Morgana Trilogy Complete Series

by Alessa Ellefson

  I feel myself flush to the root of my hair, and find I’m smiling giddily. “Me too,” I whisper, voice thick with emotion. I slide my hand into his. “We’re gonna find a solution together, to everything. You’ll see.”

  Arthur squeezes my hand in return, and he lets me lead him to the first of the giant ribs. From up close, I can see the fine cracks in the smooth and polished bones, a grey green sheen coating its surface like the nacreous insides of a mollusk.

  “I wish I could ask him why he could never be happy with what he had,” Arthur says sadly, lost in his own thoughts.

  “It’s not too late for that,” I say.

  “But it is for everything else. What’s been done can’t be undone, and you know how terrible the Order’s punishments can be.”

  “But he made it through the first trial safe, didn’t he?” I say. “And that one was for murder.”

  Arthur winces at that word.

  “Sir Cade’s only had him arrested for money matters,” I quickly add. “Maybe I could convince my uncle to get him to work his debt off.”

  He forces a chuckle. “Like doing dishes for the rest of his life?”

  “Hey, look at me,” I say, stepping close to him. “Look at me.”

  Arthur’s gaze flicks up to meet mine for the barest of seconds, but not before I catch the worry etched there.

  “It’s going to be OK,” I say. “We’ll find a solution, I promise.”

  I don’t know how, but I’ll fix this too. And for that, I need to find that flying rat so we can get back to Caamaloth. I make to move away, but Arthur pulls me back, keeping me close to him.

  My heart flutters, stomach tightening in nervous excitement as Arthur’s hand cups my cheek, tilting my head towards his. Then his lips are on mine, warm and soft, setting all my nerves ablaze. Arthur’s fingers twine in my hair as he deepens the kiss, forcing me to curve into his body.

  My thoughts have gone hazy. I know this isn’t the right time, and certainly not the right place, but somehow I can’t remember why.

  Then, too soon, Arthur breaks away, eyes wild. I stare at him in confusion, hating how cold I suddenly feel.

  “I-I’m sorry about that,” Arthur says with a shaky voice. “That wasn’t”—he clears his throat—“this isn’t right.”

  His words act like a slap. My fingers flex with the sudden desire to punch him, but instead I try to coach my features into a mask of indifference.

  “Oh?” I manage to say.

  Arthur doesn’t even have the balls to look at me. Surely he can’t be embarrassed, can he? Is it my breath? Or could it be because I’m a terrible kisser? The thought is enough to make me wish the ground would swallow me whole and send me to the other side of the planet.

  “I just mean…” Arthur stops, takes a ragged breath as his gaze slides up to my mouth, then looks away again.

  Saint George’s balls, it really is because I’m a bad kisser!

  “You mean what?” I ask, voice gone hard, the knot in my stomach tightening.

  “It’s just, with everything that’s happened,” Arthur resumes tentatively, “what with Luther and what he’s done to you and the others… I don’t know that this is…proper.”

  Relief floods through me, and I slowly exhale. OK. This isn’t about me, really. I can deal with that.

  “Listen to me,” I say, gripping both his hands in mine. “I said we’d look into a solution for your father together.”

  “But—”

  “But whatever your father’s done has nothing to do with you,” I say. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not sure I could ever forget what Luther’s done to me and my family. But I could, perhaps, learn to forgive him.”

  I stop, surprised at my own words. And the lack of pain in my stomach only proves that I’m not lying.

  Arthur exhales loudly. “You could?”

  I nod, keeping my hair from being blown in my face by a cool summer breeze. Arthur smiles at me, and for a moment, everything seems to be all right again.

  Then Arthur stiffens.

  “Greetings to the both of you,” a woman’s deep voice says.

  I whirl to meet the new threat, and find a woman smiling benevolently at us. She’s tall and pale, jet black hair shot with grey that frames an angular face. Her amber eyes glow softly as she motions behind her. Set deep within the giant skeleton’s pelvic bone, is the entrance to a cave, one that wasn’t there minutes ago.

  “Who are you?” Arthur asks gruffly.

  The woman’s smile widens, and a strange feeling tugs at my mind, as if remembering a long-ago dream.

  “I am Danu, Morgana’s mother.”

  ◆◆◆

  My knees buckle, and a pair of sturdy hands catches me.

  “Watch it,” Lugh says, smooth voice warm in my ear.

  I recoil in disgust, jerking away from his touch. Lugh’s presence here proves Papillon right. He knew about this place, but chose to withhold the information from me, when I had every damn right to know!

  Now that I am finally in front of this supposed mother of mine.

  “I do not think it wise to expose yourself thus,” Lugh says.

  For a moment, I believe he’s talking to me, but the Fey woman shakes her head.

  “It matters not,” she says. “Our time left here is short.”

  “Things could still be revert—”

  The woman, Danu, lets out a low, raspy laugh. “Ah, my dear Lugh, always the idealist. But the wheels have been set in motion, there is no stymying the flow of things. Not this time.”

  I snort. Funny how she could be saying the exact opposite of what I told Arthur just a few moments ago.

  “These bones are turning to dust before our very eyes!” Lugh exclaims, sounding like this isn’t the first time he’s had this argument with her. “At this rate, Carman will be able to destroy you in a heartbeat.”

  “Carman wishes to absorb my ogham, which is not exactly the same thing,” Danu says, looking at the monster’s moss-eaten vertebrae jutting out of the ground in an uneven path before her. “As she did with the Lapis Exillis.”

  “All to free Balor,” Arthur says pointedly, gaze shifting continuously between us three.

  “The Siege Perilous is a bit of an added problem,” Danu agrees with a slight nod. “But like with everything, the seat has two sides to it.” Her gaze shifts over to Lugh. “Are you not looking forward to finally moving on? There was a time when that was all you wanted.”

  “Not when it means we could risk losing even the little that we have left,” Lugh replies.

  “But this is what we asked for,” Danu says, “the right to choose our own paths. And with free will come risks as well. We must accept our responsibility in handling our own fate. There is not one without the other.”

  Her words remind me that Danu isn’t just any Fey, but the very angel who lead the rebellion against the Heavens. She may talk now about gaining free will, but I know well enough it’s but a paltry excuse to let her and the other Fallen Ones have their vilest desires run rampant.

  “Come with me, Morgana,” Danu says, interrupting my dark thoughts.

  I balk, rage and fear roiling in my stomach. “What for?”

  But Lugh pushes me forward. “Go on, we do not have much time for you to waste in pointless tantrums,” he says.

  I mean to snap back at him, but find my feet are moving of their own accord, and before I know it, I’m standing in front of her.

  I take in Danu’s ragged dress and dirty feet, the strands of white in what had once been midnight hair, the lines forming around her wide eyes and along her thinning lips. I had expected my mother to look somewhat like Irene, or perhaps Lugh’s sister. But Danu looks…old.

  “What is this place anyway?” I ask, trying for nonchalance and failing miserably as my voice ends up on a shrill note.

  “The heart of Avalon, my Demesne,” Danu replies.

  “Wait, are you saying all of Avalon’s your Demesne?” I ask, eyes growing wide in confusi
on.

  But Danu simply nods again. “Now come along.”

  I cast a long hesitating look at Arthur, but Danu’s already disappearing inside the cave, taking with her answers a part of me so desperately wants.

  “Go,” Arthur mouths at me.

  I nod, and finally, against my better judgment, I follow Danu into the darkness. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting that emanates from the cavern walls. I’m striding down a long interminable passage after Danu’s light footfalls. The whole place smells stale, like a cellar that hasn’t been aired out in years, and my mind flashes back to the time I escaped from Hell.

  “So why did you make a dead animal your home?” I ask to break the uncomfortable silence.

  “An ogham can take many forms,” Danu says, her voice echoing down the tunnel. “A gem, a cat, a hobgoblin—”

  “You mean Puck?” I ask, stunned. There’s no way. She must be playing with me.

  Danu presses her pale fingers against the wall, and light flares up at her touch, almost blinding me. “Or a dragon,” she continues, blatantly ignoring my question.

  I repress a shiver. I think I’ve had about my fill of dragons for now.

  Yet I can’t help but look curiously around. This place is where my father met her, where they courted each other and fell in love. At least on his end. She was probably just finding a temporary solution to her infinite boredom.

  My fingers graze the ridged surface of the tunnel wall as we progress ever downward, leaving a trail of light that slowly fades again. This is where I was born. Where Mordred and I would have grown up if Danu hadn’t abandoned us.

  Not a very cheery place, I have to admit, but anything would have been better than the lives we’ve led instead.

  I blink as something bright winks ahead of me, only to reappear on the ceiling above, then again, further down the passage. There are other Fey creatures down here with us, I realize, all senses alert, and they’re following us like wolves stalking prey, or…

  I stop, staring straight ahead at Danu’s back.

  Or like moths drawn to a flame.

  “You’re glowing,” I whisper.

  Danu’s footsteps halt at the edge of a wide arch, a half-smile on her resplendent face. Gone is the old hermit with coarse dress, dirty features and unkempt hair. Instead, stands a goddess, her skin moon-touched, hair sparkling like she’s plucked stars from the very sky to adorn it. Only her eyes are the same, their unfathomable gold eyeing me questioningly. Lucifer, the angel of the Morning Star. A title that turns out to be quite literal.

  “Is something the matter?”

  I shake my head, pulling at the collar of my shirt in a vain attempt to breathe normally. Not until now did the fact that my mother is a fallen angel hit me so hard.

  With a knowing smile, Danu sweeps gracefully through the arch, and a heartbeat later, I follow suit.

  “If you’re hoping this little tour of yours is going to make me change my mind about you, then you’re sorely mistaken,” I say loudly, hoping to distract myself from the heart attack I can feel coming. “A hole in the ground isn’t going to impress—”

  I stop midstride, mouth gone slack.

  Unfolding in front of me is an endless cave, hundreds of carved columns stretching from floor to domed ceiling, jeweled vines creeping up their graceful shafts in dazzling colors. Lights shift lazily about the cavern as salamanders seek new resting places, away from the playful sylphs flitting around in tiny green gusts.

  My head slowly swivels around, taking everything in, and I catch sight of a strange white figure poking its head out from between two spindly columns.

  “Ghost?” I whisper.

  The spectral form tilts its round, noseless head, black eyes unblinking beneath a pair of vicious-looking antlers.

  Danu lets out a low laugh. “Ghosts do not exist, Morgana,” she says.

  “I know that,” I mutter, stung. “And my name’s Morgan. There’s no ‘a’ at the end.”

  Danu dips her head in acknowledgment before gliding on ahead, forcing me to get moving again or risk losing her. A thick mist appears as we wend our way through the forest of bejeweled pillars, playing first around our ankles, then steadily reaching up to our knees the further we get from the cavern’s entrance.

  I occasionally glance back, feeling the weight of unknown eyes upon me, and feel my hairs stand on end as I catch more glimpses of the pale creatures. Soon, others like it join it, following us in silence. All white as death. All observing my every move expectantly.

  “Stay close,” Danu says.

  I start at the disembodied voice, and find I’ve strayed away from her, the mist so thick now I can barely distinguish her silhouette a couple of feet away.

  “What now?” I ask, rushing to her side, ashamed to admit I’m feeling a little scared.

  “We cross.”

  Head held high, Danu lifts both hands to eye level, and the mists part in response, revealing a white skiff hovering in the distance. With a flick of her finger, the small vessel bounds forward, flying to meet us like a swift summer cloud across a limpid sky. It isn’t until its shallow hull gently bumps against the ground at our feet that I realize the boat isn’t suspended in thin air, but floating on such clear water it appears invisible.

  Water sloshes inside the skiff as I trail Danu into the vessel, and I plop down heavily onto the single seating board before I can capsize us.

  “Steady,” Danu says.

  A pale green light bursts from her fingertips, and the skiff bullets back the way it came, cutting through the water towards a bulbous island with nary a sound. I look one last time over my shoulder at the line of white creatures crowding along the shore, and release a long-held breath.

  “What are they?” I ask.

  “Penitents,” Danu says.

  “Penitence for what?”

  “That is their burden to wear.”

  I refrain from rolling my eyes at her. “Is that why I couldn’t grow up here? Because this place is some sort of…purgatory?”

  “We’re almost there,” Danu says instead.

  I grunt in annoyance. What’s the point of bringing me here if she’s going to spend the entire time talking in riddles?

  The boat moors itself gently along the island’s shore, and Danu steps lithely onto solid ground, motioning for me to do the same. I wrinkle my nose at the familiar scent that seems to permeate the place—it is the smell of summer blooms and freshly mowed grass, of soft breezes and starry nights.

  “Welcome home,” Danu says softly.

  I resist the urge to throw insults at her, focusing instead on not tripping over the island’s strange ground that looks to be entirely made up of knotted roots and twisted vines. We make our way from the dock up the steep and winding path. Sometimes, I also have to use my hands to not tumble back down to the lake, and it seems like ages before the ground flattens out. I want to ask Danu where she’s taking me, what the point of this little expedition is, but every time I try, she slips out of view.

  Finally, after ducking under another gnarly branch, and climbing over a strange boulder of bark, I see it.

  The tree is large, larger even than Myrdwinn’s Apple Tree, and half as tall, but its leaves glisten as if cut from the purest emeralds, fruit hanging heavily from its overreaching boughs like giant amethysts.

  My gaze drops to the trunk’s wide base, taking in the thick roots that snake their way out, twisting and twining across the ground to form the entire island, like a giant Celtic knot.

  “What are we doing here?” I ask apprehensively as Danu finally stops beneath the tree’s thick canopy.

  To my surprise, Danu cups my hands in hers. I shiver at the warm touch, unable to pull away as she takes in the inky stains that span from the tip of my fingers to my elbows.

  “There is much healing to be done,” she says. “The darkness has become a part of you.” Her eyes travel up to my face, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d think she’s actu
ally feeling sorry for me. “Take care, Morgan, that it does not take you over entirely.”

  “What is that even supposed to mean?” I ask, stung.

  I put my hands in my pockets, finding the ogham Mordred gave me tucked inside the right one. My fingers close around the cool gem, and I find myself taking strange comfort from it, as if my brother were lending me his strength. Even here.

  The island’s scent is stronger here, beneath the branches, headier, reminding me of the Samhain festivities when I attended Lugh’s party, and drank some of that—

  “Don’t tell me these are the fruit used to make ambrosia,” I say, under a flash of inspiration.

  “Just so,” Danu says. “It is sustenance for my people.”

  My eyes go round at the implication. Sustenance. Mordred talked before of how the Fey, Lugh included, couldn’t survive without receiving energy from the Lord or Lady of their Demesne, like a bunch of parasites.

  “You’re saying you’re feeding all of them with juice from your ogham?” I ask, feeling a little sick.

  “I led them to this land, it is my duty to see that they are taken care of.” Danu’s eyes grow distant. “Without it, many would have long perished. Absorbing power through the elements is enough to survive, for a while at least, but not to thrive and prosper.”

  I snort in disgust. “So you have them partake in cannibalistic rituals, lovely.”

  “It is,” she says, not picking up on my sarcasm. “What is life, but the transference of energy? I simply choose to give mine of my own free will.”

  I look away, hating how logical she makes it sound. But to admit it means I might end up agreeing to more of her ideas, and next thing I know, we’ll be talking like we’re really mother and daughter.

  And I’m not ready for that. I don’t know that I ever will.

  I yelp as the ground suddenly shifts beneath me, the massive root lifting me up to one of the tree’s low-lying branches.

  “Have one,” Danu says.

  I swallow hard. “I think I’ll pass.”

  “It will assuage your hunger.”

  “I’m not hungry.” I grimace as the lie twists at my grumbling intestines.