Destined Page 13

  “I don’t understand,” Tamani said. But even as he spoke, Laurel saw several more trolls go down. Even the disorganised trolls were realising it now, and they had turned from their task of breaking into the Academy to questioning each other and pointing. Panic spread like wildfire and the group on the balcony forgot their plans and watched, transfixed, as more and more of the trolls crumpled to the ground.

  “They’re running away,” David said, with awe and more than a touch of relief in his voice. The remaining trolls had turned tail, heading to the gates now, but even retreat was fruitless. Soon everything was still and all of the trolls lay motionless amid the trampled remains of the once-beautiful Academy grounds.

  “Are they . . . dead?” Chelsea asked after a long spell of silence.

  “That one in Spring was very, very dead,” David said.

  “So, what?” Laurel asked, staring out on the carnage. “It’s over?”

  “What’s going on?” Yeardley said, bursting onto the balcony amid the tense silence. He was holding a cloth sack in one hand – his kit, Laurel realised. “Why did the fighting stop?”

  “It’s hard to say,” Tamani replied, scanning the grounds. “They look dead, but the Goddess only knows why. I don’t trust this.”

  “What’s that?”

  A blur of motion on the green hillside caught everyone’s eyes – several figures were making their way up the path from the Gate Garden.

  “More trolls?” someone asked from the crowd.

  Laurel watched the approaching figures for a moment and found it suddenly hard to breathe. “It’s Klea,” Laurel said softly. “She’s got Yuki with her.”

  “I don’t understand,” Yeardley said.

  “The Wildling,” Tamani said. “The one we were trying to figure out last time we were here; she’s a Winter.”

  Katya gasped. “Are they coming here?”

  “I don’t know,” Tamani said. “If not, then they’re headed for the palace. I’m not sure which is worse. Either way, we’re too late. This is why we needed Jamison – to fight her off.”

  “She’s hostile?” Yeardley asked, a subtle fear filling his voice.

  “It’s hard to know for sure,” Tamani said.

  Laurel didn’t think it was hard to know at all; Yuki was the only reason the trolls were even in Avalon, so that made her responsible for the death and destruction around them.

  “But she is the puppet of an exiled Autumn – Callista,” Tamani said.

  This time the horror in Yeardley’s expression wasn’t subtle at all. “Callista? That’s . . .” He turned towards the Autumn faeries gathered on the balcony. “We’ve got to get out of here. Now!”

  “We can’t just leave,” Laurel said, following Yeardley as he threw himself back from the balcony railing. “We’re barricaded here. It’s probably the safest place in Avalon right now.”

  Yeardley stopped short. “And just how long,” he said in a soft voice that chilled her to the core, “do you think it will take a Winter faerie to remove a barricade made completely of wood?”

  “He’s right,” Tamani said from over Laurel’s shoulder. “We should run. There’s a pretty dense forest to the west – there’s an exit that way, right?”

  “There is,” Yeardley said.

  “Gather whoever you can and head that direction. Without Jamison, I – I don’t know what else we can do.”

  Laurel hated hearing Tamani sound so defeated. All day he had fought trolls and won, and now two faeries were enough to destroy his spirits.

  “Right. You there, run to the west barricade,” Yeardley ordered a dark-eyed faerie Laurel thought she recognised from a more advanced class. “They need to take it down immediately!” Then, turning back to Tamani, he said, “Some of the staff are with the sprouts upstairs, and you saw how many students are gathered in the dining hall. Everyone else is busy securing their experiments and—”

  “Their what?” Tamani asked.

  “Their experiments,” Yeardley repeated, with no indication that he considered this less than completely rational.

  “Well, get them all together now,” Tamani said. “To hell with their experiments.”

  “Tam,” Katya called from the railing, “they’ve passed the turn off to the Winter Palace. They’re definitely coming this way.”

  Tamani was still for a long moment, then sprang into action as though someone had flipped an on switch. “OK everyone without a weapon, leave – now,” he said, singling out David with a nod. “Evacuation time.”

  He began herding everyone on the balcony back into the Academy and down the stairs.

  “I’m not going,” Laurel said, planting her feet as Tamani tried to shoo her in with the others.

  “Laurel, please. There’s nothing you can do against her.”

  “There’s nothing you guys can do against her either!” Laurel winced even as the words flew out of her mouth. “I – I didn’t mean . . .”

  Tamani was quiet for what felt like an eternity. “Maybe there’s not,” he finally whispered. “But perhaps we can buy you the time you need to get away. After we get you out, we’ll go out the front and meet her, while everyone else heads for the trees.”

  Laurel looked at David, but he just nodded his agreement.

  “OK,” she said softly. She hated feeling useless. “I’ll go back to Rhoslyn with Yeardley. We’ll bring Jamison here as soon as we can.”

  “Perfect,” Tamani said, the slightest hint of relief on his face.

  “Take Chelsea, too,” David said, and he reached out a hand to nudge her forwards before putting both hands back on the sword.

  “Of course.” Laurel nodded and took Chelsea’s hand. “Come on. Let’s see if we can help everyone get going.”

  “Thank you,” Tamani said softly, squeezing her hand.

  Laurel squeezed back, but didn’t look up to meet his eyes – didn’t want him to see how hopeless she felt. She knew what Yuki had done at the apartment building, what Jamison had done to the trolls . . . how long could David and Tamani hope to last against a Winter faerie? Certainly not long enough for Laurel and Yeardley to revive Jamison and bring him here.

  “We need to get all the sprouts out first,” Yeardley was instructing as they trailed him into the atrium. “Get everyone to the west exit!” Faeries went running to spread the word, most of them obviously in a barely controlled panic.

  “Laurel!” Tamani came barrelling down the stairs, David close behind, as a series of shots sounded outside the front doors.

  “Hecate’s eye!” Yeardley swore. “What was that?”

  “Soldiers at the entrance,” Tamani said, panting. “They came from around back. Too small to be trolls, but they had guns. They’ve got to be Klea’s.”

  “Klea’s?” Laurel asked, confused. “But she’s not even here yet.”

  “She must have sent them ahead,” Tamani said, his voice flat and emotionless. “It’s what I would have done, held back until they were in position. I should have realised. We’re exactly where she wants us, and there’s nothing we can do about it.”

  As if on cue from Tamani, the decorative coloured windows five metres over their heads shattered, raining stained-glass shards and a half dozen cracked plastic jars across the furniture-strewn atrium. Translucent liquid pooled around the open containers, saturating the air with the distinctive odour of gasoline.

  “What do we do?” Yeardley asked. “Gather? Spread out? I—”

  His voice cut off as the deafening roar of an explosion filled the air. Flames licked under the battered front doors, charring their finish and igniting the gasoline, sending a searing wave of heat rolling across the room. Those closest to the flames ignited instantly, their screams cut mercifully short by the intensity of the fire.

  “Spawn of Ouranos!” Yeardley yelled. “Run!”

  They fled the atrium ahead of billowing black smoke as flames skated over the puddles of gasoline and began licking their way to the carpets and tapestries that adorn
ed the room.

  As they ran toward the dining hall, Yeardley was almost bowled over by the dark-eyed faerie he had sent ahead to get the west barricade cleared. Her eyes were wide with fear as she spoke, her words almost unintelligible in their rush: “Fire! The west barricade is burning!”

  Sure enough, Laurel could see wisps of black smoke snaking their way along the ceiling down the passageway to the west exit.

  “Students! Please, calm yourselves!” Yeardley shouted, but Laurel knew it wouldn’t do any good. Smoke was already gathering above them, thick, choking clouds spreading from the atrium and, she assumed, the other exits as well.

  So panicked was the stampede of Autumn faeries that Laurel almost didn’t catch the strange hissing sound that came just before a reverberating explosion somewhere far above them.

  “What was that?” Chelsea called, shouting to be heard above the noise.

  Laurel shook her head and Tamani pointed at the ceiling. “What’s up there?”

  “Classrooms, dorms,” Laurel rattled off automatically.

  “No,” Tamani clarified, “right there, specifically.”

  “The tower,” Laurel said after a moment’s thought. “Five or six stories high – you’ve seen it from the outside.”

  Tamani swore. “Probably more gasoline. She’s got us trapped on all sides.”

  When they caught up with Yeardley again, he had opened a large closet and was tossing buckets to several older faeries – professors and Spring staff, mostly. “Use the fountain in the dining hall. Aurora, if we can’t get the sprouts to the dining hall, we should get them to the windows. Jayden, take two faeries and get to the pulley deck – open those skylights.”

  “Air will feed the fire,” Tamani countered.

  “But it will also let the smoke escape,” Yeardley said, tossing out two more buckets. “The smoke will kill us before the fire. Once it’s under control, we should be able to organise an evacuation. We’ve plenty of windows and ropes, not to mention firewalls, throughout the Academy. Wouldn’t be much of a research facility if we weren’t prepared for a fire.”

  Tamani’s brow furrowed. “Klea’s soldiers are waiting out there, with guns. What’s to stop them from killing anyone who goes out the windows?”

  “I’m afraid that’s not my area of expertise,” Yeardley said with a meaningful look at Tamani’s spear.

  Laurel breathed and her throat was instantly burning, as were her eyes; the smoke was getting lower.

  “The dining hall,” Yeardley croaked, ducking low and waving for them to follow.

  As they approached the double doors, Laurel caught sight of the bucket brigade, already passing water from the fountain down the halls to keep the fire at bay. Others were stripping the walls and floors of flammable material to halt the fire’s progression. But their work was hampered by the acrid smoke, and for every faerie doing something useful, three were running blindly through the halls, clutching books and experiments to their chests. Others gathered in stairwells, arguing whether they should go up or down. Laurel tried to yell for them to follow her, but she gulped in a chestful of smoky air and began coughing uncontrollably.

  “Faeries! This way!” David’s voice rang through the murk like a lighthouse in fog. He was standing tall, seemingly heedless of the dark clouds that swirled madly round him and Laurel suppressed a gasp; the smoke was being repelled by Excalibur’s magic. The layer of clear air that surrounded him couldn’t have been thicker than an eyelash, but the air he inhaled was clean, and he shouted again. “To the dining hall! They’re opening the skylights!”

  At first, the faeries crowded on the stairs seemed paralysed by indecision, and Laurel realised they were standing there, holding their breath against the smoke, wondering whether they should follow David’s orders.

  Because he’s human.

  Then a Mixer Laurel didn’t recognise began pushing his way down through the crowd in David’s direction. For a moment Laurel’s eyes widened and she wondered if he was about to pick a fight. But he simply stood in front of David for a moment, then nodded, and ducked down to enter the smoky hallway that led to the dining hall. The other faeries finally seemed to get the message, and slowly, so painfully slowly, flowed into the hallway, heading toward the dining hall, crouched low so they could breathe.

  But not everyone was following. A handsome young faerie was fighting through the crowd to go the other way. He had placed a foot on the bottom step when someone called out from beneath the smoke, “Galen, stop!”

  Galen paused.

  Something dark was pouring very slowly down the stairwell. For a moment Laurel thought it was oil, but then she realised it was tinged red and had a strange wispy quality to it – not unlike the smoke gathering all around them. But it wasn’t like the sleeping gas at the gateways, which had expanded and risen into the air; this mist was heavy and crept across the ground, like slow-moving dry-ice vapour, filling each step like sludge before a stream broke free and poured down onto the next step.

  Galen’s mouth tightened. “There are still fae upstairs,” he called. “I have to warn them.” And without another delay, he continued up the steps.

  The instant the red, creeping smoke touched his foot, Galen staggered and fell, his face going blank, his limbs convulsing. As he landed on the stairs, the deep red mist swirled out round him. Even through the hazy air, from three metres away, Laurel knew he was dead.

  Others saw it too; there were several shrieks as fae fled the creeping mist – some running straight toward the burning exits.

  “Stop, stop!” Yeardley’s voice was muffled in the choking smoke. “We must stop panicking,” he pleaded. “The skylights are open in the dining hall; everyone get to the dining hall!”

  “Galen was right; some of the staff is still upstairs! Can’t we do something?” one of the lingering faeries asked.

  Yeardley looked at the menacing gas pouring down both stairways that led to the upper floors. “Goddess help them,” he said weakly.

  At last, most of the faeries made for the dining hall, but a few remained stubbornly looking up the stairs. As Laurel watched, the reddish mist spilled over the landing above them, cut into long tendrils by the ornate rails, flowing downwards like an oily waterfall.

  “Look out!” Laurel shouted, pulling Tamani and Chelsea backwards with her, barely missing the thin streams of mist that fell in the pattern of prison bars.

  Not everyone was quick enough, and scarlet waves poured over them like rivulets of sand; without a sound, they fell where they stood.

  “Let’s go!” Tamani said, pulling at Laurel’s hand. She wanted to resist him – to pick up the fallen faeries, to carry them to safety. But Tamani’s hand was firm in hers and she let him draw her backwards.

  In the dining hall, Yeardley was directing the students to line the bottom of the doors with wet cloths. Those in the bucket brigade who had escaped the deadly red poison were emptying buckets of water right onto the doors, soaking the wood. Thanks to the large skylights, now open to the dim evening sky, the smoke was higher here, and Laurel could stand up straight and still breathe. She looked over at Chelsea, whose face and clothes were blackened; Laurel assumed hers were the same. Glancing round, she was shocked at how few faeries were present, and even more shocked at how few were conscious. They’d been treating the injured here anyway, but now the injured were joined by dozens who had fainted from the smoke.

  “Now what?” Laurel asked.

  “David and I will head out first,” Tamani said, waving his spear at the faeries who were situating a wooden ladder beneath one of the high-set dining hall windows. “It’s not an ideal staging ground for an evacuation, but between the skylights, the firewalls, and the fountain, we should have time to get everyone out – if we can get in and out those windows without getting shot.”

  Laurel could tell something else was bothering him in the way he kept checking the sky. “What?” she said, laying a hand on his arm.

  After a few seconds he tur
ned to her. “There’s no way Klea will stick around – she knows she’s won here. She’s going to head to the Winter Palace next – someone has to stop her. I have to stop her.”

  He was right. “Take me with you,” Laurel insisted.

  “Laurel, please,” he begged, but she was already shaking her head.

  “Not with you to Klea – just get me out of here. Me and Yeardley. We’ll get Jamison.” She stepped closer so no one, not even Chelsea and David, could hear her. “You know he’s our only shot.”

  “Will Yeardley even agree to come with you?” Tamani asked, and Laurel glanced at him where he was still organising the panicked fae. He was the Academy’s beacon, and she wanted to take him away.

  “He’ll have to, won’t he?” Laurel said, the words choking her.

  A commotion drew her attention as the light round her took on a strange, sickly hue. It took Laurel only a second to realise it was coming from the skylights overhead. The red mist must have spilled out the upstairs windows and was now making its way across the wide roof of the dining hall, coating the glass skylight and, as Laurel turned her eyes upwards spilling over.

  The wide waterfall of deadly poison cascaded through the air for at least six metres before reaching the floor, striking an unconscious, soot-stained faerie lying on a linen-covered table. He convulsed silently before going still as the oily red gas spilled across the floor.

  A collective murmur of dismay rippled through the gathered fae a moment before the panic set in. They turned almost as one and Laurel barely managed to stay on her feet as faeries pushed past her, hardly seeming to see her – to see anything beyond their desperation.

  Laurel’s eyes remained fixed on the ruby mist, her hand clutching Tamani’s fingers as the truth slammed into her.

  They hadn’t escaped Klea’s poison; they’d played right into her plan.

  And now there was no way out.

  The red death moved slowly, so very slowly, its smoky tendrils more like a living thing than a simple gas. It curled around its victims, taking easy prey first – the fae who lay unconscious on the floor.