Rise of the Fey (58 page)

“And we’ve got distinguished guests,” she says. “How delightful.” She sweeps towards Arthur who stands up straight, pushing Hadrian back into the dark hallway. “I’ve been meaning to get back to you,” she says silkily. “I believe we have some unfinished business you and I.”

A harsh laugh interrupts her. “I heard you were looking for me,” I say, before realizing I’m the one who spoke.

Carman’s eyes swivel back to me, a spark of fury alight deep within them swiftly covered up. She lets her smile dimple her rosy cheeks. If Keva thought I was bipolar, I hope she’s taken a good look at this witch!

“Yessss,” Carman says, gliding away from Arthur to face me. “I’ve got a little job for you.”

I lift my chin and try not to breathe too deeply so I’m not overwhelmed by the smell of sulfur emanating from her whole being. Over her shoulder, I see the banshee dig out her obsidian knife, ready to come to my defense. I make a slight movement with my head and the banshee stops, shifting from one foot to the next uncertainly.

“I’m afraid I won’t be of much help with the gates,” I tell Carman. “I don’t even know where the key is. Or the door, for that matter.”

Carman breaks out into a high, tinkling laugh that could rival Jennifer’s in its musicality. “Oh, no,” she says jovially, “I needed you for something entirely different.”

Her arm snakes around my shoulders, and my back fires up with pain as if a thousand hypodermic needles are being rammed into it. I grind my teeth as the witch leads me back to Mordred and Arthur, sweat dripping down my forehead from the effort not to scream.

“No,” Carman continues, “I’ve got your brother for the other task. I think he’ll suffice.”

I pause in my tracks despite the increased pressure of Carman’s arm around my shoulders that sends agonizing pangs down my spine.

“Arthur’s not…,” I lick my lips and start over again, “Arthur’s not my brother.”

Carman laughs again, making the feathers of her dress shake against my arm, leaving tons of paper-sized cuts behind.

“We don’t mean that filthy rag of a human,” Carman says.

She flings her hand at Arthur and he’s sent straight up into the ceiling with a sickening
thud
before falling back down to the floor. Excalibur lands next to him, the cloth from my ball gown partially coming undone, exposing the Fey weapon’s hilt.

Before I can take in the meaning of her words, I step in front of Carman, shielding both Arthur and Excalibur from her view.

I can feel everyone’s stare aimed at my back, waiting for my next move, Carman’s patience fading quickly. So I do the only thing I can think of that will keep her distracted and, hopefully, keep her filthy paws off Arthur and the sword.

“How does it feel, Arthur, to be the one groveling at my feet, hmm?” I ask.

I stoop down and pick him up by the hair, channeling all my energy into my arm and back to lift him up to eye level.

I’m sorry
.

Arthur struggles feebly at the end of my arm, looking dazed.

“Stop, Morgan,” he mumbles, his hazel eyes filled with pain. “This isn’t you.”

I’m sorry
.

“This is the
new
me,” I say. “The one who’s tired of being forced to eat shit all the time and turn the other cheek whenever someone slaps me. That time is over; that time ended the moment I found out your family abandoned my father to face Dub alone.”

I extend my hand towards the banshee cowering at the door. I see her grey form slip over to my side and, without having to ask for it, she places her stone knife into my hand.

I close my fingers around the obsidian blade, still holding Arthur up with the other.

“Revenge is not the way,” Arthur says.

“Figures you’d sing a different tune now you’re my prisoner,” I say, forcing him deeper into the hallway, towards Hadrian and Keva huddling in its dark recesses.

I feel the wrapped edge of Excalibur against my bare foot and stop.

Arthur’s look turns to one of acceptance, and I’m momentarily so overcome with guilt and terror at what I’m about to do, I hesitate. But only for a second, for I can feel Carman’s power rising behind me, pressing against my back, ready to lash out at the both of us if I fail.

I’m sorry
.

I thrust my arm up, feel the obsidian blade rip through the remaining iron links of Arthur’s hauberk, then slide easily into his flesh. The blade glances off a rib and deviates to the side, away from his organs, and I finally pull the knife out, warm blood gushing out in its wake. Arthur lets out a muted grunt, his knees giving out completely.

A loud scream echoes behind me, the sound of a sow being butchered. Irene.

“A tooth for a tooth,” I say loudly, wiping my sweaty forehead with the back of my hand and leaving sticky blood behind.

Using the last of my energy, I shove Arthur back, sending him out of view towards the mirror and kicking the sword after him. I briefly have a vision of Keva scooping Excalibur up as Hadrian rushes to drag Arthur to the tunnel’s secret entrance, then I whirl around and march back to Carman, letting the velvet drapes close over the alcove.

I’m sorry
.

Carman smiles at me coldly and I feel her agonizing touch between my shoulder blades once again.

“A very touching sight,” Carman says into my ear, making me shiver. “One after my own heart. Now if you could just
stop offing my children and concentrate instead on these puny humans, I’d appreciate it all the more.”

She motions for Mordred to proceed forward, towards the wide, round table.

I watch numbly as he sets the Siege Perilous aright, an eager smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“Welcome to the club, sis!” he says. “Now let me show you something too.”

With a flourishing bow, he spins around and sits on the throne-like chair.

“No,” I whisper.

Both for what I finally realize he is, and for what he’s done.

“Shhhhh,” Carman whispers, holding me closer to her until my whole body seems to have been set ablaze.

Mordred’s head slams backward as the figures carved in the seat start to move. The demons engraved in its base stretch up languorously, like big cats waking from a nap, forcing the angels to retreat further towards the crest rail at the top of the chair. Then the demons’ mouths open wide and a thick black liquid pours forth.

But this time, instead of swallowing Mordred up, the goo shoots out towards the round table, engulfing it in a thick black morass that drips all the way down to the floor. There’s a loud
crack
as of wood splitting, and the whole building shakes as the slime falls to the ground, twirling on itself in a gigantic whirlpool with loud, sucking noises.

A dim, grey light emerges from the pool’s dark center, growing as it takes over the vortex of miasma at our feet.

I wipe my clammy hands upon the remains of my dress as the circle pulses like some gigantic heart, tantalizing, and my feet carry me closer to the abyss, drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

Then Carman suddenly shoves me forward. I stumble as the chasm opens up beneath me, offering a view of grey, dreary cliffs. I try to hold onto one of the chairs, but it topples along with me and we both fall through.

My body slams into the ground with a thunderous
crack
, the chair exploding into thousands of splinters next to me. Tears spring to my eyes as the air rushes out of my lungs, and I hear Carman’s laugh ring out above me before she follows me down, her black dress of feathers billowing out to slow her descent.

I let out a dazed moan, my ears ringing, barely conscious of her landing next to me. My fingers scrape uselessly against the ground’s jagged surface as Carman takes in the achromatic view, a greedy look on her face. Then she turns to me with another cold smile.

“Welcome to Hell, my dear.”

I wander around the desolate place, my eyes gritty with sleep though I can never find rest in this world of endless crepuscule. I gnash my teeth together, trying to dislodge the grains of sand that inevitably find their way into my mouth.

Just like the wind slowly eroding the proud side of a mountain to dust, I feel that this place is steadily grinding me down to a desiccated pulp. Already I feel myself growing indifferent to my plight. The reason for my coming here has become blurry, indistinct.

Yet my footsteps take me irreversibly back to the place where I started. But the chasm through which I fell no longer exists, and I find myself staring up at an endlessly grey, dead sky.

After a few minutes—or is it hours?—I start on my way back down, tiny rocks and pebbles slicing into the plants of my feet, making them bleed. My wounds inevitably close up, replaced by fresh new skin, only to be cut open by the gravel again at the next step. I follow the thin trail of blood I’ve left behind on my way up, now a dull brown. Soon, it will be grey as well, like everything else around here.

“Morgan?”

I stop.

The whispery voice rises again from the boulders to my left, “Morgan?”

A thin form detaches itself from the face of the cliff, then a second, both covered in the grey dust that permeates this world.

A small part of me says I should know these people, that I’ve talked to them before, been helped by them….

I cock my head, digging through my sluggish mind, fighting the growing part of me that doesn’t want to care about anything anymore.

“Keva?” I croak, my voice no longer accustomed to being used. “And…banshee?”

The two figures press forward like lost puppies that have found their master again. Keva grabs my hand and holds onto it.

I look at her dispassionately, noting how her sunken cheeks make her big eyes look like giant marbles in her drawn face.

“I thought you didn’t…that you wouldn’t…,” the girl starts before taking in a shuddering breath. “Come, we’ve got something to show you.”

I allow Keva and the banshee to pull me after them, my sluggish footsteps tracing a new blood path down the mountainside. It doesn’t really matter where I go. In the end, it’s all the same.

They stop upon a small promontory overlooking the endless ashy hills, a wide circle of stones lying on top of it like a crown.

“Look,” Keva breathes, pointing at the closest of the boulders. She wipes away the latest layer of dust covering its face, coughing as the particles of soot swirl around her before settling back down.

“Look, Morgan!” Keva insists, pushing me closer to the monolith.

With a tired sigh, I drop my gaze to the stone and find that someone’s painstakingly carved words into its surface.
A message…. But who would bother with such a pointless act down here where knowledge is as obsolete as one’s will?

Yet, as I read, the words slowly start to sink in, raising the sound of a dim alarm bell deep within me.

“Teind,” I say aloud, letting my fingers trace the word’s letters over and over again, my mind drawing up its echo from deep within its recesses.

Keva’s small hand seeks mine out and squeezes.

“Morgan,” she whispers, “I’m scared.”