Morgana Trilogy Complete Series

by Alessa Ellefson

  “Anything hurt?” he asks, the first words he’s ever said to me.

  “I don’t think so,” I say.

  “You might have a broken nose,” Percy says. “You should have it checked out.”

  I feel my face, and my hand comes back with blood on it. Lance helps me to my feet, catching me again as my legs give out. We both look up as a shadow crosses our vision. I feel Lance’s warm hands instantly leave my shoulders.

  “What happened?” Jennifer asks, her voice like poison to my ears.

  “Got carried away,” Percy says with a grin. “Ended up gettin’ Morgan instead.”

  “She seems fine to me,” the blonde girl says, still not moving.

  I really don’t know why she hates me. Is it because I’m Arthur’s half sister? Maybe I should tell her I’d be delighted to switch spots with her if she weren’t already engaged to him.

  “Look,” I say, tired of being the brunt of her anger, “if you want a bloody nose so you can have an excuse to go to the infirmary, I’ll be happy to oblige.”

  The words escape me before I have time to think. Everyone around me freezes, even Percy. Jennifer’s eyes are throwing daggers at me, but she ends up smiling at me instead. I’d rather take the daggers…

  “Why thank you,” she says in a honeyed voice. “Today has been a rather grueling practice session, for everyone around. I’m sure they’ll be more than pleased to hear you’ve volunteered to help them by taking over the cleaning duties.”

  Cleaning, again? I bite on my cheek to avoid throwing a stinging retort that’s bound to get me into worse trouble.

  “But she needs to ’ave a look at,” Percy says, without much conviction.

  Jennifer tosses a handkerchief at my feet. “You can stick that up your nose. Now you can’t say I’m not looking out for you.”

  “All that because you have an inferiority complex,” I snap. “You shouldn’t take it out on me, though. You and I are very similar, you see, both of us pretending at being knights.”

  Jennifer’s nostrils flare. “At least I know how to use elementals,” she remarks before stomping back to the dorms with Lance.

  Shaking his head, Percy picks the tissue up and hands it to me. “Mighty foolish of ya,” he says before trotting away.

  I look around me, miserable, as I see people eye me before discarding their training gear. I have a feeling this is going to be a very, very long night.

  On the other side of the arena, I see Bri and Jack hurry over to me, followed, to my surprise, by Keva.

  “What the hell happened to your face?” Keva asks. She tuts. “Such a shame, your one lovely attribute.”

  “We heard you got disciplined by Jennifer again?” Jack says.

  News sure travels fast around here. I nod. “Looks like she’s making a habit of it.”

  “You want to be careful,” he says. “She’s not someone you want on your bad side.”

  “Do you need some help?” Bri asks.

  My face lights up at the idea; that would sure make things go faster.

  “You’ll get in trouble if you do,” Jack says.

  Bri’s about to retort when Keva interrupts her, “And you don’t need any unwanted attention, especially not after what happened to your brother.”

  Jack elbows Keva in the ribs.

  “Ouch! I’m only telling the truth. You don’t have to give me a bruise for it.”

  I use the back of my sleeve to wipe the blood off my face. “It’s OK, guys. I’ll manage. But if you could save me some food, I’d appreciate that.”

  The three of them wave farewell, and I’m faced with a deserted field. “Twice in two weeks, Morgan,” I say to myself. “Let’s not make this a daily occurrence.”

  ◆◆◆

  By bedtime, I feel like an old pair of distended, holey socks. I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, too tired to even close my eyes.

  “I’m turning the lights off,” Keva says before climbing into her bed.

  The imprint of the incandescent lightbulb still shines before my eyes despite the darkness. I hear Keva toss and turn in her bed.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  Keva doesn’t answer at first, then sighs. “What is it?”

  “Did your parents come here too?”

  “Just my dad,” she answers. “My mom wasn’t allowed to leave her family till she got married. They’re very traditional. Why d’you ask?”

  There’s more rustling, and I have the distinct impression Keva’s rolled onto her side to look at me.

  “Is it ’cause you wanna know more about yours?” she asks, oozing with curiosity. “You really don’t know anything about your father?”

  “Does your dad ever talk about what it was like here?” I ask in return, skirting the uncomfortable topic.

  “No,” she says, sounding morose. “There was an incident here when he was a page. Then things changed for the worse. He doesn’t like to talk about it.”

  I continue to stare at the ceiling, wondering whether my father ever met hers. If they’d perhaps been friends, or even roommates, like us.

  “Didn’t you mention something about school records?” I finally ask her.

  “You’re not gonna find anything about your dad in there,” Keva says, bored.

  Her words destroy my last hope like a house of cards. “Why not?”

  “Got destroyed in a fire, the first and only in the school’s history. It was set by the then president of KORT too. He went crazy.”

  A name springs to my mind. “Would that be…Duke Gorlois?” I ask.

  “Well, well, well,” Keva says sarcastically, “look who’s getting her history lessons down? Yeah, it was him. Now go to sleep.”

  I try to fall asleep, I really do, but now that the subject’s been opened, I’m wide-awake, and I need to get at least some of my questions answered.

  “Can I ask you another question?”

  I can feel Keva’s murderous intent from across the room. “What?” she snarls.

  “Who was this duke? What happened to him?”

  “Nobody knows,” Keva says. “Now leave me alone.”

  “Really?” I ask. “Not even an idea?”

  “You’re not going to stop unless I tell you, huh?” she asks, sounding defeated

  I grin despite myself. “Nope.”

  “Duke Gorlois was the president of KORT about, oh, twenty years ago,” she says. “He was great with his studies, especially in his tactical courses, and was renowned for capturing a lot of Fey. Kinda like Arthur, if you want.

  “But then something happened. Nobody really knows what exactly, but it happened on one of his hunts. When he came back, he seemed fine at first, but he started acting all erratic. Unfortunately, we’d lost the Sangraal centuries before, so we couldn’t heal him, and he was sent to the nuthouse. But then this one night, he set fire to the school and used the confusion to steal the most powerful weapon we owned. When the Board found out about it, they exiled him from this place for ever.”

  “What was it?” I ask.

  “A sword,” she replies wistfully, “that makes anyone who holds it practically undefeatable. Excalibur…”

  Keva lingers on that name, as if able to taste its power.

  “So where is it now?” I ask.

  Keva sounds bored. “Who knows? He and the sword both disappeared, and they were never seen again. Father Tristan went to find him. And that turned out to be the biggest mistake of his life.”

  “Because he went crazy too?” I ask, recalling Bri’s story.

  “Not that.” Keva chuckles. “He’d been engaged to Ysolt before leaving to find Gorlois, but he was gone for so long, everyone thought he was dead.”

  “And when he came back, she was married to Sir Boris,” I say, struck by the sadness of the story. It’s no wonder Father Tristan always sounds so cross.

  “At least the forest didn’t spit him back out a hundred years later like it sometimes does,” Keva says. I can tell she’s enjoying
telling me this—maybe she’s trying to scare me, a very plausible explanation. “You know, there’s supposedly one of them in the asylum now. They say he’s, like, three hundred years old and has turned into an albino from living inside all the time.”

  “I don’t know,” I say, thinking back on this morning’s visit. “I didn’t see anyone like that.” Just some crazy Father Christmas trying to choke a poor lady to death.

  “Well then,” Keva says, annoyed, “since you know everything already, you can shut up now. I need my beauty sleep.”

  I leave Keva alone, and, soon enough, I hear her steady breathing. Could fighting Fey people really be that damaging to the mind? What is it exactly that they do to us? Hypnosis? I think back to Owen, then to the duke, who had been the best knight around. Just like Arthur, Keva said.

  A knot forms at the pit of my stomach and I punch my pillow into a more comfortable shape, annoyed at my getting worried about him. And, in the middle of all that, I still don’t know zip about my father.

  ◆◆◆

  The first pink tones of dawn are already bleeding into the sky when I manage to fall asleep, only to be immediately woken up by the morning bells. I hear Keva shriek, and roll over on my bed to see what’s the matter.

  “Mwhaddizit?” I ask, bleary-eyed.

  “Why is that filthy thing touching my stuff?” Keva yells.

  Holding on to her mirror, she wrestles something from a small, furry creature.

  “Puck—” I say, yawning.

  Puck snaps his little head around, lets go suddenly, and runs over to me, his tiny hooves ringing against the flagstones. He jumps into my arms, and I collapse onto my bed.

  “What didja do?” I ask, grabbing his face spattered with red between both my hands until his lips pucker.

  “He ate my makeup, that’s what he did,” Keva says, tossing her a small tube into the trash can. “And you owe me a new lipstick.”

  I hear her slam the door behind her, and then the world gets all fuzzy.

  When I wake up again, there’s a loud roaring sound above me, and my whole body’s vibrating. I crack my eyes open to find a black cat purring on top of my chest, looking down at me with eyes of gold, and Puck curled up in a ball at my side.

  “Hello.” I cough. My mouth is parched, and every limb feels like it’s been doused in acid. “What are you doing here?”

  The cat jumps off me as soon as I try to pet him. Blinking, I try to get my bearings again. From what I can see of the sky, I take it it’s almost lunchtime.

  For a second, I feel a surge of panic—I’ve missed classes! And I haven’t even caught up with all of my lessons yet. I hurry down the narrow steps, tripping over my bootlaces. But as I hobble toward the courtyard on my way to Runes, my steps falter. Why am I even bothering when I don’t get to do any of the interesting stuff and I get punished all the time?

  My emotions in turmoil, I let my feet take me out a side door, then head due north until I reach the church. After a moment’s hesitation, I sneak inside in search of peace and quiet.

  “What are you doing here, child?”

  I startle at the quiet voice uncomfortably close to me. I hadn’t even seen Father Tristan when I walked in. He resumes his sweeping.

  “Shouldn’t you be in class?” he asks. His black cassock seems to float about him as he moves away, giving him the air of a jellyfish.

  “I, um, wasn’t feeling well,” I say. I sign myself before I can get struck to death for lying inside a holy place.

  “Were you hoping for a confession?” he asks.

  “Not exactly,” I reply. “I just…needed a break.”

  Father Tristan stops his sweeping to look at me with eyes that are so pale they’re almost white. He sets his broom against the wall and holds his hands at his sides, fingers splayed.

  “If you seek some form of asylum, or counsel, you are more than welcome here,” he says. “The house of God always welcomes His children.”

  As he picks up dusting with an old rag, I make my way to an alcove where a dozen votive candles are lined before a statue of Saint George defeating the dragon. A very appropriate place for me, I muse as I kneel on the prie-dieu to pray.

  Despite my best intent, all I can think of is this new world, a world where, no matter how hard I try, I don’t fit.

  Did you expect anything else?

  I ignore my guardian angel’s voice. The initial excitement I’d felt at one day being able to control elements has abated. I wonder now if this isn’t a ploy to keep me from running away so I won’t cause trouble elsewhere.

  Your place is not among them.

  This last sentence surprises me, but again, I ignore the voice, screw my eyes shut, and try to form the first stanzas of the paternoster. But to no avail—vivid images of Percy and Arthur fighting the demon bull superimpose themselves over those of Jennifer bossing me around like I’m her own personal slave, then flash back to Owen and the giant bull before its flames take over the school.

  “Are you getting answers to your questions?” Father Tristan asks behind me.

  I stare up at the saint’s statue; his face is taut with concentration as he spears the beast at his feet. I know his tale. The knight had been the only one brave enough to face the deadly dragon, saving entire villages and the king’s own daughter.

  My eyes travel down to the dragon at his feet writhing in pain, a look of sheer terror on its face. For once, I sympathize with it, which just goes to show how messed up my life has become.

  “Not any answer I want,” I finally say.

  “Often it’s not until much time has passed that we see the lesson we were to learn from our hardships,” he says. The light of the candles reflects in his pale gaze. “You remind me of a friend I once had. He, too, had many questions. And those answers he did have left him dissatisfied.”

  “What happened to him?” I ask.

  “He sought new ones.”

  “Did he like those better?”

  “He died for them.”

  Well, that’s just peachy. Is that what’s going to happen to me too? But the thought of my potentially imminent death brings those of Agnès and my father to mind, and I shiver.

  “Do not worry, child,” Father Tristan says. “God is faithful, He will not let you be tried beyond your ability, but will provide a solution that you may be able to endure it.” His voice lowers as if he’s rewound his memory way back. “However scarred you may end up afterward.”

  Gloomy words from someone who professes to help people out. But then again, none of his sermons have been of the cheery sort. Perhaps he, too, is suffering from some chronic case of depression.

  “Father, can I ask you a question?”

  Father Tristan seems to shake himself out of his reverie and smiles. “What is it?”

  “I’ve heard you speak of the Fey and their abilities,” I say. “You speak of all that magic as being evil, and that it must be wiped away from the face of this earth, that we must send them all to Hell. And yet—”

  “And yet I live here,” he finishes for me, “in a world that only exists because of such magic, a practice clearly condemned by the Bible for leading down the path of evil. True. However, you need to understand that, sometimes, one needs to be with one’s enemy to understand it and therefore be better able to defeat it. A worthy cause, don’t you think? Damning the few to save the many.”

  His words echo those of Keva’s, and I’m starting to wonder if they aren’t right. Quiet as a haunting spirit, he moves away.

  “You better get to class now,” he says, “or you’re going to get into trouble.”

  “Yes, Father,” I say with a sigh.

  I don’t know what I was expecting, but somehow I feel a little relieved. I might not be literally sleeping with the devil and I don’t ever want to, but I can withstand being near it. For now.

  ◆◆◆

  I know I’ve just told a priest I’m going back to school, but the last thing I want to do is go practice with a w
ooden knife while everyone else is training in EM.

  Instead, I beeline to the back of the asylum, past a dark stairwell that buries deep into the ground, then stop when my feet reach the edges of the first row of fields.

  My eyes scan the horizon, beyond the long hills where a long green line denotes the forest—the very forest that is supposedly the Fey’s last standing line, where people are said to lose their minds or get swallowed up, not to be seen again for centuries.

  I wonder what it would be like to come back here in a hundred years. Would the school still be here? Would I have to face the same problems, with bratty students and pitiless teachers? At least I’d be rid of my annoying family…

  Drawn by the sweet scent of flowers, I continue on my way north. Soon, a single large rock rises up to meet me, the size of a small cottage.

  Before it stands a beautiful woman, her long brown curls falling in a soft cloud over her lavender dress. As I hesitate to approach her, unsure whether she’s a teacher or not, the woman turns around and smiles.

  “Morgan,” she says in a voice as sweet as the chirping of birds, “how very nice to meet you.”

  The hem of her dress starts to move on its own, and a very familiar bearded head pokes from around her ankles.

  “Puck!” I say, surprised to see him so far from the school.

  The woman laughs. “Yes, it was time for him to get some fresh air and a change of scenery. The poor little fellow’s still afraid of closets.”

  And it’s no wonder. The hobgoblin bounds over to me and nearly tackles me to the ground. I laugh—this is the warmest welcome I’ve ever experienced!

  “I’m so glad he’s made a friend,” the woman says. Her eyes seem to be changing colors with every movement of her head.

  Puck detaches himself from me and from my petting, and charges the stone with his tiny horns. He bounces off the rock and lands on his hairy bottom, dazed. The woman picks him up into her arms.

  “How many times do I have to tell you that won’t work on that stone?” the woman says kindly.

  I notice then that the stone’s blue-gray surface is covered in thousands of small runes.

  “What do they say?” I ask.