Excalibur's Seven - Chapter 28: Chapter 28
You are reading Excalibur's Seven, Chapter 28: Chapter 28. Read more chapters of Excalibur's Seven.
WHEN MORGANA WOKE UP, his head was pounding, and his throat felt like he'd stuck a hot poker down it. His limbs were too weak, he could hardly move a muscle. He was laying on a dusty floor, nothing but faint torchlight in the distance illuminating the cell.
The only thing he could think of were his friends. He had no idea where they were, or if they were ever coming back. Honestly, he hoped they never did. They'd be killed the moment they got within a mile of the castle, and he was just the bait.
He had to find a way to tell them not to come. There was only one thing he could think of, but he was only strong enough to open his eyes. Even that was straining. So he closed them again, mustering up whatever inkling of strength he had. He still had the prince's name, so he used that.
He thought with all his might, of warning Kit and nothing else. He wanted to tell him more, but he could only manage a single word.
"Kristofer," he ground out before his thoughts left his mind once again.
Arrows pierced through the prince in more places than one. His forearm, shoulder, his thigh. There was a another, but he could hardly comprehend where it was until he was stumbling out of the tunnel with everyone else. He didn't even take them out as he climbed onto the horse, following the druid as they raced away from the crumbling mountain.
Snowy mist was already surrounding them, but the mountain wouldn't collapse for another several moments. He urged his horse faster, trying to outrun the rumbling following after them.
Snow and rock broke away from the peak at last, mimicking the valley's tragic history as it rolled down towards them. Right before they were crushed beneath the avalanche, they took cover behind another hill, not looking back for a second as they ran to safety.
They continued to run until the rumbling behind them was gone and they were tucked between the shelter of tall trees. The sun was already on its way back up, and once the adrenaline was gone and they took a moment to breathe, Kit felt the effects of his exhaustion.
Blood stained the snow as his leaking wounds registered in his mind.
"Kit, let me help you," Giselle urged when he fell to the ground.
"No, Lionel first," he insisted, pushing himself into a sitting position. He realized then that the fourth arrow was lodged beneath his ribs, but luckily wasn't as deep as it could've been, slowed by the thick material of the formal armor he hadn't removed since the ball.
Giselle obeyed, taking the boy and tending to his bleeding chest. He would be okay, Kit knew, but he refused to be the first to be healed when Lionel was in pain.
He didn't pull the arrows from his body until Giselle was ready for him. "Your side first," she told him, and he cried out when he yanked it from his flesh. The princess placed her hands on the rapidly bleeding wound, shutting her eyes.
Kit tried not to scream as she healed him, but his efforts were useless, and his voice echoed off of the trees as he cried out.
Giselle only healed the other places enough for him not to bleed out, then wrapped what was left in pieces of her dress. He didn't know how she managed to make it this far in such massive skirts, but she was graceful enough that he didn't question it.
They cleared the snow from a patch on the ground, all in desperate need of a nap, though no one intended to sleep fully until they got somewhere safer. A couple hours later, Chalice woke them up and they started off down the mountains once again, searching for the nearest village.
It took them several hours to find anything, and by the time they got there, there was no snow despite the chill in the air. The sun was high and bright above their heads, but they were all desperate to sleep.
Lionel was asleep already when they arrived at the entrance of a small village, so aching Kit carried him in his arms. A woman passing by took notice of them in their state, dropping everything she was doing to help them. There was no inn here, but she took them to her small cottage, urging them to rest and giving them what little food she could find for them.
Kit laid the boy down in front of the fireplace, wrapping a thin blanket over his shoulders. Finally, they could relax a little bit. They were out of the snow, out of the cold, safe and warm and able to catch their breath.
The druid crouched before the fire at Lionel's feet, resting their elbows on their knees and holding up their frostbitten hands. Their brown eyes were fixed on the flames, but they were somewhere else entirely.
"You were great back there," he said, voice hoarse from the cold.
"Thanks," they hummed, still close to the fire as they massaged their thin wrists.
He realized then how much they probably hurt themself back there, with catching an entire statue's arm in just their hands and bashing a rock into the hard stone right after. Their hands were still scarred from digging up the shard, just they were when they were in The Foraoise Dorcha.
"Are you okay?" he asked. They didn't look okay, but he wouldn't pressure them if they didn't want his help.
To his surprise, they offered their hands to him. "I don't have enough strength in my own hands, I can't check if my wrists are as they should be."
Kit faced his body to theirs, taking their wrists into his hands. The druid's features were all very long, but they were so thin next to the prince, he could wrap his hands around their arms until his thumb touched the first knuckle of his forefinger.
As he felt around the bony joints, he had to wonder how they got so lanky. Perhaps part of it was just their build, but Morgana was built similarly and even in his illness never got this thin. He thought of Fells with an aching chest, of the homes within an inch of crumbling and the miniscule sizes of the meals they ate there.
There was leaving them to their own devices to hunt and gather their own food and build their own homes, and then there was cutting them off within a small perimeter in an attempt to squeeze an entire village of their strength until they were too weak to pose a threat.
Kit pondered on the possibly that perhaps Fells' exile had more to it than just a religious feud. It was more than just poverty. It was oppression, it was imprisonment, it was attempted genocide. Something about Fells was far more important than any of them could realize if the royal bloodline was that scared of it.
Despite their limited resources, the people of Fells still lived, they were yet to die out like King Wylan and all the kings past wanted. Just like paper-thin Chalice held more strength and power than Kit could fathom, the endangered village of Fells would not be easily broken.
"It feels okay to me," he said, letting go of the druid. "Perhaps just a strain, but nothing is out of place. You've got strong wrists."
Chalice bowed their head, then got back to looking at the fire with foggy eyes.
The prince left their side then, finding a place to lay down and close his eyes. He struggled to fall asleep for a long while, but with time he felt his consciousness start to fade. That didn't last long though, when he felt something in his body shift. He didn't know what it was, but it felt like something he'd been searching for was returned to him.
It wasn't as comforting a feeling as it should've been, though, especially when it was followed by an image of a particular winter faerie on the floors of the dungeon, and a weak voice calling his name.
His eyes snapped open and he sat up abruptly. Chalice, still by the fire, turned to look at him. "What's wrong?"
"Morgana," he breathed. "He's not well. He's fading, I can feel it, like he was when we took him back to Faerie."
This caught the attention of a sleeping Giselle, who turned over to look at him. "Morgana? What's wrong with Morgana?"
Kit pinched his nose. "I think he used all his strength to reach me. I don't know why, but I... he's in the dungeons, he's nearly dead."
"Mog..." Giselle said, turning over and tucking her face into Selene's stomach.
"How soon can we leave?" Selene asked him, hands buried in Giselle's hair and messaging her scalp.
He looked over at Lionel, still sound asleep. "We need to find that other shard. You guys get some rest, I'll find out how far we are from Aenyf."
With that, the prince rose to his feet, pushing through his exhaustion to search for the woman who helped them.
He found her out in her small garden, covered in dirt and sweat. "Excuse me, ma'am?"
She looked up at him with a furrowed brow. "Yes?"
"I had a question, I don't know how well you could answer, but you're the best chance I've got." He fiddled with his fingers. "You know how far we are from the town of Aenyf?"
She blinked. "Well, my boy, you're here just now."
His eyes widened. "Y-you mean we're--"
"In Aenyf? I just said that, didn't I?" She pushed herself to her feet, brushing her hands off on her apron. "What business do you have in Aenyf?"
Kit looked back at the house. "That boy... well, he's my son, apparently, and it seems he's been living here for some time. His mother vanished recently, and I'm trying to find out more about Lionel. I need to find her house or something, I need answers sooner rather than later."
The woman knit her brows. "The handmaiden," she said. "That must be his mother. She vanished recently and no one knows why. 'Spose I didn't recognize the boy with all that dirt and odd clothing."
"Do you know where she lived?" he asked, eyes twinkling with hope.
He was led around the front of the house, following the woman across the field and down a path until they were back in the bustling square.
"It was just her and the boy," she said, guiding him up the stairs of a building that looked it could collapse at a moment's notice. "She stayed in this one room, it's not much."
She brought him up into an attic, where a small bed sat in one corner, nothing but a chest against the wall and a sheet hanging over the window.
"Is this all she had?" he asked, looking down to the woman, then back up to the chest.
"Think so. She just showed up a few years ago with her little boy and nothing else."
He furrowed his brows and climbed further up into the attic. "Thank you for your help, ma'am," he said, crouching down before the chest.
"Any time," she called.
Once he was alone, he pushed open the chest. It didn't have a lock, so he assumed there wasn't anything important in there. All he found was clothes, likely for Lionel. He assumed he might as well take them, but it wasn't why he was there.
As he pulled out a pair of trousers, he heard something rustling within the fabric. He stuck his hand up the leg, fingers brushing a slip of parchment. He pulled it from the leg, looking down at the scribbles on the surface.
It just looked like a note that got lost in the pile of everything, but his eyes brushed across a familiar name, and he brought it closer to the light. He could hardly read it, but he tried.
Kristofer.
You'll find it right in front of you.
He had no idea what that meant.
The only thing he could think of were his friends. He had no idea where they were, or if they were ever coming back. Honestly, he hoped they never did. They'd be killed the moment they got within a mile of the castle, and he was just the bait.
He had to find a way to tell them not to come. There was only one thing he could think of, but he was only strong enough to open his eyes. Even that was straining. So he closed them again, mustering up whatever inkling of strength he had. He still had the prince's name, so he used that.
He thought with all his might, of warning Kit and nothing else. He wanted to tell him more, but he could only manage a single word.
"Kristofer," he ground out before his thoughts left his mind once again.
Arrows pierced through the prince in more places than one. His forearm, shoulder, his thigh. There was a another, but he could hardly comprehend where it was until he was stumbling out of the tunnel with everyone else. He didn't even take them out as he climbed onto the horse, following the druid as they raced away from the crumbling mountain.
Snowy mist was already surrounding them, but the mountain wouldn't collapse for another several moments. He urged his horse faster, trying to outrun the rumbling following after them.
Snow and rock broke away from the peak at last, mimicking the valley's tragic history as it rolled down towards them. Right before they were crushed beneath the avalanche, they took cover behind another hill, not looking back for a second as they ran to safety.
They continued to run until the rumbling behind them was gone and they were tucked between the shelter of tall trees. The sun was already on its way back up, and once the adrenaline was gone and they took a moment to breathe, Kit felt the effects of his exhaustion.
Blood stained the snow as his leaking wounds registered in his mind.
"Kit, let me help you," Giselle urged when he fell to the ground.
"No, Lionel first," he insisted, pushing himself into a sitting position. He realized then that the fourth arrow was lodged beneath his ribs, but luckily wasn't as deep as it could've been, slowed by the thick material of the formal armor he hadn't removed since the ball.
Giselle obeyed, taking the boy and tending to his bleeding chest. He would be okay, Kit knew, but he refused to be the first to be healed when Lionel was in pain.
He didn't pull the arrows from his body until Giselle was ready for him. "Your side first," she told him, and he cried out when he yanked it from his flesh. The princess placed her hands on the rapidly bleeding wound, shutting her eyes.
Kit tried not to scream as she healed him, but his efforts were useless, and his voice echoed off of the trees as he cried out.
Giselle only healed the other places enough for him not to bleed out, then wrapped what was left in pieces of her dress. He didn't know how she managed to make it this far in such massive skirts, but she was graceful enough that he didn't question it.
They cleared the snow from a patch on the ground, all in desperate need of a nap, though no one intended to sleep fully until they got somewhere safer. A couple hours later, Chalice woke them up and they started off down the mountains once again, searching for the nearest village.
It took them several hours to find anything, and by the time they got there, there was no snow despite the chill in the air. The sun was high and bright above their heads, but they were all desperate to sleep.
Lionel was asleep already when they arrived at the entrance of a small village, so aching Kit carried him in his arms. A woman passing by took notice of them in their state, dropping everything she was doing to help them. There was no inn here, but she took them to her small cottage, urging them to rest and giving them what little food she could find for them.
Kit laid the boy down in front of the fireplace, wrapping a thin blanket over his shoulders. Finally, they could relax a little bit. They were out of the snow, out of the cold, safe and warm and able to catch their breath.
The druid crouched before the fire at Lionel's feet, resting their elbows on their knees and holding up their frostbitten hands. Their brown eyes were fixed on the flames, but they were somewhere else entirely.
"You were great back there," he said, voice hoarse from the cold.
"Thanks," they hummed, still close to the fire as they massaged their thin wrists.
He realized then how much they probably hurt themself back there, with catching an entire statue's arm in just their hands and bashing a rock into the hard stone right after. Their hands were still scarred from digging up the shard, just they were when they were in The Foraoise Dorcha.
"Are you okay?" he asked. They didn't look okay, but he wouldn't pressure them if they didn't want his help.
To his surprise, they offered their hands to him. "I don't have enough strength in my own hands, I can't check if my wrists are as they should be."
Kit faced his body to theirs, taking their wrists into his hands. The druid's features were all very long, but they were so thin next to the prince, he could wrap his hands around their arms until his thumb touched the first knuckle of his forefinger.
As he felt around the bony joints, he had to wonder how they got so lanky. Perhaps part of it was just their build, but Morgana was built similarly and even in his illness never got this thin. He thought of Fells with an aching chest, of the homes within an inch of crumbling and the miniscule sizes of the meals they ate there.
There was leaving them to their own devices to hunt and gather their own food and build their own homes, and then there was cutting them off within a small perimeter in an attempt to squeeze an entire village of their strength until they were too weak to pose a threat.
Kit pondered on the possibly that perhaps Fells' exile had more to it than just a religious feud. It was more than just poverty. It was oppression, it was imprisonment, it was attempted genocide. Something about Fells was far more important than any of them could realize if the royal bloodline was that scared of it.
Despite their limited resources, the people of Fells still lived, they were yet to die out like King Wylan and all the kings past wanted. Just like paper-thin Chalice held more strength and power than Kit could fathom, the endangered village of Fells would not be easily broken.
"It feels okay to me," he said, letting go of the druid. "Perhaps just a strain, but nothing is out of place. You've got strong wrists."
Chalice bowed their head, then got back to looking at the fire with foggy eyes.
The prince left their side then, finding a place to lay down and close his eyes. He struggled to fall asleep for a long while, but with time he felt his consciousness start to fade. That didn't last long though, when he felt something in his body shift. He didn't know what it was, but it felt like something he'd been searching for was returned to him.
It wasn't as comforting a feeling as it should've been, though, especially when it was followed by an image of a particular winter faerie on the floors of the dungeon, and a weak voice calling his name.
His eyes snapped open and he sat up abruptly. Chalice, still by the fire, turned to look at him. "What's wrong?"
"Morgana," he breathed. "He's not well. He's fading, I can feel it, like he was when we took him back to Faerie."
This caught the attention of a sleeping Giselle, who turned over to look at him. "Morgana? What's wrong with Morgana?"
Kit pinched his nose. "I think he used all his strength to reach me. I don't know why, but I... he's in the dungeons, he's nearly dead."
"Mog..." Giselle said, turning over and tucking her face into Selene's stomach.
"How soon can we leave?" Selene asked him, hands buried in Giselle's hair and messaging her scalp.
He looked over at Lionel, still sound asleep. "We need to find that other shard. You guys get some rest, I'll find out how far we are from Aenyf."
With that, the prince rose to his feet, pushing through his exhaustion to search for the woman who helped them.
He found her out in her small garden, covered in dirt and sweat. "Excuse me, ma'am?"
She looked up at him with a furrowed brow. "Yes?"
"I had a question, I don't know how well you could answer, but you're the best chance I've got." He fiddled with his fingers. "You know how far we are from the town of Aenyf?"
She blinked. "Well, my boy, you're here just now."
His eyes widened. "Y-you mean we're--"
"In Aenyf? I just said that, didn't I?" She pushed herself to her feet, brushing her hands off on her apron. "What business do you have in Aenyf?"
Kit looked back at the house. "That boy... well, he's my son, apparently, and it seems he's been living here for some time. His mother vanished recently, and I'm trying to find out more about Lionel. I need to find her house or something, I need answers sooner rather than later."
The woman knit her brows. "The handmaiden," she said. "That must be his mother. She vanished recently and no one knows why. 'Spose I didn't recognize the boy with all that dirt and odd clothing."
"Do you know where she lived?" he asked, eyes twinkling with hope.
He was led around the front of the house, following the woman across the field and down a path until they were back in the bustling square.
"It was just her and the boy," she said, guiding him up the stairs of a building that looked it could collapse at a moment's notice. "She stayed in this one room, it's not much."
She brought him up into an attic, where a small bed sat in one corner, nothing but a chest against the wall and a sheet hanging over the window.
"Is this all she had?" he asked, looking down to the woman, then back up to the chest.
"Think so. She just showed up a few years ago with her little boy and nothing else."
He furrowed his brows and climbed further up into the attic. "Thank you for your help, ma'am," he said, crouching down before the chest.
"Any time," she called.
Once he was alone, he pushed open the chest. It didn't have a lock, so he assumed there wasn't anything important in there. All he found was clothes, likely for Lionel. He assumed he might as well take them, but it wasn't why he was there.
As he pulled out a pair of trousers, he heard something rustling within the fabric. He stuck his hand up the leg, fingers brushing a slip of parchment. He pulled it from the leg, looking down at the scribbles on the surface.
It just looked like a note that got lost in the pile of everything, but his eyes brushed across a familiar name, and he brought it closer to the light. He could hardly read it, but he tried.
Kristofer.
You'll find it right in front of you.
He had no idea what that meant.
End of Excalibur's Seven Chapter 28. Continue reading Chapter 29 or return to Excalibur's Seven book page.