Jennifer smirks. “Mordred doesn’t listen to anyone, least of all you.”
“It’s not too late to make this right,” I say, ignoring her.
I can’t fault him for what he’s done. It’s not like he ever really had a choice. Until now.
“I’m afraid it is you who has it all wrong,” Mordred tells me.
He looks pensively outside, and I twist around to follow his gaze. Despite the pelting rain, the cousins’ squads are still fighting hard, bright flares of power indicating their presence, like beacons in the night.
I squint, heart beating wildly. Is it me or are they getting closer? If so, it can only mean one thing…
“You’re losing,” I say with a tight smile. “Even with the help of your draugar, your army’s falling back.”
“Am I?” Mordred asks with a chuckle.
I frown. What is he playing at? I cast another quick glance outside, but I wasn’t hallucinating. Our forces have successfully managed to push the enemy back, and I can even distinguish Gareth’s war hammer flashing with every strike of his.
So why is Mordred still so confident?
Arthur lets out a strangled sound, and I turn in time to see him backing away from the Siege Perilous, Excalibur pointed straight at the carved demons whirring along its back.
“Mordred, what are you doing?” I say in a strangled voice.
Mordred laughs, his face glowing. “Have you ever stopped to consider why the Siege Perilous came to be here?” he asks instead. “It is because our kind was always meant to have a place at KORT. We are the only ones to whom the seat responds. We are the only worthy ones.”
“Thought it would actually be an excellent reason not to be here,” I say through gritted teeth.
Shrugging Jennifer off, Mordred struts across the room, and sinks into the carved seat with a satisfied air. Smoke billows out from the Siege Perilous’s base, and Arthur and I watch with dread as it coalesces into a thick, viscous liquid. As if from its own volition, the tar shoots across the floor to curl around and up the table’s legs, forming a large viscous sphere around it that smells of sulfur and putrefaction.
“Please, Mordred, don’t do this,” I say, unable to tear my eyes away from the opening portal. “You have no idea what you’re doing!”
Mordred’s tattooed face grows hard. “I know exactly what I’m doing,” he says flatly. “I’m going to finish our mother’s task—no, her duty—and set things right for us again. I’m the one who will break our curse and free everyone from their eternal yoke, just as the prophecy foretold.”
“What prophecy?” I shout over the growing din of excited shouts and clanking metal coming from the other side of the Gate. “There’s no such thing as prophecies!”
I catch movement out of the corner of my eye, then something flashes, blinding me momentarily, and I hear Mordred swear loudly as something clatters to the stone floor.
“You’re going to pay for this, mortal!” Mordred seethes, as I swipe the still rolling object up.
I stare uncomprehendingly at the block of dark wood in my hand, each side carved in delicate whirls like stylized clouds, then hiss in a breath. This is one of the Siege Perilous’s finials[13]!
I look up, the thrill of realization sending a rush of adrenaline down my veins.
“Not so fast,” Jennifer hisses in my ear, grabbing my arm and twisting it viciously around.
With a cry of pain, I drop to the floor, the lopped off finial sliding through my fingers. Jennifer’s knee digs into the small of my back, and with her free hand, she yanks on my hair to force my head up.
“Take a good look at Arthur,” she says in my ear. “Might be the last time you get to see him.”
My stomach churns at Mordred’s bark of laughter. Arthur’s hanging upside-down in front of him, his body suspended by thick green ropes of sickly power, Excalibur’s point scraping against the floor.
“What a pair you two make,” Mordred says disdainfully.
“Put him down!” I shout, straining against Jennifer’s hold.
Mordred lets out another laugh. “Now, now,” he says, “you should be glad that I can finally get rid of him for you, after all his bullying.”
“He didn’t bully me,” I retort.
“That wasn’t the tune you were singing at the beginning,” Mordred says, shaking his head, “but perhaps I misspoke. He didn’t bully you so much as treat you like a prisoner, a slave. Even tried to drown you on your first day here.”
“No, he—” I stop myself short, remembering that long-forgotten day when I dove after Arthur into Lake Winnebago, thinking he was the one drowning. That was before I knew anything about Lake High, the Fey, knights, or Carman.
I blink the memory away. How does Mordred even know about that?
“If you’re so worried about avenging me,” I say, “then you should take a closer look at your girlfriend. She’s the one who bullied me the most.” Jennifer’s grip tightens, and I swallow a gasp of pain back down.
“All done out of ignorance,” Mordred says. “Unlike the object of your infatuation. As I promised you once before, it is high time he and the others of his ilk paid for their sins. Which is why I’m glad you so readily accepted my little invitation.”
“What invitation?” I ask, seething.
Mordred motions towards the windows and the battlefield beyond. “This time, when the Gates open, there will have been enough Fey blood spilled on these grounds for the school’s wards to keep them open at all times.” He grins wolfishly. “Even without my being seated on the Siege Perilous.”
My stomach plummets, the pieces of the puzzle finally falling together. He’s doing what Dean did to free up his mother, but on a much grander scale. And we helped him do it by leading all these unsuspecting knights and Fey straight into his trap, their very sacrifice the key to our undoing.
“But you helped save me,” I say, forcing the words through my constricted throat. “You helped me escape!”
“Oh, honey,” Jennifer says, “you didn’t actually think someone wanted you for the pleasure of your company, did you?”
With a howl of rage, I shove back, power slamming against Jennifer until I feel her hold relent, then spin around, and punch her in the face. My knuckles shatter her cheekbone, and she drops away, looking stunned and afraid, her delicate hand holding onto her face.
But I don’t let myself relish the moment, and rush immediately to Arthur’s help. He’s still hanging in the air, the vines now wrapped tightly around his torso, binding his arms so he can barely move. My fingers wrap around Excalibur’s grip, and I pull the sword free.
Excalibur pulses in my hands as it sings through the air before cutting through Arthur’s bindings. I can feel the heat coming through the Gates on my back as I whittle down the green ropes in quick cuts.
Arthur’s eyes widen. “Behind…,” he gasps.
I look over my shoulder, but I’m too slow to react. Small-fingered hands grab my arms, surprisingly strong, before jerking me away from Arthur. I cry out as teeth puncture my flesh, the draugar latching onto my back like a giant leech.
Tears streaming down my face, I reach around with the sword, but this is a dead person I’m dealing with, impervious to pain. I scream as the draugar rips a piece of my neck off. Hot blood gushes out of my wound, pouring down my uniform. Then the terrible grip suddenly releases, and the severed head of a teenaged girl rolls past me.
An oval face swims in front of me. “You good?” Kaede asks, skewering a second draugar before it can cross into our world.
With a weak nod, I stagger back to Arthur.
“Hurry,” Arthur urges me.
I nearly lose my balance as I swing Excalibur around, slicing through the last vine holding him up, and Arthur finally drops to the floor with a muted groan.
“Ready?” Kaede asks.
I can feel her moving around us, hear the wet sound of her swords as they cut demons and draugar open, but I can’t take my eyes off of Mordred. H
e’s still seated on the Siege Perilous, watching us curiously like we’re some kind of freak show, confident in the fact that no matter what we do, we’re doomed.
And he’s right. Except for the gap above his right ear, where Excalibur clearly lobbed off a piece of the seat.
“Ready?” Kaede asks again, louder.
My hands tighten around Excalibur’s hilt. But there too many demons pouring inside the KORT room now, pressing in, crowding the space between me and my brother.
I flinch as something growls to my left, and turn in time to see Arthur kick an ash-covered beast in the muzzle.
“Ready?” Kaede asks louder.
I blink in confusion, only now noticing Kaede ahead. The knight is carving us a path toward the wall, her twin swords flashing golden in the sputtering torchlights as she fells demons and draugar alike without ever pausing for breath.
“Come on,” Arthur says, prying Excalibur from my clenched hands, and we take off after Kaede, catching up with her at the alcove.
“Get in there,” Kaede says, shoving us inside the narrow passage before turning back to face the room.
“But—”
“Hurry,” Arthur says, forcing me deeper inside the dark recess.
I look back through the tattered drapes in time to see Kaede angling back towards the still open Gates, and my footsteps grind to a halt. What is she trying to do?
“What are you doing?” Arthur asks, out of breath.
“We can’t leave them here,” I say.
“Your friends will be fine.”
I whirl around at the gravelly voice, squinting in the darkness. “Owen?”
Owen cocks his head at Arthur, eyes two pools of black. “But you won’t be if you don’t leave now.”
“Is that a threat?” Arthur asks, voice strained.
“A statement of fact,” Owen says evenly, and I remember how his cryptic words down in Hell turned out to be true.
I draw near Arthur. “He’s cool,” I say. “Let’s get—”
Arthur slumps against the wall, and I bite hard on my lip not to scream.
“Arthur, what’s wrong?” I ask, reaching for him. I let out a low hiss as my fingers brush against his damp skin, heat rising from him in feverish waves.
“He needs a doctor,” Owen says. “Leave now, or it’ll be too late.”
I nod, trying not to let panic overwhelm me, and shoulder Arthur up into a standing position, ready to carry him if I have to. But even then, I hesitate. Neither the banshee, nor Kaede, as I now know, would abandon us like this. But if I go back in there, Arthur won’t make it.
“Hurry,” Owen says.
Guilt weighing heavily upon me, I grip Arthur tighter to my side, and start after the boy. Owen presses the catch behind the floor-to-ceiling mirror, and it swings open silently, revealing a set of steep stairs that will lead us outside. Yet I still pause.
“Tell them I’ll come back for them,” I say, looking into Owen’s unfathomable eyes.
Then, like the worst of deserters, I abandon my most faithful friends to their fates.
Chapter 20
I squeal in surprise as an orb of crackling fire the size of a basketball hits the wall behind us, missing my face by inches. Cursing, I raise my free hand in defense, eyes darting across our ravaged surroundings for the attacker.
“Stay back,” I tell Arthur, as he staggers away from me, face pale in the storm.
I turn slowly, gathering the water to me until two large discs are floating before us like large shields. Then a shadow darts at the edge of my vision.
“Morgan?”
I try to reel in my attack, the first disc of water veering at the last second to crash into the half-finished wall of the asylum across the path. I squint against the rain as the small girl reappears from behind some of the fallen masonry, short hair flattened to her skull.
“Bri?” I call out tentatively.
“What are you doing here?” Bri asks. She’s taller than I remember, but just as skinny as before, giving her the gaunt look of a wraith.
“I should be asking you the same thing,” I retort.
“It really is you!” Bri exclaims in an excited whisper, rushing to meet us. “I knew it! You and Arthur got this army to take the school back, didn’t you?”
“Uh, close,” I say, glancing nervously back to see if we’ve been followed. “But we haven’t exactly been successful.”
Bri’s shoulders sag. “I guess it was too much to hope for,” she says, and for once, I have nothing to add. She approaches us cautiously, nose wrinkling at Arthur’s injuries. “What are you doing now then?” she asks more guardedly.
“Getting out of here,” I say.
“We need to get to the church,” Arthur says, struggling to keep upright.
“Can you help?” I ask.
“Of course,” Bri says.
She grabs Arthur’s other side, and together we help him up the path, boots squelching in the mud. I try not to gag at the stench that emanates from the old asylum as we slowly make our way past it. Arthur slips at the sight of the mounds that peek from behind the asylum’s last standing walls. Piles and piles of bodies stacked on top of each other in varying stages of decomposition, many wearing our uniform.
“Let’s take a break,” he says weakly.
“Here?” Bri asks, sounding petrified.
But I can also hear her gasping for breath.
“Just a couple minutes,” I say, already turning towards the mass grave. Maybe that’ll be enough for Arthur to recover enough so he can stand on his own two feet for the rest of the way. As long as nobody notices us.
“Get away from her!”
I wheel around at the shout, pulling Arthur closer, and catch sight of a disheveled boy, tall and wiry, glasses askew on his nose. And, held threateningly in his fists, a large hammer he must have pilfered from the forge.
“Who…,” I start.
“Jack,” Bri says, shrinking away from the tall boy, and my eyes go round as I finally recognize him.
“Hi Jack,” I start slowly, afraid of making any sudden movement that might trigger him. “This isn’t what it looks like. I mean, it is, but we’re on your side. Or, rather, you’re on ours, right?”
But Jack isn’t staring at me.
“It’s just us,” I continue, “on our way out before all Hell breaks loose.”
Never thought I’d say that and mean it literally.
“You’re not running away this time,” Jack says, his hammer tracking Bri’s movements as she carefully edges her way around the remains of an old rusted boat that crashed into the middle of the gravelly path.
I eye him wearily, wondering suddenly whether he has been turned like Jennifer.
“It’s not what you think, Jack,” Bri says.
“It’s exactly what I think, and you know it, you filthy traitor,” Jack growls, and Bri winces guiltily.
My eyes flicker between Bri and Jack, whom I only remember as being friends. What in the world is going on?
“It’s OK, Jack,” I say, “Bri’s with us. She’s helping us escape.”
Jack’s frown deepens. “You wouldn’t be saying that if you knew she’s the one who destroyed our school’s wards,” he says.
I try on a laugh that quickly dies down at the sight of Bri’s stony face.
“That can’t be right,” I say, feeling Arthur shiver against me.
“I was there when Lady, no, that knave Jennifer freed her,” Jack says as Bri remains tongue-tied. “There was no room for interpretation.”
“It wasn’t me,” Bri says in a tiny voice.
Quick footsteps draw up to us, and we all four freeze as a shape darts around the boat’s rusted hull.
“What are you all doing here?” Keva’s sharp voice cracks. “You do realize there’s a war going on, and that we’re right in the middle of it?”
Daniel emerges behind her, a long gash on his forehead. Seems their operation didn’t go smoothly either.
�
�Excellent timing, Daniel,” Keva says. “Why don’t you help Arthur, so we can—”
“I’m not going anywhere with that backstabber,” Jack says loudly.
A booming laugh rings out from above, and fear spreads across Bri’s features like flame to paper. I whirl around, towards the asylum. An old man is climbing his way down from the nearest pile of corpses, long beard tucked in his belt. The old school director snickers as Bri backs into Arthur, his moss-green eyes almost glowing in the rain.
“It’s him,” Bri says, sounding terrified. “He’s the one who played me…who’s betrayed us all.”
“Myrdwinn?” Keva says, looking at Bri in confusion.
Myrdwinn’s shoulders shake with laughter. “Didn’t I say following my instructions would bring your brother back?” he asks the timbre of his voice strangely off from its usual wobbly notes, yet also somehow…familiar. “And behold, he’s right here. Ask your friend, there”—he points at me with a gnarled finger—“she’s seen him. Twice.”
Arthur’s gloved hand reaches for mine, his other reaching over his head for Excalibur. I don’t know what’s going on, but one thing’s for sure: One of us here is definitely batting for the other team.
The question is, who?
“Are you saying you listened to this mental person, and it led to this?” Keva asks Bri.
“It’s true I wasn’t myself for a while there,” Myrdwinn says, using his pinky like a Q-tip to dig out some earwax, “but that little…setback…has been fixed.”
He draws himself to his full height then, his spine straightening from its hunched-over posture. I blink confusedly as his hair grows shorter, going from pearly white to russet brown, the lines of his face smoothing out, until I finally recognize the young man that now stands before us.
It’s the same guy I caught speaking with Dean when we were first attacked, the very one I also spied having an intimate moment with—
“Lady Vivian,” I say, my insides turning to ice.
It can’t be. She’s the one who helped us get back inside Lake High. She couldn’t have known this man wanted to destroy the school.
Myrdwinn’s young, angular face is cut by a cruel smile. “As I said, that particular issue’s been fixed,” he says. “Now as for the others…”
Curse of the Fey: A Modern Arthurian Legend (Morgana Trilogy Book 3) Page 16