. All of them—even Ormé and the Gwenivere Brigade girls—appeared to be moving sluggishly. Blue rubbed her eyes sleepily.
The fireflies were everywhere now. They had more light in each of their rear ends than my friends did in their eyes. What was happening to them? And why wasn’t it happening to me?
We arrived at a curtain of weeping willows. “All right. We’re here,” Ormé said with a yawn. “Nobody take another step. This castle has the best protective border you’ll ever see.”
Ormé pulled aside a draping branch to reveal something that was both breathtaking and dangerous. About three hundred feet in front of us was a tall stone castle. Despite the heavy mist, we could make out the entrance thanks to the thousands of golden fireflies that floated in the vicinity.
That was the beautiful part. The dangerous part was the magnificent blanket of purple and red flowers that surrounded the castle on all sides.
Poppies.
That’s why my friends had grown so lethargic. Poppies knocked you out instantly if you touched them, but they also produced a potent type of mist that made you sleepy. The greater the number of Poppies, the stronger the mist’s effect.
“This castle belongs to Gwenivere Pendragon. She leads our rebel faction,” Ormé explained. “After King Arthur died, she and the rest of her family settled here because it was the only place they knew they’d be protected from Morgause and Rampart. No one can cross a Poppy field. Even if you managed to shoot an arrow into one of the towers and tried to climb or zipline across, you’d never make it. Hovering over such an immense sea of Poppies still exposes you to their drowsy gas. In the end, their power will knock you unconscious before you even reach the halfway point. Believe me, we’ve tested it.”
“So how do you get across?” Blue asked, stifling a yawn.
“Morgan La Fay,” Ormé responded. “King Arthur’s half-sister. She has a very specific kind of magic that can transport us across. She lives here with Gwenivere, but we’ll need to get her attention by firing a sonic flare. There’s a device in the castle’s tallest tower that detects very specific sound waves. One of our Gwenivere Brigade sisters is always on duty monitoring it. Once she hears it, she’ll find Morgan, who will use her magic to bring us over to the castle. Mindy, hand me a flare.”
The Gwenivere Brigade girl that Ormé was gesturing to froze. She lowered her headscarf. Up ’til now, I’d only seen her light-colored eyes. Now I saw her dark skin and fuchsia lipstick, which had somehow managed to stay on during the fight. Her thin eyebrows were furrowed in worry. “Ormé, I’m sorry. I think the flares were in one of the bags that fell out of the carriage on the castle bridge.”
“Well, that’s just terrific, Mindy,” the other Gwenivere Brigade girl said, annoyed. She lowered her headscarf and bushy orange hair spilled out. “Now we’ll have to wait until morning to get inside. No one is going to see us through this mist at this hour. And unless you want to attract Magistrakes or Samaracks, we can’t exactly yell for help.”
“Does anybody in there have a Mark Two?” Daniel suggested.
“Yes, but we don’t,” Ormé replied, frustrated. “They’re still a newer innovation around here and we only have so many. Our team’s was in the same bag as the flares.”
I narrowed my eyes at the entrance of the castle. “Is there a knocker on that door? I can’t tell from here.”
“Um, yes,” Ormé replied. “But I don’t think it’s been used in millennia, not since the Poppies grew in.”
“All right, so I’ll just go knock on the door then.”
The Gwenivere Brigade girls stared at me like I was insane. I simply shrugged.
“Poppies don’t affect me. I can get across the field.” I tightened the backpack around my shoulders before taking a deep breath and a few steps forward.
All right, here we go.
With a confident stride I walked into the Poppy field. The second my legs brushed against the
flowers, the veins in my arms turned a sickly purple color, a consequence of direct skin contact with Poppies. But as I’d come to expect, my body began to produce its own soft golden glow that fought against the purple in return. Thanks to Mauvrey, I now understood this was my magic reacting like a reflex—refilling me with the very life energy that the Poppies were designed to take away.
Awesome.
The castle grew spookier the closer I got to it. A rapture of ivy clung to the stone walls, covered the windows, and snaked between the crumbling arches that decoratively framed the outside. Two ancient-looking wolf statues the size of buildings—hunched over like they were bowing—guarded the iron gate, which was old, rusted, and teetering half open in front of the castle.
My glow burned brighter the further I delved into the sea of flowers. I was lit up so intensely by the time I reached the castle that I wagered the fireflies thought I was some sort of god.
The Poppies grew right up to the castle’s iron door. I gazed up at the silver knocker, which protruded from a monstrous gargoyle face at eye level.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Soon I heard noises inside. I pressed my ear to the door.
“Who could possibly be knocking?” someone said.
“I just looked out the window and it’s a girl in a fancy dress with boots. She’s glowing,” another voice replied.
“How did she make it across the Poppies?” asked the first voice.
“I don’t know. Why don’t we open the door and ask her?” replied the second voice.
“All right. You open the door and I’ll wield the mace to kill her if it’s a trap. Be careful not to let the Poppies touch you.”
I took a step back. The door opened and I was face-to-face with two girls in brown robes and headscarves. One held the door open; the other wielded the mace as discussed.
“Whoa, whoa,” I said, raising my hands to show I meant no harm. “Not an enemy. I’m here with Ormé. She didn’t have a flare, so I had to knock on the door. They’re over there.” I pointed across the field.
Careful not to step too close to me or the flowers outside the door, the girl without the mace reached for a pair of binoculars hanging around her neck. She flipped a switch, which caused the rims of the lenses to glow green, then peered through.
“Yup, it’s Ormé,” she said.
“Right,” I said, turning back to the girls. “Now can I come in? These Poppies are making me purple.” I gestured to the pulsing veins in my arms.
The girls seemed more confused than reluctant. They stepped aside so I could enter. The moment I moved out of the flowers’ touch, my veins returned to normal and my golden glow faded.
However, when the colors in my veins disappeared, I realized I had faint burn marks on my arms. The marks were dark gold and they throbbed with light pain.
Hm. That’s new.
I didn’t know what to make of the marks. They were hardly as noticeable as the other scrapes and cuts on my skin. I’d gotten a tad beaten up during our escape between my fall to the Mercy Pit and tumble out of the carriage onto the bridge. Still, I knew where those injuries came from. Not knowing what produced these new marks made me uneasy. I’d have to figure it out later though; there were more important things to do right now.
I cleared my throat and addressed the Gwenivere Brigade girls. “Ormé said that Morgan La Fay could help the others get across the Poppy field. Where is she?”
“She’s right here.”
I turned around and discovered a tall woman coming down the candelabra-lit hall. She was in her early forties and had black, wavy hair. The bodice of her silk dress was olive gray with bronze embroidery. Each shoulder had a cutout and her sleeves were so long they almost touched the floor. At her hips the ombre skirt flooded into a shade of wine, then mauve, then purple.
“Who are you?” the woman asked as she came closer. She walked so gracefully that it looked like she was floating. I felt the odd compulsion to curtsy.
“My name is Crisanta Knight,” I replied. “My friends and I are seeking refuge from Rampart and the citadel knights. Ormé saved us when he sentenced us to the Mercy Pit.”
The woman nodded. “Crisanta Knight. My name is Morgan La Fay. You have come to the right place. Any enemy of Rampart’s is a friend of ours. Follow me. We will bring your friends over.”
She turned and headed back up the hallway. The girls who’d let me in closed the main door and proceeded after her. I followed.
“I saw your glow from one of the windows,” said Morgan, glancing at me. “It’s been a long time since I’ve met someone with Pure Magic.”
Her comment surprised me. “You can tell by my glow that I have Pure Magic?”
She nodded. “All types of magic have a specific glow. Normal magic is usually silver. Fairy Godmother magic comes in shades of red. Pure Magic glows gold until Pure Magic Disease corrupts the carrier. Then it becomes darker until it turns black.”
I slowed my pace. When I took the life from Morris the giant, my glow had turned partially gray. The realization made my heart sink. It was only my second time crossing the Malice Line, and it had been by accident. Could my magic really already be turning bad?
“This is not common knowledge,” Morgan continued. “Not many humans have magic, so the odds of knowing people with all the different types and making this connection are low.”
Lucky for me. Otherwise people who weren’t my friends might figure out I have Pure Magic, like Book’s Fairy Godmother Supreme (a.k.a., Liza’s sister) Lena Lenore. Lenore was arguably the most powerful person in Book and disliked me tremendously. If she could confirm I had Pure Magic, I would be sentenced to Alderon like all the other carriers of the disease who—as a safeguard—were put there before their magic could turn dark. Thus far, Lenore didn’t have the evidence she needed to prove that I had Pure Magic. I definitely wasn’t going to mention this magic glow color-code to her.
I continued to hurry after Morgan and the Gwenivere Brigade girls. They led me through the castle and up one of the towers. After what felt like too many steps, we stood on the edge of the castle’s outer wall. A few more Gwenivere Brigade girls had joined us on the way up.
The landscape was mystifying from this height—the Poppies, the fireflies, the stone wolves.
“How are you going to get them over the Poppy field?” I asked, trying to make out the blurry silhouettes in the distance and wondering how Jason was. “Ormé said that even if you don’t touch the Poppies, the mist is still strong enough to knock you out.”
“That is true,” Morgan replied. “Which is a lucky thing since my aunt Morgause has great levitation powers. She would have used her magic to assail our castle long ago had it not been for the Poppies’ mist. My magic, however, will get your friends safely across.”
Her aunt is Morgause … Of course. I wanted to mentally smack myself. Ormé had already told us Morgan was Arthur’s half-sister, but I’d been so distracted I hadn’t put two and two together.
Morgan took a quick deep breath and raised her hands. As she exhaled, a silvery glow emanated from her fingertips. I felt the wind pick up. A lot. My dress and hair flapped around me. The mist below began to blow too, churning uneasily.
Across the Poppy field I saw the mist swirl so tightly around my friends that a cocoon of wind formed around them. The whirling orb lifted my friends off the ground and steadily transported the group over the field as silver energy poured out of Morgan’s hands.
I was super impressed. Morgan must’ve been exerting a ton of energy to be controlling the winds like that. It was amazing. She moved her hands in soft circles as the wind orb traveled closer. She shifted her stance as it came above the wall and then carefully lowered it until it touched down beside us. With that she spread her arms and extinguished her glow. The winds instantly dispersed wildly and I was almost blown off my feet.
Ormé stepped forward. “Thank you, Morgan. I will explain everything shortly. But first, this one needs to be taken to
the healing room immediately.” She gestured to Jason, who was looking alarmingly pale.
Morgan nodded. “Merriweather. Lavern,” she said to a pair of Gwenivere Brigade girls. “Run and fetch Elaine. Fast as you can. Meet us in the healing room. The rest of you, help the boy.”
Merriweather and Lavern dashed ahead. The other Gwenivere Brigade girls aided Jason inside. We all followed, descending through the stone stairwell of the tower.
“How did you and Morgause both end up with magic?” I asked Morgan.
“My grandfather was King Amlawdd Wiegg,” she explained. “When he was young, he saved a pixie queen. As a reward she gifted all of his children with magic, including my mother Igraine and my aunt Morgause. When they had children, it was not passed on to all of their progeny, just some. While my older sister and I developed powers, my half brother—who you might know as King Arthur—was not born with magic. Morgause’s son Mordred and his children Rampart and Melehan were not gifted with magic either. Neither were most of the children she had with her former husband, King Lot of Orkney. Of her six children with him, only her daughter Clarissant developed powers. Most of us have been unharmed by the gifts. But Clarissant’s magical abilities developed into Pure Magic.”
“What happened to her?” I asked, though I was pretty sure I already knew the answer.
“She was driven mad with power and eventually killed by magic hunters.”
Yup, that’s about right.
“We’re not in any danger from magic hunters here,” Morgan continued. “There is a large population of them living in the Passage Perelous, but the Poppies keep us safe from them just as they keep us safe from Rampart’s forces. Before Gwenivere and I came here when Arthur died, this castle had been vacant for generations because no one could get across the field. Only my wind orb can deflect the Poppies’ drowsy gas.”
And me, apparently.
We arrived at a chamber with a golden door. It matched the color of the many silks that lined the hallway.
Morgan opened the door and we were met with the warm glow of a hundred candles. In the center of the chamber was a raised bed covered in white linens. Just as we began to make our way inside, Merriweather and Lavern returned alongside a woman with braided strawberry blonde hair and kind brown eyes. She was around the same age as Morgan, though several inches shorter.
Crisanta Knight: To Death & Back Page 15