Morgana Trilogy Complete Series

by Alessa Ellefson

  I wince and try to get away, but Jennifer doesn’t let me go. A growl starts out low in my throat, and I lash out, punching her as hard as I can.

  Jennifer falls unceremoniously to the ground to the collective gasp of her fan group.

  “What did you do that for?” a squire girl asks, rushing over to help Jennifer.

  “You better stay away from me,” I say to the blonde girl as she gets back up, holding her eye. “Stop messing with me, or else you’re really going to regret it.”

  “She was just trying to help you!” the squire says, outraged.

  “Didn’t I tell you that she’s become more violent?” Daniel says. “She should be locked up like the wacko that she is.” He smirks at me. “Your status as Arthur’s sister isn’t going to protect you forever, you know.”

  His words are accompanied by murmurs of assent. I hold my tongue—a little late, but nothing I can add will make things better now.

  Without another look at them, I continue on my way to the asylum.

  “Hey, wait up!” Jack calls out.

  I slow down enough for him to catch up. He steals a few side glances at me, looking worried.

  “Did you have to go that far?” he asks.

  “What?” I ask, unable to contain my anger any longer. “You think like them too? That I’m some monster waiting to jump anyone who’s unfortunate enough to get in my way?”

  Jack cowers away at my tone, and his reaction only riles me up more.

  “Are you scared of me, Jack?” I practically yell. “You think I might kill you too? Well if that’s the case, what are you still doing hanging around me for? Go away!”

  Eyes wide, Jack darts away like a scared rabbit. The moment he’s gone, my anger disappears, and I’m left feeling like a deflated tire. I want to call him back and apologize, but it’s too late for that now.

  I realize my hand is hurting and slowly unclench it—blood has seeped through the bandage and, pushing it back, I notice the stitches have burst out. I sigh. Time for me to make a quick stop at the infirmary.

  ◆◆◆

  “What did you do to yourself?” Dr. Cockleburr asks me, dabbing my mouth with as much delicacy as a rhinoceros pawing the ground.

  “God nogged o’er ’y zome gids,” I say, my newly bandaged hand limp on my lap.

  Dr. Cockleburr humphs. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you,” she mumbles. “A shame, for someone training to become a nurse to be caught in fights all the time.”

  I grin and immediately regret it as I feel my wound stretch.

  “You better take care of yourself, girl,” the portly woman tells me as I make my way out.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I say, eager to get away and resume my search for Owen.

  I make a sharp turn into the hall that leads to the exit, when my ears prick. I hurry over to one of the windows and listen carefully. Above the distant sounds of laughter and music is the muted sound of a horn. It dies out, then, seconds later, picks up again.

  And this time, the call is answered by a keening wail a few feet away from me that raises every hair on my body.

  Chapter 27

  “Owen!”

  I run after the stumbling boy, jump over a fallen potted plant, slam into a door, and propel myself into the staircase where I’ve seen him disappear.

  “Owen, where are you going?”

  The sound of bare feet slapping against the stone floor comes back down to me, and I climb up the stairs in pursuit. I now really regret having sent Jack away; if this keeps up, I’m going to be running up and down all over the school, and I’ll be dead before lunchtime.

  “Owen, come back here,” I call out.

  His head pops up over the balustrade, the torches behind him throwing his face in deep shadow.

  “They’re coming,” he says, drool coming down his chin before landing a few steps above me. He laughs. “They’re coming for me!”

  I try not to break eye contact with him while I close the distance between us. “Who’s coming for you, Owen?” I ask, keeping my voice calm.

  “Them,” he answers. “You’ve heard the call too, haven’t you?”

  I’m but a few steps away from him now, so close I can see his dilated pupils, the balding spots at his temples where he’s torn out his hair, and the barely scabbing wounds he inflicted upon himself yesterday.

  Slowly, I reach out to him. My fingers brush his sleeves, then the cold flesh of his wrist. He giggles and flees.

  “Owen!” I call out, running after him.

  I land on the second floor. Both hallways on either side of me are empty, the sun peacefully slanting down through the open windows.

  “Saint George’s balls, Owen, where did you go now?”

  I try a classroom door, but find it bolted. With mounting worry, I try each door, finding most of the rooms either locked or empty. As I round the corner, however, I see the boy at the other end of the hallway stiffen. A second later, the distant sound of a horn reaches me.

  I expect Owen to scream again, but he turns around and marches back toward me, his features rigid.

  “So you decided to come with me?” I say with a false cheeriness. “Are you hungry? I can go get you some sweets if you want.”

  But Owen doesn’t seem to hear a word I say. He walks by without so much as a look at me, his mouth resolutely shut.

  “Owen?” I ask, pulling on the back of his dirty jacket.

  Owen doesn’t slow down and keeps on marching, pulling me behind him. I tug harder, but the thinning cloth of his coat rips in my hands, and I stagger backward.

  Without a trace of hesitation, he goes for the KORT room’s large black door and opens it wide.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, rushing after him. “We can’t go in there.”

  I squeeze past him and move about the empty room. “There’s nobody here, see?” I say, gesturing around me. “Just some old table and chairs…”

  Owen stands still as a rock, his eyes glazed over. I use that moment to sneak a peek behind the long drapes where I saw Arthur disappear during my hearing. All I find, however, is a tall mirror at the end of a dark alcove that takes up half the back wall.

  I poke my head back out the drapes. “Nope, nobody here eith—Owen, no!”

  The boy’s moved the Siege Perilous back. I dash toward him, my feet getting caught in the drapes. I fall, scraping my hands and knees, struggle to get back up, then run toward him.

  I’m still feet away from Owen when he sits on the polished black wood of the chair. I gasp, expecting the ceiling to come crashing down on us.

  For a moment, nothing happens, and I let my breath out—those legends were wrong after all.

  “Owen?”

  I take a tentative step toward him and freeze as his head snaps back, his wide-open eyes two pools of black as if his pupils have bled into the rest of his eyeballs. Which I know is not physically possible.

  Facing me, the angel carved on the back of the chair seems to move. My eyes widen as I realize it’s crying, tears of black trailing down its perfectly symmetrical face. The demon it’s about to skewer with his sword opens its mouth, and more of the black goo pours out of it, climbing up the ebony chair.

  Before I know it, the strange liquid’s enveloped Owen’s hands and feet, spreading up and over his limbs. A guttural cry’s wrenched from his thin throat, like his innards are being torn to shreds. He starts struggling against his bindings, his movements getting more jerky and feeble.

  “H-Help,” he gasps before screaming again.

  His eyes, clear for the first time since the accident that sent him to the asylum, are staring straight at me.

  “Please,” he whispers, his body shaken by spasms.

  I lurch forward, grab him under the shoulders, and pull.

  “Come on,” I say, gritting my teeth and trying not to touch the foul substance still creeping up his body.

  Another shudder runs through him as the black liquid reaches his navel, and he lets out a shri
ek that nearly bursts my eardrums. I pull even harder, sweat dripping down my face and back.

  “Try to push yourself!” I yell.

  Owen stops screaming so suddenly I let him slip from my grasp before I realize what I’m doing and tighten my hold on him again. His breath comes out in short gasps, like he’s drowning.

  I don’t care anymore if the black stuff gets on me or not. I need to get him out of there! I grab for his arms, my hands plunging into the dark slime, and find myself grasping the chair instead. I move my hands around, but can’t feel his limbs.

  “Owen, where’s your hand?” I ask, my throat clenching with fear.

  But the boy’s too far gone from the pain, and he doesn’t respond.

  “Owen,” I say, getting more and more frantic, “lift your goddamned hand so I can get you out of there!”

  The black liquid reaches his sternum. Owen’s shoulders convulse.

  “No!” I scream, tearing at the slime as fast as I can, trying to get it off him. “Nononononono!”

  My hands are a blur, but the more I fling the goo off from Owen, the faster it seems to be climbing up his body. Soon it reaches his chin. His head falls against the back of the seat, his mouth open.

  “Please don’t, please don’t, please don’t…” I cry, tears pouring down my face to lose themselves in the black mixture.

  The liquid pours inside his mouth, cutting off his last gurgling cry. Within seconds it closes over his nose, reaches over his scalp. The last thing I see are his eyes, staring into mine, before the darkness envelops them and he’s gone.

  I sink to my knees before the now-empty seat. Owen. Gone! What am I going to tell Bri?

  ◆◆◆

  I don’t know how long I remain prostrated before the Siege Perilous. I don’t even notice when the blackness that’s stolen Owen away disappears again, leaving the seat as pristine as it was before.

  All I can think of as I clench and unclench my hands is how cruel God is to make me witness my friend’s death, but also be the one to have to bear Bri the news.

  In a spurt of rage, I push the seat violently away from me. It topples backward and falls with a loud thud, making the floor shake.

  Then, out of the sudden, deep quiet that’s descended upon me, comes another long, terrifying scream.

  I smack my head up into the side of the table as I look about for another victim, when I realize the screams are coming from outside.

  I rush to the window. Long shadows are now enveloping the courtyard below me, distorting everything in sight. I can see the asylum north of where I stand. On the other side, going west, is the road we take to and from the landing pad, where the boats are waiting the coming of the weekend to send us back to the surface.

  Frowning, I squint at the three long shapes on the hill, their graceful keels curving up into three stylized dragon heads. I blink a few times, then squint again as a dull flash of blue reaches me once more. My breath catches in my throat; running between those boats while waving a knife is a girl, and just a few steps behind her, taking its time, is a blurred-out shape.

  My heart quickens, and I run out of the room, bumping into a white-clad man standing in the doorway. I bounce off the wall before tearing down the hallway toward the stairs that lead to the exit.

  “Help!” I cry out, sprinting so fast a stitch develops in my side.

  From the ground level, I can barely make out the boats. Another sharp scream rings out in the air, then is just as abruptly cut off.

  “Leave her alone!” I yell as my feet pound down the wharf.

  I reach the first of the boats, but find its surroundings empty. Without waiting to catch my breath, I race to the next one. Lying on the blackened grass behind it is Jennifer, a dark shape bent over her.

  My blood runs cold, and I throw myself forward. My fingers graze only air as the shape moves away from me, revealing the rest of Jennifer’s body. I land on my knees on the burnt-out grass next to her.

  I gather Jennifer’s limp body in my arms and look up, but the dark figure’s gone.

  With trembling hands, I shake her by the shoulders.

  “Wake up,” I say, unable to contain a sob. “Wake up. It’s gone. The thing’s gone!”

  But Jennifer’s limpid blue eyes don’t open to glower at me like they usually do.

  “Come on,” I say, shaking her more forcefully. “This isn’t a joke, Jennifer!”

  Someone pushes me aside and grabs her hand. “What did you do to her?”

  My mouth opens and closes without uttering a sound as I watch Lance take Jennifer’s pulse, his movements frantic. Someone else arrives, the same squire who’d come to Jennifer’s aid after I punched her.

  “It’s her!” she says, pointing her finger at me as more people appear. “She’s the one who did this. I saw her!”

  “What?” I mumble.

  “You didn’t have enough beating her senseless,” Daniel says, scowling at me, “you also had to try to kill her!”

  “I didn’t—”

  “You said you would make her pay,” the girl says, bursting into tears, “and now you have!”

  “You’re a witch, admit it!” a boy spits at me.

  “You’re trying to kill everyone around you!” someone exclaims.

  “She’s probably got Fey blood in her,” Daniel says. “Always said she was a troll.”

  “Or maybe she’s a demon escaped from hell,” the squire retorts.

  Helpless, I watch as Lance picks Jennifer up in his arms like she weighs no more than a bag of feathers, and hurries away.

  At the end of the pier, he runs into Arthur.

  “She’s still alive,” I hear Lance say before he continues on down the hill toward the school.

  With that one word, it’s like the whole world’s been lifted from my shoulders. I sink farther into the ground, unable to move another muscle. I don’t even react when a pair of shiny black boots enter my vision.

  “Come with me,” I hear Arthur say above me.

  I don’t even care that two knights have to drag me with them like some convict. All I know is that I’ve at least saved one person, and it’s all that matters.

  Chapter 28

  I’m half dragged, half carried back to school. My ears are buzzing, and my head feels like it’s about to burst like a champagne cork. It’s not until we’ve reached the second floor and I see the large KORT room door wide open that I balk.

  “Come on,” a knight says, shoving me inside.

  I trip on my own feet, but manage to stay upright with the help of Percy, who’s holding my other arm.

  “Y’all right there, Morgan?” he asks. “Come on over ’ere, and ’ave a seat.”

  I slump onto the cool stone bench, my eyes riveted to the Siege Perilous. Though the inky liquid that poured over Owen is now gone, sucked back into the chair, I can still see the boy as he was, just moments ago, his gaunt face distorted with pain.

  Hunched over, I let out a whimper. I can hear people trying to push their way in to get a better view of me, but Gauvain and Gareth shove them back out.

  “Enough!” Arthur yells. “I want everyone who’s not a KORT member or an eyewitness to leave this room immediately.”

  With mumbled words of protest, students file back out, leaving a small group behind.

  “Murderess!” Jennifer’s friend hisses at me on her way to the other side of the room, followed by the rest of their pack.

  I watch them fight over who gets to sit farthest from me.

  Someone knocks at the door, and a second later, a freckled face appears.

  “What is it?” Percy asks.

  “I c-came as a w-witness,” Jack says, in obvious awe.

  “Take a seat with the others,” Percy says, motioning toward the bench.

  I try to give Jack a small smile, but he studiously avoids my eyes. To my surprise, he doesn’t stop next to me, but goes to join the others, and I know that he’s going to talk against me. A feeling of betrayal washes over me, but
then I shake it away. I can’t blame Jack; my situation isn’t very pretty right now.

  “You’re finally learning, Smith,” Daniel says. “Thought you’d been taken in by her, like the others. But the witch hasn’t won you over yet, huh?”

  There’s a collective sniggering that gets cut short when Gareth walks over to take a seat. The giant guy pulls his chair out and sits down heavily in it. Daniel lets out a loud cry.

  “Oh, excuse,” Gareth says. “I didn’t realize.”

  And, very slowly, he lifts his seat to let Daniel pull his foot out from under it.

  In another time, another place, I’d have been delighted at the sight. But right now, I can’t bring myself to care.

  A moment later, the door opens again to let in a pale Lance. He marches straight to his seat besides Arthur’s.

  “How is she?” Arthur asks him.

  “We’re not sure,” Lance says with visible difficulty. “Dr. Cockleburr says that she’s showing the same signs of poisoning as Rei, but, from her first observations, it appears something may have stopped its progress. It does look like she was in a fight, however, as she’s bruised around the eye.”

  “Is she conscious?”

  Lance shakes his head.

  “It’s her fault!” Jennifer’s friend yells out, standing up and pointing her finger at me. “It’s because I stopped her that Jennifer’s alive! I—”

  “Silence!” Arthur says. “Sit back down. You will be given the opportunity to speak later.”

  Arthur turns back to Lance. “You were the first knight on the scene,” he says. “What did you see?”

  “I’d heard of a commotion at the landing docks, so I hurried up the hill. When I got to the boats, I saw that girl push Morgan away and Jennifer already unconscious. I checked her vitals, then picked her up to take her to the mending wing.”

  Arthur nods. “Did you note anything strange?”

  “I saw a dagger lying on the ground, but I was too concerned about getting Jennifer help to pay attention to much else.”