“Lady Elise, please,” Lady Ysolt says, her voice strained.
The old woman whirls around. “I won’t let you shut me up again, you filthy traitor. You know as well as I do that we’re all tainted, yet you continue to parade around as if you’re so bloody perfect. But no more. Percy’s death should be emulated by all of us here.” The woman turns her feverish gaze on the rest of the crowd. “We will cleanse this world of our ilk! Just pray that it will be enough to redeem us all.”
And with another cackle, she sweeps her hand towards the fire, before whipping it back around. Bright embers follow her fingers in a sweeping arc, shooting straight into the assembly. Shrieks and startled shouts erupt as people push each other to avoid getting burned, the grass bursting into flames wherever the live coals land.
“Take the children to safety,” Lady Ysolt commands as a second figure jumps into the fray—a man, looking as disheveled as the strange woman.
“We will burn away the corruption!” he shouts, a demented gleam in his eyes that reminds me of Myrdwinn.
“I really don’t think a funeral is the right moment for you to make a show of yourself,” Lady Ysolt says, flexing her fingers until her ogham-encased rings sparkle in response.
The man laughs. “At least these fools died before they could commit the ultimate crime,” he says. “Philandering with the Fey is what got us here to begin with. It’s sacrilege!” He turns to look at me, left hand held out as if asking me to join him. “And for that, we must all die,” he finishes.
With a wild grin, the man snaps his hand closed, and my vision turns white as all the pyres explode, setting the whole clearing on fire.
Chapter 4
“You’re completely off your rocker,” Keva says with a hint of worry, as I scan the long stretch of desert still ahead of us, my vision blurry with unshed tears. Despite my strange waking dream, we’ve managed to make it about halfway through from our cave.
“You did fall pretty hard back there,” she continues, eyeing me distrustfully.
“I didn’t see the rock,” I say, shifting from one foot to the next to ease the cramps starting up my calf.
“It was Puck-sized! How could you miss it?”
“You’re missing the point.”
“Which is what? That you’re losing your brain to some weird, possibly demonic, virus?”
“The point is,” I say, “it makes no sense that I keep dreaming of things I’ve never even seen before.”
Keva lets out a theatrical sigh. “It’s because you’re grieving for your boyfriend, and—”
“He’s not my boyfriend, and it doesn’t explain anything at all.” I try not to limp as we resume our trek. “I didn’t even know half those people out there.”
“Out there?” Keva repeats with a cocked eyebrow.
“Nor did I know those two who were talking about tainted blood and—”
“Shacking up with the Fey, I know,” Keva says, rolling her eyes. “Between you and me, though, who’s never dreamed of doing just that?”
The fleeting memory of the night I met Lugh flashes before my eyes—the music, the dancing, the ambrosia. Back then, he had seemed like a god, charismatic yet untouchable. So unlike my latest vision of him…
Maybe Keva’s right and my mental state is rapidly declining.
“But if you’re right,” Keva continues, fanning herself against the crushing heat with her hand, “and that’s a big if. But if you are, then it could mean this one, and all your other dreams, are real. Including that nice one where you saw yourself and Arthur getting busy before you went all demon on him. Which would be even more exciting!”
I frown as a small piece of paper drifts towards us, bright red against the dreary landscape as it flutters ever closer, carried by a nonexistent breeze.
“Have you ever heard of the Leanan Sidhe?” Keva asks. “They’re Fey that take their powers from the energy created during s—” I raise my hand and Keva stops immediately, looking over her shoulder in fear. “What is it?” she whispers.
I snatch the floating bit of paper from the air, then stare at it in shock.
I hear Keva’s sharp intake. “A flower petal? Here? But that’s impossible!”
“I thought so too,” I say. Which means that someone must have dropped it, and I, like a dumb fish, have just taken the bait. I look around with paranoid fervor, expecting demons to pounce on us at any moment, but our surroundings are still blissfully barren. For now.
“Come on," I say, urging Keva faster, “I don’t like how exposed we are here.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Keva says, “easy to spot, easy to kill. I’m tired of this already. We should’ve stayed in our cave. My feet are killing me, my skin is parched, my eyeballs sunburned, and this whole place is giving me the creeps.”
“You’re more than welcome to go back,” I say.
My words sound tougher than I feel, and I selfishly pray she’s not going to take me up on them. I don’t want to be left on my own. But, to my relief, Keva grudgingly tags along.
As the hours lurch by, measured by our increasingly shorter breaths, we manage to cross the rest of the wasteland without another hitch, though the heat has turned us into sweltering gasbags with armpit stains down to our hips.
“Finally,” Keva says as we reach the first hill, plunking down onto a small, flat rock to pull her boots off and massage her blistered feet.
“Put your shoes back on,” I tell her, “we have to keep going.”
“Geez, Morgan, I’m not a Fey like you, I need time to—”
She stops, face paling with fear, and I turn around to find an old man leering at us from around the bend, dusty skin stretched tight over his prominent ribs. Definitely not how I’d pictured our first direct demon encounter to be, but I’m scared out of my mind nonetheless.
For a long second, we all three stare at each other, then the skinny man throws his head back and lets out a hair-raising cry.
“Run!” Keva yells, pulling urgently on my arm.
But it’s too late. A series of shouts answers the demon, and we watch as a dozen more emaciated men come hurtling towards us, brandishing long white clubs, scraps of clothing scarcely keeping their modesty in check. Not that modesty seems to be foremost on their minds, a part of my brain notes as they quickly surround us, greed filling their otherwise flat stares.
I flex my fingers, unconsciously reaching for my powers, but the usual fizzy response in my stomach isn’t there. I let out a soft hiss. Of course, I can make rocks explode in Keva’s face, but when I actually need them, my powers are MIA.
I glance at Keva, the smaller girl holding her steel-toed boot like a weapon, as if it’s going to make a difference.
I force myself to breathe. I knew something like this would happen at some point. I just didn’t realize it would be so soon. I turn to the one I assume is their leader, and square my shoulders.
“Uh, parley?” I tentatively call out.
My request has about as much success as when I used it with Blanchefleur the first time I met her. With a loud bellow, the demon charges, swinging his mace over his head. I take a quick step to the side, forcing Keva behind me, then lift my arms up to receive the blow, meaty parts out like I was taught in class. But before the man can reach me, a shadow darts in front of him, black knife flashing.
I let out a faint squeak as the demon drops silently to the ground, a bloody smile gracing his neck.
“Look,” Keva whispers, as the hunched figure moves onto a second target, cowled robe rustling as it ducks beneath the next man’s outstretched arm. A bony hand lashes out, slicing his belly open.
“Banshee?” I say.
The shadow pauses midstride. A second’s hesitation too long. With cries of outrage, the remaining men converge upon her. I watch helplessly as the banshee blocks the first attack, dodging a blow to the head before plunging her knife into someone’s back. But there are too many of them, and no matter how good the banshee is, they manage to swarm her.
“Misssstressss!” the banshee howls, as a second blow lands on my ribs.
I fall face-first into the dirt, biting my tongue. Blood fills my mouth with its coppery taste. Coughing, I try to push myself onto my feet, but someone slams my head back into the ground. Pain explodes behind my eyes, my nose flattening with a deafening crunch.
And there, as I slowly suffocate on mud and my own blood, something finally stirs in the pit of my stomach, dark and demanding. It spreads, quick as wildfire, up my spine then down my arms, before bursting free. There’s a surprised shout, then the weight that was pressing me down suddenly lifts.
Gasping for breath, I roll onto my back, then recoil in horror at the dark mass spewing from the ground a couple of feet away, a geyser of black, viscous liquid that seems to have a will of its own. Even with my broken nose, its stench makes me want to puke. I watch, unable to tear my gaze away, as the thick jet crests languorously over my attacker, before finally tipping sideways and spilling over him, abruptly cutting off his screams.
For a long minute after, I stare at the shapeless lumps floating in the center of the pool of black tar, bubbles popping thickly around it. All that is left of the half-naked demon. Because of me. Bile rises to my throat and I heave, cold shivers running down my back.
“Morgan!” Keva shouts, scrambling over to my side.
I shake my head to dispel the spots dancing in my vision, fighting not to get sick, then look around for the banshee. I let out a relieved sigh as I find her near the base of the closest hill, limping, but still alive.
“Come on,” Keva says urgently, helping me up.
The remaining men have turned on me now, their rotten teeth poking from distended mouths as they hiss and snarl.
“Now would be the time to pull that magic trick again,” Keva tells me, her back to mine.
“It would, wouldn’t it?” I say.
But whatever just happened, whatever it is I did to take that one demon out, has left me completely drained, and I find myself struggling to stay on my feet.
“Watch it,” Keva says, yanking me back as a man lands in front of me.
I barely have the strength to duck as he swings for my face, the bone-white club whistling inches from my ear. The demon continues his spin, swiping my legs out from under me with a low kick, and I fall backward, taking Keva down with me. I catch sight of the heavy club as the demon whips it around again, and close my eyes, waiting for the fatal blow.
“What’s happening?” Keva asks, voice muffled. “Morgan?”
I crack my eyes open, surprised that my brains haven’t been bashed out yet, and find the demon frozen above me, eyes round with shock, the tip of a blade disappearing from his chest in a spray of blood.
“Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.”
The voice is soft and sweet, and makes my skin crawl.
“Morgan, get off me!” Keva says, her sharp elbow digging into my ribs. But when I finally move off her, she presses herself close to me. “What. Is. That?” she asks.
We watch mutely as the latest demon goes through the remaining men like a scythe through a field of wheat in a blur of movements. I swallow hard.
“Is it…helping us?” Keva asks.
“I certainly hope so,” I say, the words coming out slurred. Or we’re totally done for. Especially if I feel the slightest movement’s going to make me pass out.
“All right, then, let’s go before…” Keva lets her voice trail off.
All at once, the chaos has ended. Slowly, we turn to look back at the newcomer, and I feel Keva go still against me. Standing quietly amidst a pile of dead bodies is another girl, her long, jet black hair hiding most of her pale face.
“Is she praying?” I ask, wiping my clammy hands on my dress.
“More importantly, is that our uniform?” Keva asks instead.
“Saint George’s balls, I think you’re right.”
Keva tilts her head. “You know what? I think I know who that is.”
“What?”
“Remember that KORT knight who went missing after her squire was found poisoned?”
“Rei,” I say, locking onto the memory of the first black-vein murder at Lake High. One for which I’d originally been accused.
“Well that’s her missing knight, Kaede,” Keva says.
At the sound of her name, the girl raises her head, and a pair of dark, almond-shaped eyes seeks mine out. There goes our chance to escape. Without once looking away, the Asian girl sheathes her twin swords behind her back, and starts prowling towards us.
“You sure it’s her?” I ask, the need to throw up growing stronger with every step the girl takes.
“Well it looks like her…”
With a warning growl, the banshee bounds in front of us, and at last the girl stops in her tracks. Although they’re of a same height, this Kaede girl manages to make the banshee look frail in comparison. I flick my eyes to the bodies littering the ground, and have no doubt it would take the knight seconds to take us down too, if she wanted. My gaze slides back to the girl, and my heartrate spikes at the sight of her slowly reaching for her swords again.
“Are you Kaede?” I call out before she can stab the banshee.
The KORT knight’s footsteps come to a stop, and I try not to cower as she stares impassively at me over the banshee’s hunched figure. “Are you a Collector?” she asks at last.
“A what?”
“Col-lec-tor,” the girl repeats, enunciating every syllable like she’s talking to a daft child.
My nostrils flare, surprise turning to annoyance. The banshee growls again, as if in tune with my feelings. “Why don’t you answer my question first?” I snap.
“Play nice, Morgan,” Keva whispers urgently. “We’re not the ones with the sharp swords here.”
“Maybe she should explain what she means instead of talking down to me,” I mutter, feeling that sickening power stir in the pit of my stomach again.
Kaede’s lids lower in suspicion until her eyes are but tiny crescents in her moon-pale face, sending goosebumps down my arms. Keva’s right. This is clearly not someone to mess with—there’s a reason she’s survived this long in Hell.
The knight’s emotionless gaze slides over to Keva. “Are you not her offering for the Teind?” she asks.
“For the what?” I say.
Keva snorts in derision. “Her offering? Me? I can’t look that stupid, even if I did come down here for her.” She waves at me with a loud sigh. “This is Morgan, and I’m Keva, and we’re roommates in Lake High. Or were, before the school was taken over by the Dark Sidhe.”
“You’re a…knight?” Kaede asks with such genuine surprise that I look down as well.
The beautiful gown I’d worn for the ball is but a tattered memory, leaving most of my legs bare, my blood and dust-coated feet in full display. And despite our precarious situation, I find myself hugging Arthur’s jacket closer to myself, face heating with embarrassment.
“I know she looks fishy,” Keva says, breaking the awkward silence, “but there are attenuating circumstances. She’s a squire, you see, to Sir Arthur, actually. You remember him, right? And since he also happens to be her lover, he gave her his jacket at the ball in Caamaloth. Hence the confusion, I believe. But she didn’t get a chance to change, as that’s when our headquarters were invaded, and she actually was kidnapped. Of course, we got her back, but then Dub—”
“You wear no oghams and yet…,” Kaede says, cutting Keva’s lengthy expla
nations short, and motioning to the dark pool behind her.
My insides grow cold. I wish I could deny I had anything to do with the tar’s appearance, but it’s no use lying. Even if I could still physically do so.
“I, uh,…,” I start, panic striking me dumb.
How do you explain your abilities to a blood-thirsty knight before she can skewer you?
“She’s half-Fey,” Keva blurts out. “But she’s just recently started to learn how to use her powers, so she can be a little all over the place. Though I admit she’s never done anything quite like this before.”
“Fey, but not demon?” Kaede asks.
“No, not a demon,” Keva says firmly.
With a slow nod, the knight finally rocks back on her heels, and I finally allow myself to unclench my fists. “It is as was foretold, then,” she says.
Keva and I exchange concerned glances.
But before we can ask what she means, Kaede motions towards the hills. “Let’s leave before they awaken.”
“Where are you going?” I ask the knight as she swiftly walks into the hills, back the way she came.
“Come one,” Keva tells me, struggling to put her boot back on.
“But this could be a trap,” I whisper to Keva, finding it hard to focus on her small face.
“No, dummy,” she says, “she’s just following the knights’ honor code to help those in need.”
“Or maybe it’s a trap,” I insist.
But Keva ignores me entirely and rushes to the knight’s side. “I thought they were dead,” I hear her say through the buzzing in my ears.
“For now,” Kaede replies.
“You mean they come back to life?”
I shake my head sluggishly, trying unsuccessfully to get my hearing back to normal.
Curse of the Fey: A Modern Arthurian Legend (Morgana Trilogy Book 3) Page 2