Rise of the Fey (51 page)

“So what’s all that about?” I ask him, pointing at his face.

“The woads?” he asks self-consciously.

“Yeah, those tattoos,” I say. “I’ve seen others with them.”

Mordred shrugs, looking away. “Nothing,” he says.

“Oh, I thought….” I stop myself before I can put my foot in my mouth.

Mordred looks back to me, curious. “What did you think they were?”

I wave awkwardly. “I thought maybe you belonged to a gang or something.”

A racking laugh erupts next to us and we both turn to see. Nibs rolling on the ground, holding his ribcage. “Your stupidity never ceases to astound me,” the clurichaun says. “Those are a sign of how much of a cockalorum he is.”

“A what-what?” I ask, blinking furiously as Mordred’s face closes up again. “Is that a kind of Fey?”

Nibs shakes his head, making the melted pieces of flesh hanging from his side jiggle. “He suffers from the sin of pride,” he says. “Those lines etched into his skin form a sort of topographical map, if you will, that delineates where his sources of power are.”

“You mean the location of his oghams?” I ask in wonder. “But I thought Fey people tried to hide them?”

“There may be hope for you yet,” Nibs says, taking another long swig of his flask. “Maybe your body’s figured out how to regenerate your dead neurons. Can you get it to provide you with the missing ones too?”

I let the insult slide. If the tattoos show where Mordred’s oghams are, then he is displaying his weaknesses for all the world to see. And If I manage to let Arthur and the others know about it, they can go straight for the kill.

I shiver at the thought. When did I start thinking killing such a mundane act that I can consider it so easily? I watch Mordred out of the corner of my eyes.

He seems to be lost in thought, a deep frown creasing his forehead, his gaze distant. As I observe him more closely, I realize that without those blue whirls he doesn’t look much older than I am. Yet here he is, probably plotting all of our deaths just as easily as I was plotting his.

“Tell me about Lake High,” Mordred says, so suddenly I drop my last bit of bread on the ground.

“I’m not going to give you inside intel,” I say, looking forlornly at the remains of my one and only meal of the day, wondering if it’s still safe to eat it. “You guys have already attacked us enough times as it is, you know what it looks like.”

“Why do you so fervently hate us?” Mordred asks.

“It’s not that I hate you exactly,” I say, “it’s that I don’t see why you guys are so bent on destroying the whole world and everyone in it.”

“You’ve got Fey blood running in your veins so why is it so hard for you to understand our plight?” Mordred asks instead. “Would you rather we remained meek slaves while your knights use and abuse us to fatten their purses?”

“No,” I say. “But why can’t we all just get along?”

“Just like all humans get along?” Mordred retorts. “Don’t make me laugh, humans will never be peaceful creatures. It’s not in your D.N.A.”

“It’s been done before,” I say, ignoring his last comment. If I manage to convince him, he could help us put an end to Carman’s rampage. “Knights and Fey were allies once, and even now we’re rekindling our ties with Lugh and his people, so—”

Mordred punches the ground, bringing down all my budding hopes.

“Watchers,” he says as if he’s just tasted something extra bitter. “I hate them more than I hate your knights.”

“But they’re peaceful!” I exclaim. “They’ve vowed to not fight anymore.”

I keep myself from adding that they’ve somehow reneged on said vows just a few days ago—it’s probably best to keep such a minor detail hushed for the time being.

“They’re a bunch of hypocrites,” Mordred says. “They lusted after war more so than any other, loved to tear us up, and now
they pretend to want peace? All they do is spend their time selfishly praying in hopes that the Gates of Paradise will be opened to them once again, while at the same time they watch passively as the rest of us are being wiped off the face of the earth like some plague.”

“And you think Carman cares about you Fey?” I ask instead. “If I recall correctly, Fey helped put her away too. You don’t think she’s going to seek vengeance on your kind as well?”

“She’s just a means to an end,” Mordred says tensely. “A way to get rid of all of you, then…”

“Then?” I prod him on.

Mordred shrugs. “Then we’ll see.”

He looks away, a sign he’s over the conversation. Yet I detect an ounce of doubt in him. Perhaps it’s not too late to change his mind after all, at least with regards to Carman.

“What did you want to know about Lake High, then?” I ask. “The food’s alright, I suppose. Though they don’t serve enough pizza, if you ask me. And teachers are generally alright, but they give us way too much homework.”

Mordred straightens up, surprised at my sudden switch of conversation. “What about the students?” he asks with a slight hesitation. “Is it true that”—he clears his throat—“the most beautiful maiden lives there?”

If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Mordred is blushing. Which of course is preposterous for someone who hates knights as much as he does.

“Yes,” I say carefully. “Jennifer’s got that reputation. Assuming you’re speaking of her.”

“Have you seen her then?”

I grimace. “Worse, I’ve had to talk to her.”

“They say she’s like an angel that’s come straight down from Heaven,” Mordred adds.

“I hope your source for our school’s layout is better than the one you’re using for Jennifer,” I say. “That girl’s worse than a viper.”

“Of course you’d feel that way,” Mordred says arrogantly, “you two are total opposites. She’s the embodiment of physical beauty, grace, femininity, whereas you…”

I narrow my eyes at him. Who knew Mordred could be such a
guy
—all about boobs and booty, but not much else besides.

“Was there anything else about the school you wanted to know?” I ask, annoyed. “Or was it all an excuse to talk about your crush?”

I watch him turn a shade darker—yep, Mordred’s definitely blushing. “No,” he says quickly. “I was also curious about what your life was like there.”

“Pretty much like at any other school,” I say. “Classes, recess, the cool kids bullying the not so cool ones.”

“You don’t have to say which group you belonged to,” Nibs pipes in. “I think it’s pretty obvious.”

“The only thing different is all the ogham manipulation,” I say, pointedly ignoring the clurichaun.

“Of course,” Mordred says, “it must have been one of the basic lessons over there: How to steal an innocent Fey’s essence and use it for personal gain.”

“It is to defend ourselves against people like you who want to wipe out humanity,” I say.

Mordred suddenly reaches out and lays his hand over the top of my chest.

“Where do you think you’re touching?” I ask, wanting to pull away.

I feel heat radiate from his hand, burning me. Then there’s a flash and I hear the distinct buzz of tiny wings furiously beating the air. Before I can ask what he’s done, two tiny pixies dart in front of my eyes, as bright as tiny will-o’-the-wisps.

I reach up and my fingers brush against Arthur’s pendant, feeling the hollowed out space where the gems were moments before. My eyes grow wide.

“Even you with your Fey blood couldn’t resist the attraction of gaining more power,” Mordred says bitingly.

“They…they were a present,” I whisper.

“That school was a place of corruption,” Mordred says coldly. “A place that was a thousand times worse than anything Hell could reserve for our kind.”

“Only because you abused your powers first!” I exclaim, any idea I may have entertained to change his mind gone. “And why do you keep talking about Lake High in the past tense? It
is
a good place, with a worthy goal, and though I may not like everyone in it, there are still plenty who are willing to risk their lives to do what’s right and protect the innocent.”

Mordred leans towards me and I make a concerted effort not to flinch back. “Those people are delusional,” he growls, “they
will
lose their lives for it, and your school will
no longer be!
”

Urim chooses that moment to approach us and whispers excitedly in Mordred’s ear. Mordred’s shoulders tense, then he springs to his feet. Without having to call her over, Nessie’s at his side, and in one lithe movement, Mordred’s on the kelpie’s wide back, a large horn at his lips. He blows once. Twice. Three times.

Three times my bones rattle inside me, my blood boiling, as if answering to his call.

To my utmost horror, I see more and more Fey crowd inside the clearing—hundreds, then thousands of them—their spikes, pelts and scales reflecting the crescent moon’s muted light.

“My brothers and sisters,” Mordred intones once the clearing is full to bursting with Dark Sidhe, his voice carrying clearly over the multitude, “you have waited long enough for this moment. Finished are the days when you had to cower from the sight of
knights. Done are the times when you’ve had to keep away from the world—
our
world—for fear of retribution. For tonight is the night we claim what is rightfully ours and unleash our just retribution!”

A loud clamor greets his words, raising every hair on my body. What is Lake High and the Board to do against all these Fey?

And all I can think of as the army of Dark Sidhe lets out grunts and howls of challenge, is that perhaps Mordred is right and we are all doomed.

“You’re staying here.” Mordred forces me away from him with the butt of his lance, given to him by Badass.

“But I thought I was your hostage,” I say, as Nibs tightens his hold on my chain. “Are you setting me free?”

“You’re not a very good listener, are you?” Nibs says. “Don’t you remember what he said your role was in all this?”

My mouth runs dry. “Bait,” I say. “Right.”

“It wasn’t my original intent,” Mordred says, leaning down on his kelpie to cup my cheek before sliding his hand down to the pendant hidden under Arthur’s jacket. “But somehow those bastards have managed to bypass our compound and track you straight back here. Which leaves me no choice.”

I wrench myself out of Mordred’s reach and turn my back on him. All these Fey intent upon murder and destruction, and here I am, unable to lift a finger.

But things might be different once he and the others are gone. I eye Nibs calculatingly—the little clurichaun’s weakened by the loss of his ogham, surely he’ll be easy to overpower.

“Gwyllion,” Mordred calls out, “gather a couple of squads and get ready for battle.”

The leather and piercing aficionado appears before us, her evil pet leering at me from around her with its fiery eyes.

“Carman wants us all to be together for her arrival,” the punk hag says.

“She also wants our invasion to be successful,” Mordred retorts. “Which means keeping Lugh and his posse out of our feet.”

“Lugh?” Gwyllion repeats, fingering her bladed whip thoughtfully.

“And you won’t even have to look for him,” Mordred says. “He’s on his way over.”

The hag’s tongue darts out over her leathery skin to play with the piercings at the corners of her mouth. “Very well,” she says, as if this wasn’t an order. “I’ll play babysitter for a while.”

“Excellent,” Mordred says, wheeling Nessie around.

“You can’t be serious!” I exclaim. “All she wants is to skin me alive!” And she’ll make it impossible for me to escape, I silently add.

“As long as you’re not dead,” Mordred says indifferently.

I scowl up at him. “And to think that for a second there I thought you might be OK,” I say. “Guess that’ll teach me.”

Mordred’s nostrils flare, and for a second I think he’s going to strike me. Instead, he urges Nessie into a trot and waves his long lance high over his head. Then, with a mighty bound that would be impossible for any normal horse to make, Mordred and his kelpie disappear back into the forest. The ground shakes as the rest of the army follows behind him, in no seeming order, thirsting for blood and battle.

I watch the last of the Dark Sidhe disappear into the dark forest, leaving what once was a verdant clearing now a trampled over field of mud. Suddenly, the hag’s bladed whip snaps around my ankle and pulls me down hard.