Morgana Trilogy Complete Series

by Alessa Ellefson

  “Arthur, tell them they’ve got it wrong,” Luther says, as the guards march him away through the growing throng of onlookers. “Arthur! This is all fabrications, lies!”

  But Arthur remains mute, eyes staring sightless at some distant point, lost in thought.

  “Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for our Order!” Luther protests, his cries carrying over the buzzing of the crowd.

  I stare in shock long after he and Sir Cade are gone, my thoughts in total disarray. Why this? Why now, of all times? We have more important things to take care of, like letting everyone know the truth about Carman, and finding ways to stop her. Or did my uncle feel it necessary to protect me?

  “Toppling the status quo, as always,” a sarcastic voice says. “And you wonder why so many hate you.”

  I whirl around to face a grinning Keva. I can’t help but return her smile, relieved to find her still in one piece.

  “Might wanna keep your distance from that devil spawn,” Daniel drawls, scowling at me.

  Keva pinches him in reprisal. “Lucifer, for your information, means Bringer of Light,” she states, reminding me of the two flying mice. “And that was quite the lightshow you put on,” she adds to me. “Way cooler than anything else I’ve seen any Fey do. I mean, look at my skin. It’s positively glowing!”

  “I didn’t do anything,” I mumble, growing increasingly uncomfortable as those still around turn their attention upon me.

  “It can’t have been her, she’s just a child,” I hear someone say, somewhere off to my left.

  Keva’s dimpling cheeks belie the manic gleam in her eyes. “Quite the Saint Thomas, aren’t you?” she says at the woman, tossing her braid back. “You saw it all, and yet you still don’t believe. I wonder, would it be the same if the truth smacked you right in the face?”

  Daniel puts his hand on her shoulder, as worried as I am that Keva may actually carry out her threat.

  “How did she do that?” someone else asks.

  “Why didn’t she save us before?” an older man juts out, elbowing his way to the front of the growing throng. “My son died out there!” He points at me. “She could have saved him!”

  “Hey now,” Keva says, sounding a little less certain of herself. “Her powers don’t come with a set of instructions. Did you know how to use oghams properly from the get-go? I don’t think so.”

  “She’s one of them,” a younger woman spits. “It’s in her blood to know these things. She’s been holding back!”

  I stumble back, afraid of how quickly their looks have turned from hope and gratefulness to bitter resentment and hate.

  “Enough,” Sir Pelles says. He may be just inches taller than I am, but his presence is enough to appease the choleric knights. “We have much to—”

  “Lady Helen has a point,” Sister Marie-Clémence says, arriving at the scene with a contingency of guards.

  To my surprise, Bri’s father’s at her side, looking grave despite the sagging belly peeking through the rend in his mailed shirt where a demon must have stabbed him.

  “I don’t believe I was done speaking,” Sir Pelles says with a withering stare for the nun.

  A sudden gust of wind whips around the gardens, raising so much dust and snow that everyone’s forced to seek cover. I cough, shielding my stinging eyes.

  The bale dies away as quickly as it appeared, and we find Lugh and Oberon standing by the fountain, golden eyes glowing in the burgeoning dusk. Their silent presence is enough to quell some of the dissenting voices in the crowd.

  “I entreat you all to remain composed,” Sir Pelles states. “This war has already taken too many of ours, why then are you antagonizing those who would be our allies? This squire here has done nothing but try to protect us, as is her duty, and you wish to lynch her like a crazed mob?”

  Some of the knights look away in shame at the older man’s reproach.

  “Because she displays powers you do not possess?” Sir Pelles continues. He lifts a hand before Sister Marie-Clémence can interrupt him again. “Do not judge lest ye be judged,” he continues, voice growing louder so even those at the back can hear him. “For if her sin is to carry Fey blood in her veins, then we are all sinners.”

  Shocked gasps rise from those assembled, and Sister Marie-Clémence’s scowl deepens.

  “Sir Gorlois was right when he claimed our parentage to those we hunted,” Sir Pelles forges on. “We can no longer go on, with our heads in the sand, refusing to believe the truth simply because it doesn’t suit our fancy. Let us, therefore, take example on our own children, who have more readily embraced their abilities, under the tutelage of these two Fey Lords.”

  Lugh and Oberon finally move, parting to let us see a red-haired girl standing just behind them. Marianne. The knight Oberon nearly killed in Lugh’s Oak Tree. She looks shyly at the rotund Fey who nods at her obligingly.

  Taking a shaky breath, she steps forward, and holds her hands out. At first, it doesn’t look like she’s doing anything, then a boy cries out, pointing at her feet. And there, peeking from between two slabs of stone, is a growing plant stem, the shoot a vibrant green. Shocked gasps race across the gathered throng. For this time, Marianne isn’t using a single ogham.

  “I know that our relations have not always been the fondest,” Lugh says, as Marianne coaxes the plant up, leaves now unfurling in small bouquets, “not even when fighting side by side these last couple of years. But as demonstrated tonight by Morgan, daughter of Sir Gorlois, it is by embracing our differences that we can grow stronger together, and help each other win.

  “To that effect, Lord Oberon has reached out to your very own sons and daughters to help them regain abilities that had been lost for generations. Powers that are yours to command should you choose, and you have only to ask.”

  At a sign of Lugh, Oberon steps forward. “Pages, please advance.”

  Keva gasps as seven more boys and girls break timidly away from the crowd to join Marianne’s side.

  “Is that Brown Bag?” Daniel asks, using the nickname he, Ross and Brockton had come up with for Elias, after the latter had had an unfortunate accident during an EM combat class with Lady Ysolt.

  Elias is the tallest of the group—the only one in our class who didn’t become a squire like the rest of us, or even a knight, like Daniel. He’s the second to demonstrate his newfound abilities. Carefully, almost reverently, he extends his hands and coaxes a bright blue flame to life, letting it drip from one hand to the other like a fiery liquid.

  “I think you’re the one about to shit your pants now,” Keva tells Daniel with a smirk.

  Encouraged by Elias, the other six pages follow suit, displaying their own innate abilities, laughing at the adults’ gawking.

  Sir Pelles uses the stunned silence to speak up again. “As Lady Marianne and these pages can attest, although training sessions have barely started, they are already bearing fruit. Many of you have complained of the unreliability of ogham use. Well, this is your chance to take matters into your own hands. Should any of you desire to learn as well, Lord Oberon has kindly offered to assist in this as well. Everyone else is to report for cleanup duty, and—”

  I jump as someone’s hand lands on my shoulder.

  “Saved by the great Pelles himself,” Gauvain whispers in my ear, steering me carefully away from the captivated throng, “and a perfect opportunity to escape.”

  Exchanging curious glances, Daniel and Keva follow close behind as Gareth falls into step with us, the latter having evidently lost his shirt and jacket in the fight.

  “First of all, we’d like to thank you for saving our derrières[101],” Gauvain says.

  “Truly,” Gareth says, pectorals gleaming in the light of a passing torch.

  “But we must ask for your help, again,” Gauvain says.

  “OK,” I slowly say, wondering what all the fuss is about.

  “See, Arty’s somehow disappeared,” Gauvain says, hefting a loud sigh.

  I try to look back
over my shoulder. “But isn’t he…here?” I ask. “I thought—”

  “Alas, no,” Gareth says, scratching his belly with his war hammer.

  “Rumors say he disappeared yonder,” Gauvain says, stopping finally at the edge of the path, and pointing back the way we first arrived, towards the thick forest that borders Caamaloth’s northeaster side.

  “Looking rather distressed,” Gale adds emphatically.

  “Arthur’s missing and distraught,” Keva says, catching on to the cousins’ game. “Gee, I wonder who might be able to cheer him up?”

  “A good meal with some eghajira[102] always works for me,” Gauvain says, smiling thankfully at her.

  “I think he’d need a more…delicate touch,” Keva says, waving at me to go.

  “A soothing presence,” Gareth says, voice shaking with barely-concealed laughter.

  I roll my eyes at their theatrics. “I, uh, guess I’ll go and check up on him,” I finally say. “As his squire, you know.”

  “Would you do that for us?” Gauvain asks, hand on heart.

  “Might be preferable to have her away,” Daniel grumbles. “Safer for us.”

  Ignoring his comment and the others’ embarrassing giggles, I scamper off in search of Arthur. Everyone was laughing, as if it’s some kind of joke, but what’s happened with his dad is serious. And his inability to help Luther, even when he asked for help, must be weighing on him. I’m only too familiar with the bitter taste of guilt to want Arthur to taste it as well.

  I navigate my way through the wreckage and dead bodies as quickly as I can, my eyes darting to the pockets of darkness where he may have found refuge. But it isn’t until I pick my way around the Security Hall’s debris that something makes me look up, and I catch sight of a tall silhouette melting inside the woods, the cruciform pommel of a sword flashing once above his head.

  “Arthur!” I call out, taking off at a run.

  My boots hit the packed snow at breakneck speed, thoughts racing. Why is he going away in the middle of the forest like that, all alone? Surely, he can’t be thinking about—

  “Arthur!” I shout again, heart thumping.

  This time, Arthur hears me and he stops, though his back is still turned to me.

  “I’ve been looking all over for you,” I say, breathing heavily. “What are you doing here?”

  My hand brushes lightly against his elbow as I circle around him so I can see his face, and my heart stops. Tears trail down Arthur’s cheeks, his teeth digging into his lower lip so as not to make a sound.

  I open my mouth, start to say something, then click it shut again. Nothing I say can make him feel better. So I do the only thing I can think of, and wrap Arthur into a gentle hug, patting his shaking shoulders to let him know I’m here for him, just as he has always been there for me.

  “I…I’m really sorry about all this,” I whisper to him.

  At last, Arthur pulls away, wiping his face with the back of his sleeve. “You shouldn’t be the one to apologize,” he says. “It is I who”—he takes in a shuddering breath—“I should have prevented this.”

  “What are you talking about? You haven’t done anything.”

  “Exactly,” he says hotly, “I did nothing!”

  He looks up at the stars peeking through the forest’s interlacing branches, eyes sparkling with the last of his tears.

  “Arthur, none of this is your fault,” I say.

  He pulls brusquely away. “But my father—”

  “Is his own man,” I say. “You’re not responsible for his doings.”

  Just as I’m not responsible for my parents’ actions either.

  Arthur looks away, shoulders tense, face unreadable. But I know him well enough now to see that no matter what anyone says, he’s going to keep blaming himself. Just like I keep blaming myself for what I am and what Carman’s been able to do through me.

  I reach for him again, my warm fingers closing around his gloved hand. Arthur’s frown turns into a look of surprise as I pull him after me, deeper into the woods, away from Caamaloth’s smoldering ruins and corpses, from the Board and the Order’s constraints and obligations.

  We break into a run, bounding through the trees until our breaths are ragged, sweat pouring freely down our backs and foreheads. We run until our sides ache so much that the pain drives all other thought aside, and only stop when we reach the foot of a wide cliff.

  Heart thumping loudly in my ears, I return Arthur’s dazzling smile. We’ve landed in a small clearing, the blanket of snow that covers it untouched by man or beast. The last of the clouds have long since disappeared, leaving us alone beneath the twinkling lights of a thousand galaxies. Staring up at them, it’s hard to imagine that what’s happening here is so important. I feel so small, and insignificant, and…free.

  I laugh, twirling around like I’ve had too much ambrosia, grabbing Arthur’s hands so he can join in this crazed dance. Then, without a word, Arthur suddenly grabs my face and plants a kiss on my mouth. A tingling warmth floods my stomach at the touch of his soft lips. I feel myself respond, eyes fluttering closed, drawing closer into his warmth.

  And then Arthur vanishes.

  Chapter 28

  A bird lets out a lone, high-pitched note before settling on the cross guard of a long sword planted blade-first in the grass like a grave marker. A body lies a few feet away, motionless in the sunlight.

  “Arthur?” I call out, knowing it’s him.

  But my cry echoes forlornly against the cliffside, remaining unanswered. I close my eyes, trying to bring the strange vision back for a hint as to Arthur’s location. The cold wind picks up, making me shiver. At least Arthur didn’t look like he was going to freeze any time soon. Rather, the vision makes me think he’s slipped through a portal into another, sunnier universe…

  I bare my teeth in a silent growl, slowly scanning the area—the line of trees, black against the starry sky, its edges blending seamlessly with the mountain’s rock wall, in a perfect circle. A Fey circle.

  Bastards.

  I drop to my knees, staring fiercely at the spot where Arthur and I were kissing just a moment ago.

  “Arthur!” I yell at the trampled ground, sounding like a crazed woman. “Arthur come back!”

  I punch the frozen ground, sending flurries of snow outward, and keep pounding until my knuckles are shredded and bleeding all over the snow.

  Arthur sits up with a groan, rubbing his disheveled head. The bright summer sun reflects off his blood-spattered uniform, and he turns his face to the warm light, breathing in deeply, eyes closed. Peaceful.

  “Dammit, Arthur, come back here!” I shout again.

  I punch the ground once more, sending a burst of angry energy out that makes the earth ripple, and shakes the snow off the nearest treetops.

  There’s a sharp squeak of surprise, and I whirl towards the forest line. I slit my eyes as a fresh pile of snow starts wriggling, then a long-nosed mouse pokes its way through, coughing.

  “There’s no need to be rude,” Papillon says with another indignant squeak. “All you had to do was knock properly.”

  “Where’s Arthur?” I shout, jumping to my feet. “Where did you kidnap him to? Bring him back here!”

  Papillon unfurls his dragonfly wings and flutters over to my side like a mutant bumblebee, then hovers just out of reach to brush the snow off his fur, preening. Shaking with rage, I force my hands into my pockets before I can smack the annoying creature away.

  “How about we go to him instead?” Papillon says at last, finally catching onto my mood. “Allow me.”

  Papillon drops to the ground, lifts his hind leg, and raps it on the bloody snow in a rapid rhythmic patter. I frown, waiting expectantly for a moment or two, but nothing happens.

  “I don’t have time to play stupid games with you. Tell me where he is, now!” I explode.

  “Shh,” Papillon says, holding a tiny paw up, giant ears perked. “It’s coming.”

  “What’s co—”
/>   I start as the blanket of snow turns to water, a giant pool of warm water that soaks through everything. I stare in earnest at Papillon through the heat now fogging the air, wondering what kind of trick he’s playing on me. Then the earth starts to glow, refracting through the water in iridescent colors.

  “Arthur?” I shout again, forced to close my eyes against the spreading light. “Are you in there?”

  Arthur grows still, as if straining to hear something. He turns around, hazel eyes flickering across the landscape, brow furrowed in confusion.

  “Morgan?” he calls back, his voice sounding oddly near.

  The air pressure shifts making my ears pop, and I suddenly find myself plunging straight into the ground, the soil swallowing me whole like a giant maw. Then, in the span of a breath, the earth spits me back out the other side, and I’m pelting through a clear blue sky, straight down for the skeletal remains of a massive, six-headed monster.

  With a strangled gasp, I try to slow myself down, barely avoiding a gargantuan rib, before I hit the ground with a bone-jarring thud.

  “That looks like it hurt.”

  I blink dazedly as Arthur’s face appears above mine, a disgraceful groan escaping my lips.

  “Where?” I manage to wheeze out after a few painful breaths.

  Arthur shrugs, before helping me up. “I have no clue, but…”

  “But?” I prod him, testing my legs to make sure nothing’s broken.

  “But it’s kinda nice here, isn’t it?” he says. “Quiet, peaceful… You could almost forget about everything that’s happening out there.”

  He looks away in shame, shoulders hunching as if expecting me to laugh at him. But I know what it’s like to suddenly lose all your bearings at once and become…orphaned.

  “Still would be good to know where we’ve landed,” I say, though I have a strong suspicion.

  Papillon may have conveniently eclipsed himself, this is definitely the Demesne of a powerful Fey. I take in the giant ribcage stretching over us. Whatever the beast was, it must’ve been dead for a long while, for moss is eating away at its skeleton in large patches.

  “Well, wherever we are, I’m glad to be here with you,” Arthur says haltingly.