The Flame in the Mist

by Kit Grindstaff

  “My dear, you are positively overreaching yourself!” Nox strode to the fireplace and stood with his back to the flames. “Emissary indeed! Why, if Marsh had been sent by Jemma’s parents, the Mist would have seen her intention and stopped her, just as it stopped them!”

  “They”—Nocturna’s voice dripped with disdain—“were weakened by their grief, as we intended, and could not have masked their desire to save Jemma and destroy us. Besides, we have held their Powers in crystal captivity these past twelve years. But suppose there was somebody with strong Mind Control, well-trained enough to conceal their thoughts from the Mist and get through it? Do you not remember the reports of a woman, an ally of theirs, who single-mindedly quelled the Celdorian riots? Suppose it was she? A spy in our very midst, and we too blind to see it!”

  “Preposterous! Marsh couldn’t have hidden such a thing from us for all this time. And, if it were so, why hasn’t she told the child? It’s obvious she has not. Jemma clearly has no real idea of her abilities, let alone who she really is—”

  “You idiot!” Nocturna hurled her goblet to the floor. “A cunning spy would have kept the truth from the child so she wouldn’t have to lie to us and risk slipping up, being discovered! In any case, Jemma would not have been ready before. Now would be the time to act: the night before her thirteenth birthday, just when her Powers are blossoming!”

  Powers? What were they talking about?

  “But we’ve kept draining her with the Ceremonies and Entities, precisely to prevent her awareness of her Powers, and weaken her! Why, I almost thought we’d gone too far today, with Scagavay. And as for that rose potion idea of yours, Nocturna—why, the poor child needs some strength for the Ceremony tomorrow!”

  Rose potion? So they had drugged her! Jemma trembled as Nocturna stopped in her tracks and turned to face Nox, her crimson dress vivid in the firelight.

  “You know Scagavay was a necessary test, Nox. Had Jemma been one of us, she would have been awed, not petrified. But you saw what happened. She fled. To Marsh. And do you think we managed to avert her suspicion afterward, telling her she can finally go outside? The child is no fool, Nox, though we’ve worked hard to keep her in ignorance. She grows more willful every day, and recovers her senses more quickly. It’s a bad omen, I tell you, after she’s been so dreamy-headed most of her life. Are you prepared to risk it all—all—so close to our goal? If Jemma escapes and lives to fulfill that Prophecy, we are doomed!”

  “Nocturna, you surpass yourself! Why, even if she could recover from the potion in time, how could she and Marsh survive the forest? Jemma’s Powers will not fully come to her unless she has her Stone. As long as that is in our possession, we are safe.”

  “And what good is the Stone to us without Jemma? What if she was to attempt escape and was killed? Answer me that!”

  Prophecy … Stone … killed …? Jemma felt sick with confusion.

  “I … well … but … but Jemma bears the Mark! Is that not the reason we kept her alive? She may yet come to our side!”

  Nocturna stamped her foot. “You are grasping at straws, Nox! You know that I myself had high hopes that she would take to our ways when we found the Mark on her. And I continued to hope, until—well, you know what convinced me otherwise. For such a small thing to have upset her so! Jemma defies the Mark, she defies it!”

  The Mark? Did they mean her diamond-shaped birthmark, like Shade’s and Feo’s? Jemma felt it hot on her back.

  “Really, Nocturna! If you are referring to Jemma’s eleventh birthday Ceremony, why, even if her cruel streak is not as developed as Shade’s, that doesn’t mean she couldn’t change. Her gifts have always exceeded the twins’. And may I remind you what it would mean to us if she brought such strengths to our side. There is still time—”

  “Enough of your pathetic hoping, Nox—enough! I’m sick of your endless defense of the girl, and your obsession with her. Just because she resembles your precious twin! But Jemma is not her, however alike she may look. Your twin is dead, Nox, dead, and has been since you were four. You should have buried her memory thirty years ago, when your parents buried her body. But no. You have nursed it, with your self-pitying grief—”

  “How dare you, Nocturna.” Nox’s voice was gravel. “How dare you!”

  “I dare, Nox, because it makes you weak, and you are endangering our plans. I repeat: Jemma is not your twin. She is not like us. She never has been. Mord knows why the Mark has no effect on her, but it does not, and nothing has indicated the slightest inclination to come to our side, despite our efforts. Her parents’ blood flows too thick in her veins, and is thickening even now, can you not feel it? But we can change its course forever. Forever, Nox! Strip the girl of her Powers, and gain them for ourselves! We cannot be stopped at this eleventh hour. So tell me, is Marsh worth the risk? No, I say, no! We must get rid of the woman. Tonight!”

  “Very well.” Nox sighed. “I will tell her to leave immediately.”

  “No, Nox. That is not what I mean. I mean, rid of her.”

  Terror shot through Jemma. Marsh was in danger too! They must flee—both of them!

  “Nocturna, I will not have that on my conscience. Once was enough!”

  “You and your conscience! You have the stomach of a mewling kitten!”

  “I did what was required in order to increase Jemma’s Powers, as the Lore decrees,” Nox growled, slapping his hand on the mantel, “but I will not kill needlessly—”

  “Needlessly? Oh, you lily-liver! You call yourself an Agromond?”

  “I will order Marsh to leave!”

  “Marsh must die!”

  Their voices crashed around Jemma’s brain. She must think clearly, run to Marsh—

  “Tchah, woman! Let the forest do its work, if you will. What more could you want?”

  “Kill her, I say! Or else I shall!”

  No! They can’t! Jemma’s love for Marsh welled up in her like floodtide, overtaking her fear and all the other questions clamoring for answers. She bellied across the gallery floor and out of the hatch, closed it quietly, then pelted along the corridor toward the East Tower.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Goodbye, Marsh

  Jemma had never run so fast up the stone spiral staircase to Marsh’s room. By the time she reached the top, she was dizzy and nauseous, the newly revealed truth about her life whizzing around her head like runes on a spinning top. Not my parents … I’m not their child … Not my parents …

  A candle flickered on the window-sill. Marsh leapt up from her bed. “Mother of Majem, child!” she said. “Where have you been? I been worried sick! I was about to come lookin’—”

  “Marsh, I heard them talking—they know about you. I know about them, taking me—”

  “Lawks, Jem—what a way for you to find out! I was goin’ to tell you tonight—”

  “Never mind that now! Mama—I mean, she—means to kill you. We must go!”

  “Right.” Marsh rummaged under her mattress and pulled out several small packages, which she handed to Jemma. “Food. I been gatherin’. Herbs, for unctions. An’ a knife …”

  Jemma was astounded by the deftness that infused Marsh’s rotund body. “So you were planning our escape! And … I’m really not ill, then? No allergy to the Mist?”

  “No, pet. There never was. That was a lie, drummed into you to keep you in, an’ make you afraid of goin’ outside, so’s you wouldn’t get no ideas about runnin’ off.” Marsh stood, holding a bundle wrapped in lilac-colored cloth that she placed on top of the other packages in Jemma’s hands. “You’re strong as an ox, Jem, an’ don’t you forget it.”

  “But Marsh, who are you? Did you know my real parents? Did they send you here? And what are these Powers I’m supposed to have—do you know about them?”

  “Yes, yes! I’ll tell you all about it on the way. But—your Stone! I was goin’ to have you steal it before we left.… Now, even just one day away, your Powers may not be enough to get us through the forest without it!”r />
  “Powers …? Not enough …?” Jemma gulped. “That’s what Papa—what he—said!”

  “Well, we got no choice. We’ll have to leave it an’ hope that between us, we can do enough—” Marsh froze. Footsteps, swift and deliberate, came echoing up from the bottom of the staircase. She leapt into action again, pushing Jemma toward the door. “Quick, up the tower.”

  Marsh shoved Jemma to the next flight of steps, then lowered her voice to an intense whisper. “Now, listen. You must get out of here before the hour you was born—nine tomorrow mornin’. That’s when your Powers will come out, an’ they plan to steal ’em—that’s what your birthday Ceremony’s really for. But first, you mus’ get your Stone. That blue-green pendant Nocturna wears? It’s yours. Take it, tonight, once everyone’s asleep. Then run. Out the kitchen door will be safest. Drudge has the keys; you’ll need the big silvery one—”

  “But Marsh, what about you?”

  “Don’t you worry ’bout me. I got ways of protectin’ myself—”

  Clang! Ten-thirty. The footsteps were approaching rapidly.…

  “One more thing.” Marsh tapped the cloth-bound bundle. “This here’s a book. It’ll help. Ask, an’ let it show you. Goodbye, my lovely, goodbye.” She gave Jemma a quick hug, tears brimming in her hazel eyes. “Remember about courage. An’ the Light Game. I’ll wait for you outside, if I can. But whatever happens, never give up, never!”

  Marsh turned away and hurried into her room. Jemma stepped back just far enough to be hidden, and peeked out as Nox swept into view. So he had won the argument! Thank goodness; Marsh would be safe.

  “Marsh,” he said, standing in the doorway, “you must leave. This instant.”

  “What? Sir—but why?”

  “My wife wants you dead. I have locked her in the Lush Chamber, but it will not take her long to free herself. Go far, and swiftly, or she will track you and kill you, if only to spite me. But follow my directions exactly, and you will go in safety. Now, hasten.” He blew out the candle. Rain lashed the window glass, and a flash of lightning illuminated his tall silhouette as it urged Marsh’s squat one out of the room and down the stairs.

  Marsh was gone.

  Jemma staggered into Marsh’s room. For as long as she could remember, it had been her refuge from the castle’s cold gloom, so full of Marsh’s warmth. Now it looked like a prison cell, furnished only by a rickety narrow bed with Marsh’s trunk at the foot of it.

  “At least she’s alive,” Jemma whispered to the darkness. She threw the food packages, knife, and book bundle onto the bed, and slumped into the dip Marsh’s body had worn into the mattress. Fear scoured through her. Her only ally had been ripped away. And it wouldn’t be safe for Marsh to wait for Jemma outside—not now, with Nocturna determined to kill her.

  Jemma was totally alone.

  Lightning streaked across the room. Two small shadows skittered over the floor and onto her lap.

  “Rattusses! Yes, thank goodness, I still have you.”

  The events of the day pounded through her head. The Ceremony, Scagavay, Drudge, her dreams. Her family not being her family. She’d always felt out of place, but it wasn’t until two years ago that Nocturna and Shade had begun to turn against her. Now, remembering the eleventh birthday Ceremony that Nox had mentioned, she realized why. Nox had just finished reciting a rhyme he’d made up for her, when three bats flew in. Nocturna, irritated, had killed one with a deliberate shriek, which felled the other two. Shade and Feo had been delighted—but Jemma was distraught. She’d crept back later and found the two wounded ones fluttering weakly behind Mordana’s statue, their wings in shreds, and had taken them to her room and nursed them back to health for a week before releasing them into the night. Her distress, and her empathy for the poor creatures, was obviously what had proven to Nocturna that she wasn’t one of Them.

  So what Powers could she possibly have, that they wanted? Was it something to do with the Prophecy that Nocturna had mentioned, not once, but twice? And what did Marsh mean, saying they’d stop at nothing to get it? Surely, however important it was, Nox wouldn’t harm her. She was his favorite, even Nocturna had said so! And he’d refused to kill Marsh. But he had let Nocturna drug her; he himself gave her the rose. Even he couldn’t be trusted. Despair speared through her. What would they do to her if they didn’t get what they wanted? The words Nocturna had said not twenty minutes ago sprang to her mind: Strip the girl of her Powers … gain them for ourselves …

  The truth was as sharp as Drudge’s butchering cleaver.

  “Rattusses,” she whispered. “We have to get out of here. Tonight.” Noodle and Pie trembled. Jemma’s hands, too, were shaking. Like the princess in Marsh’s stories, she was trapped. And terrified.

  She has to find courage, see, Marsh had always said, an’ wear it like an armor of Light. That don’t mean she wouldn’t be afraid. Courage is doing what you must, even when fear is snappin’ at your heart.…

  “Come on, you two.” Jemma stood, gathered her packages, and spiraled down the stairs, the rats scurrying alongside. Take the Stone, steal the keys from Drudge, leave … Take the Stone, steal the keys from Drudge, leave … Perhaps it wouldn’t be so hard. But when she reached the Bed-Chamber level, she heard loud thumping from below. The hall lamps were blazing. Then came Nocturna’s voice, shrill as a banshee:

  “You fool! You—let—her—go-o-o-o!”

  Shade’s and Feo’s doors flew open. Jemma ducked into her room, Noodle and Pie skidding in behind her. She pinned her ear to her door, and listened as the twins’ footsteps thundered toward the stairs, their voices merging with Nocturna and Nox’s into one babble of hysteria: “Let her go? Who? Not Jemma, surely?” “No, Marsh!” “Shush, you’ll wake Jemma! Do you want her to suspect?” “And what if she does? I just set the Alarm spell.” “Still, go—check on her!”

  Jemma leapt into bed, shoving the packages under her pillow. The rats burrowed in beside her. Seconds later, her door creaked open. She lay still, her heart hammering, as she mimicked the deep breath of sleep. A corner of the sheet peeled back; the acid-and-brimstone smell of Shade’s breath breezed across her cheek, then withdrew. “Still out cold?” Feo’s voice, whispering. “Shush, Feo, you idiot!” The door closed, and their whispers became one with the now-muted voices drifting up from below.

  They were all in it together. Even Nox and Feo had been watching her for months, she realized now, watching like demons. There was no way she could steal her Stone while they were awake—but no way either that she could linger another second in this sun-forsaken castle like a condemned prisoner awaiting her fate. She would have to risk leaving without the Stone.

  Panic searing under her skin, Jemma threw off her bedclothes, and began ripping the sheets into strips.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Alarm

  Jemma tied one end of her sheet-and-blanket rope to the bedstead, then dropped its other end into the roiling darkness below, praying it was long enough to reach solid ground. Though her room was only on the second floor, the base of the castle below her window was built into a fissure in the crag, and the Mist made it impossible to see how far it was to the bottom.

  She tore open the lilac-clothed bundle, shoved the food and knife on top of the book, then knotted the fabric on either side to secure it, leaving a length at both ends that she tied around her waist. Then, with one last tug of her makeshift rope, she jammed the bed against the wall under the window. Noodle and Pie were sitting on the sill, waiting, their fur whipping in the wind. “It’s now or never, Rattusses,” she gulped. “Into my pockets.”

  Hand over hand, she started down, counting the knots she’d made as she went. One, two … Rain stung her hands. Three knots, four … The sheets were soaked, but at least that made them easier to grip. A lightning flash revealed a misty-blue chasm with Mord-knew-what jagged rocks at the bottom, waiting to dash her to pieces. The thunder was practically overhead now. Wind whisked around her, buffeting her against the castle walls. Jem-
maaaah! it seemed to moan. My sweet thirte-e-een …

  Clang-ng-ng!

  The first strike of eleven. Noodle and Pie peeked out of her pockets, then hastily dived down again.

  Five knots. Only two to go. Jemma shivered with cold and fear. Her hands were frozen, her fingers raw from scraping hard granite. Jem-maaaAAH! The wind rose to a howl, mingling with the tolls booming from the Bell Tower. Six knots … The last two strips of sheet flapped below her, and the ground was still nowhere in sight. She would have to reach for one of the treetops swaying below—

  A blast of wind slammed her against the wall. Her right bootlace caught on a shard of stone. Its hastily tied knot unraveled. The boot hung perilously from her foot, and she wriggled her toes to try and stop it from falling, but it slipped off and plummeted. With a chilling scree! two thick prongs shot out of the wall several feet below her, a net suspended between them. The net caught her boot and bound it up like a fly in a spider’s web, then retracted into the wall with a low rumble, its leather prey hanging limp and helpless.

  “Mother of Majem, Rattusses—that would have been us if we’d gone much farther!”

  Suddenly, a high-pitched siren split the night air. Candlelight flared from Nocturna’s Bed-Chamber, then moved rapidly from window to window toward Jemma’s room.… Terror jarred through her. As fast as her hands could grab, she shimmied up the torn sheets and blankets, and tumbled onto the bed, spilling Noodle and Pie from her pockets. They darted under the chest as she yanked up the soaked sheets and blankets and tore off her sodden dress, which she’d thrown over her night robe. Hiding the lilac bundle under the mattress, she piled her dress, sheets, and blankets onto the bed, then shoved the bed back into place and jumped onto the window-sill just as her door was hurled open.