Morgana Trilogy Complete Series

by Alessa Ellefson

  Arthur finally manages to pull me free, causing the bead of nectar to fall on my manacle. The metal sizzles as it comes into contact with the flower’s liquid and I gulp as the iron dissolves, leaving a wide hole behind.

  “And to think that could’ve been your arm,” Percy says, patting my shoulder.

  Holding my bloody hand up to my chest, I keep my eyes on the make-out hedge. Not only do Carman and Irene want me dead, but now I also have to add a stupid tree to the list?

  “The girl is wasting our time,” Luther says, “and I’ve got pressing matters to attend.”

  I nervously rub my hands together, the hole left by the thorn in my palm already closing over. Why won’t the stairs show up? And why does the tree suddenly not like me? I’m still the same person who—

  I freeze. “I’m not the same,” I say out loud.

  “I beg your pardon?” the judge asks.

  I whirl around, my long chain wrapping itself around me. “The tree doesn’t recognize me anymore,” I say. “But I haven’t changed at all except for—”

  “The seal,” Arthur says.

  “You’re saying the seal…acted like a keycard?” Father Tristan asks.

  I nod emphatically. “Exactly! That’s the only way—”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Luther says already heading back the way we came. “This girl’s excuses are getting more outlandish by the minute. The longer we stay here, the more we’re getting involved in her little games. We came here, we saw nothing. Period.”

  Resigned, the judge follows suit, trailed by the rest of the Board members and KORT knights. With an evil smirk, the guard pulls harshly on my chain to get me going.

  “Looks like it’s the end of you after all,” he tells me with a wide grin. “And believe you me, I’ll be more ‘n happy to chop off that she-devil head of yours.”

  ◆◆◆

  “But she can’t be trusted!” Irene snaps after the judge and the jury members have deliberated, their whispers never distinct enough for me to hear what they’re saying about me.

  “And she has repeatedly gone against express orders,” Luther adds.

  I sag against the podium to which I’ve been chained again, letting Puck play with my manacles. I look up at the clear sky-lake then breathe in deeply, letting the fresh air fill my lungs. In a few minutes’ time, I’ll be back down in my stinky hole with Nibs for company, so I might as well enjoy these last few moments at the surface. My only regret is not getting to find out the truth about my parents.

  “Miss Pendragon,” the judge finally says with a warning look at Luther and Irene. “The jury has deliberated and it has found that, despite certain events, it appears that you’ve shown you can be depended upon when it matters.”

  I pause in my attempt to stop Puck from gnawing at my chains and turning my hands into a slobfest that I don’t particularly relish.

  “However,” the judge continues, “the fact that your powers are now unfettered remains a problem. Therefore, though you are absolved of any wrongdoing, you will be placed back into your cell until a solution or other compromise is found. The Board has decided.” He raises a small wooden hammer and slams it quickly down on the table before briskly taking off.

  The elation I felt just a second ago evaporates just as quickly. Finding a way to control my supposed powers is just an excuse—they’re going to keep me down there until my flesh rots off my bones, there’s no doubt about it.

  I shiver as Puck lets out a disgruntled sigh and settles back into my arms, giving up on the irons.

  But, I realize with some surprise, I’m not ready to back down quite yet.

  “Puck,” I whisper before the guard finishes untethering me and takes me away again. “I need you to do something for me.”

  The hobgoblin tilts his head questioningly.

  “I need you to get the guard’s keys,” I continue. “No, not now!” I tighten my hold on the hobgoblin before he can jump out of my arms and onto my guard. “Later, after they’ve locked me up again. Then you can take the keys, discreetly, and come open the door for me.” I look into his eyes, trying to figure out whether he’s understood anything I’ve said.

  “Can you do that for me?” I ask.

  In response, Puck reaches for another strand of my hair and starts munching on it. I shake my head at myself—Nibs was right, I’ve gone completely bonkers to have even entertained the thought that Puck, whose only achievement is stealing milk, could help me.

  Chapter 3

  “Carman must have been extremely weakened if she couldn’t beat a whelp like you,” the guard says, shoving me back inside my cell.

  I glare at him, adding him to my payback list, but the man just sneers at me.

  “Back so soon?” Nibs asks the moment the door closes on us, shutting out all light.

  “Home, sweet home,” I mutter, feeling my way around to avoid walking into the solid walls.

  “And with your head still attached to your shoulders I see,” Nibs adds. “It’s better than you expected, I suppose, though not what I was hoping for.”

  “Does that mean you don’t want me to get you out of here?” I ask him.

  “I told you, I’m waiting—”

  “For Carman to come over and deliver you, yes,” I say, recalling the witch as she emerged from the earth’s entrails in a cloud of poisonous fumes—definitely not the picture of the benevolent savior. “Frankly, I don’t think she cares about you,” I add. “She probably doesn’t even know you exist.”

  Nibs doesn’t respond, and I feel a pang of guilt. Considering his current state is partly my fault, I shouldn’t antagonize him so.

  “Don’t worry,” I say in a manner of apology. “I’ll get you out, even if I have to drag your shivering butt out of here to do so.”

  “Sounds like you have something up your sleeve,” Nibs says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “But even if they release you, you won’t be able to charm my way out. I’m way past redemption at this point. As a Fey informer who’s betrayed its employer and had a big hand in the attack’s success, I have too many strikes against me.”

  He says the last as if it’s his proudest achievement and I wonder at the wisdom of my decision to bring him along in my escape. But I promised I would, and I never go back on my word. If, that is, I do get out, which is another issue altogether.

  My thoughts trail to Puck, wondering whether he’s managed to steal the keys yet. Or if he even understood a single word I told him which, as time trickles by, seems less and less likely. I feel fear’s cold fingers clamp around my stomach once again—I might as well pray for a miracle.

  I take a long, deep breath. Now’s not the time to panic. What I need is to gain the judge’s clemency. And the only way to get that is to give him what he wants…

  I stop in the middle of pacing the room, my hand resting on the cold wall. “I have a question,” I say.

  “Jameson’s,” Nibs says automatically.

  “What?”

  “Unless you mean rum,” he continues, “in which case I must admit I like Captain Morgan.”

  “I don’t care what alcohol you want,” I say.

  “Then I don’t see why we should be conversing,” Nibs says with a note of finality.

  “What do you know about the Sangraal?” I ask. “It can heal anyone, right?”

  “Only when activated,” Nibs says, after a moment’s pause. “But only a few Fey can manage that.”

  “I know you said it can’t give you a new ogham,” I say, “but what if I got your ogham back? Could it fix you then?”

  Nibs’s breath comes out in a whistle. “It could help me reintegrate it into my system,” he says cautiously.

  “Seriously?” I ask.

  “The Sangraal augments one’s powers tremendously,” he explains, “so that the one using it can accomplish just about anything. Including merging its oghams into one, or breaking them into more parts, healing, changing forms…it can even increase your link with your weapon so
you’re practically invincible.” He spits loudly. “Michael used that trick during the Great War. Nobody stood a chance against him and his sword of flames after that, not even Lucifer whose predilection was fire!”

  “A sword!” I exclaim, the word jarring my memory. “That’s what it was!”

  “What what was?” Nibs asks, annoyed at having his recollection interrupted.

  “At my trial today they kept asking me about Excalibur, but I couldn’t remember what it was.”

  “They did, did they?” Nibs asks, suddenly all ears.

  “Yeah. Though I don’t know why they care so much about one sword. They’ve got thousands of others.”

  “There’s no other sword like Excalibur,” Nibs says. “It is one of the Nine Worthies. And I’m not talking about your ridiculous knighthood ideals either, but about the ultimate Fey weapons. Any one of the Nine Worthies can destroy absolutely anything, even the Sangraal itself if the wielder so chooses.”

  “Why would anyone want to do that?” I ask in surprise.

  “So its power can’t go into enemy hands.” Nibs’s voice grows distant, “That’s what our leader had intended. It was the only way to defeat Michael and win the war, you see. Without it, Michael’s flaming sword wouldn’t have been any greater than Lugh’s Goirias, Manannan’s Fragarach, or Lucifer’s Excalibur.”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” I say, my head reeling from the info dump. “Excalibur was Satan’s sword?”

  “Lucifer, please,” Nibs says. “Or Lucifel, if you want to stick to the angelic declension. Satan wouldn’t have dared raise a finger if it weren’t for Lucifer, doesn’t have enough balls.”

  “Excalibur was Lucifer’s?” I ask again, trying not to think about the devil’s privates.

  “Yes,” Nibs says. “At least until it got stolen.” His voice lowers to a harsh whisper that makes me shiver, “And if I ever get my hands on Caim, I’ll make sure he suffers for the rest of eternity.” He hawks loudly and spits, the clump of mucus hitting the floor with a wet squelch. “So, what did your people want to know about Excalibur?” he asks jovially.

  “If I knew where it was,” I answer automatically.

  “And do you?”

  “Why does everyone think I do?” I ask, exasperated.

  “Well, your father was the last one to behold it,” Nibs says, sounding eager. “Perhaps he hid it with you?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I say caustically, “I forgot I had it tucked away in my diaper at the time, but I find it more practical to stuff it down my socks nowadays.”

  “No need to be snotty with me,” Nibs says, his enthusiasm snuffed out. “I’m not the one who started with all the pointless questions.”

  He sniffs, making it clear our conversation is over and done with. With, I resume my pacing around the room, waiting for help that’s not coming.

  ◆◆◆

  Bong.

  I hit my head against the door, the sound resonating like that of a gong.

  Bong.

  A few more brain cells have been killed off, another hundred billion to go.

  Bong.

  “Will you stop that?” Nibs snaps. “I can’t think with all that racket.”

  “What’s the point in thinking at all anymore?” I ask. “We’re both doomed to spend the rest of our lives here until our skin rots off our bones.”

  Nibs lets out a disgusted sound. “Your father must’ve been the most annoying prick in the world.”

  “Don’t you dare talk about my father like that!” I shout, pulling away from the door.

  “Well you obviously don’t get it from your mom,” Nibs retorts.

  I’m about to scream for him to shut up when the other shoe drops. “You know my mother?”

  Nibs sniffs loudly. “I’m done talking to you. You always want information from me, but you never give me anything in return.”

  I crawl over to him as fast as I can, scraping my knees in the process. “You know my mother?” I ask again, unable to keep my voice from pitching dangerously high.

  “Like I told you,” Nibs says petulantly, “I have nothing more to say to you. Except to get out of my face, you’re invading my personal bubble.”

  Before I know what I’m doing, my hands are shaking him like a rag doll. “Who is she?” I ask, spitting the words in his face.

  “Get… Off… Me!” Nibs gurgles.

  My anger boils over and I shake him harder. “Tell me who she is,” I yell, “or I swear being disfigured will be the least of your worries!” I freeze, hands trembling with the shock of my own words. “I’m sorry,” I start. “I didn’t mean…”

  “Spare me,” Nibs wheezes.

  A loud, grating sound makes us both jump in surprise.

  “What was that?” I whisper, my hands still clutched around Nibs’s iron collar.

  “Someone’s here,” Nibs whispers back.

  We both hunker down as the door squeaks open and a thin ray of light penetrates the tenebrous depths of our cell. There’s another push, and the flickering beam of light thickens a full foot, outlining a long, horned shadow on the floor.

  “St. George’s balls,” I squeal, “he did it!”

  I rush to Puck’s side and grab the hairy hobgoblin into a tight embrace.

  “You came!” I shout, twirling Puck around in the air until he’s about to get sick.

  “Could someone please explain to me what’s going on?” Nibs asks, bringing me back down to the emergency of the situation.

  I carefully set Puck back down and he teeters over to Nibs, sniffing about the clurichaun like a dog hunting for a bone. Nibs recoils from the smaller creature as Puck tries to lift his leg to sniff the floor underneath.

  “Tell your pet to get away from me,” Nibs growls.

  I laugh. “He’s not my pet,” I say, “and he’s here to free us! Which reminds me…” I reach around the door and hear an answering clink as my fingers grasp the round of keys still stuck inside the lock. “It’s time to get you out of your fetters.”

  Nibs eyes me suspiciously as I go through the different keys on the ring to find the one that fits his locks. But when the chains finally come off, he doesn’t move.

  “Well don’t just stay there,” I say. “Someone’s bound to find the keys are missing at one point or another, and when they do we better be a thousand miles away.”

  But, sitting in his tattered red clothes, the clurichaun looks lost, his one good eye staring vacantly at me through a mat of greasy hair. Like a lab rat who’s spent all its days in a cage, the clurichaun doesn’t seem to remember how to walk anymore.

  Gently, I take Nibs’s hand and pull him to his feet, surprised at how light he is. Then, slowly, I coax him to move a shaky foot forward, and then another. Finally, we pause at the door, making sure the corridor’s still empty, then tiptoe our way out down the same way Irene and her guard took me just hours ago.

  When we reach the end of the hallway, however, Nibs snatches his hand out of mine.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, startled. “The exit is that way,” I add, pointing at the steps jutting out from the smooth wall.

  “I don’t need you to babysit me,” he says, turning his face away from me so I can only see his unmarred side. “I thank you for keeping your word, but from here on out, we make our separate ways.”

  “But I don’t—”

  “I’ll find my own way out,” Nibs says, bounding down a narrow tunnel that opens up under the stairs.

  I let out a grunt of frustration—after all the pain Puck and I went through to get us out, he’s going to blow it by going solo!

  I’m about to go after Nibs when a long, dark shape slinks into view and meows. With an excited snort, Puck bolts towards the cat, but the feline avoids his outstretched arms and the hobgoblin falls, skidding to a stop at the foot of the stairs, stunned.

  I refrain from crying out and quickly look up the staircase, but nobody seems to have heard him.

  “Puck, get back here,” I whisper harsh
ly, drawing the cat’s attention.

  It’s all Puck needs and, with a wide grin, he grabs the cat’s tail in his pudgy hands and yanks down. With a furious snarl, the cat rakes its paw across Puck’s bewildered face, leaving deep gouges behind.

  Suddenly, the metal door at the top of the stairs opens, and I dive for cover inside the tunnel, my heart pounding wildly. Then, motioning for the two creatures to stay with me, I run down the dark passage after Nibs, my booted feet barely making a sound on the flagstones. A moment later, Puck and the cat scurry by, but too late: As I look over my shoulder I see a guard’s outline delineated in the passage’s entryway.

  “Ring the alarm, the prisoner’s escaped!” the woman yells.

  Crap. I speed up, mentally cursing Puck for causing trouble so quickly. The tunnel veers suddenly right, a single torch sputtering feebly in the corner. But as I reach the bend something whooshes in the air above me, ruffling my hair, then hits the ceiling in a thunderous explosion, showering me with debris and extinguishing the torchlight.

  Coughing on the billowing clouds of dust, I stumble through the rubble, feeling my way around.

  I gasp as a small hand grabs mine.

  “Over here, stupid!” Nibs hisses.

  The clurichaun pulls me after him, and we both hurtle down the now completely dark passageways until the guards’ muffled shouts die down in the distance.

  “Ouch,” Nibs exclaims when he runs into a wall.

  “Are you OK?” I ask, slowing down.

  “Just keep moving,” he breathes, turning left.

  We sprint forward, ever deeper into the tunnels. Occasionally, I look behind us as the faint sounds of pursuit drift over, but the guards must have gone down another passage and soon, only our footsteps and harsh breathing can be heard.

  Nibs lets out another string of curses as he slams into a wall for the sixth time.

  “Are you sure we’re going the right way?” I ask. “I mean, I feel like we’re just going around in circles down here.”

  I feel Nibs glower at me. “Well why don’t you light the way for us then, stupid hybrid?” he snarls.