The Flame in the Mist

by Kit Grindstaff

  Then came a sound she hadn’t heard for days.

  Clang.

  So close … The castle bell. But how could it be? She was miles from the castle, wasn’t she …?

  “Jemma …!”

  Jemma’s heart punched into her ribcage. Marsh only ever called her Jemma when she was cross, or had something urgent to tell her. It sounded like Marsh’s voice, but—

  “Jem-mah!”

  That was Nocturna’s way of saying her name. Which could only mean one thing: the image wasn’t Marsh at all.

  “Oh no—an Approjection! I should have known!” It was an illusion. A trick. And she’d fallen for it, had followed it uphill, back toward the castle, and the Agromonds. A few more steps, and she’d be in its sphere, and the Agromonds would know it, and hold her there. She already felt magnetized by it, and couldn’t stop.

  Hooves thundered up behind her. A vision of Nox bearing down on her swam into her mind. The hooves galloped closer. She buried her head in her hands and howled. Outrunning Mephisto was impossible. She should have listened to Bryn, and stayed another night—should have listened to the rats, telling her to stop! But it was too late. Nox had found her. And still, she crashed toward the Approjection, unable to prevent her legs from moving.

  The hooves stopped.

  “Jem, behind you!”

  Her life was over. She would be the Agromonds’ prisoner, powerless, destined to die—

  “Stop, Jem, stop!”

  Footsteps now, and strong arms, grabbing her, pulling her back, wrapping her in a warm, leathery smell …

  “Got you!” Digby’s voice, whispering in her ear … Jemma opened her eyes, and saw his freckled face and blue eyes, strong and earnest, as she collapsed into his arms. And there, just yards away, was Pepper, the Goodfellows’ horse, tossing her head and stomping the ground. “Dig … Digby!” Jemma sobbed. “Is it really you?”

  “Yes, yes, it’s me. It’s all right. You’re with me. That thing can’t get you now.” Digby lifted her onto Pepper’s back and jumped up behind her. She was vaguely aware of being held by him, vaguely aware of his garbled words murmuring through the pounding of Pepper’s gallop. For the first time in months, it seemed, she felt warm, and she leaned into him as they sped past the dark trees. They had made it, she, Noodle, and Pie. It was over—her long ordeal was over.

  But as she began to drift into sleep, foreboding rippled through her bones. She still didn’t know for sure what Marsh’s fate was, and her own was far from certain. She might be free of Agromond Castle, and the forest, but the Agromonds were still there. And as long as they were, their evil would spill over the edges of Mordwin’s Crag and seep, like the Mist, across the land. And nothing would stop it from finding her.

  This was not over. Not at all.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The Storehouse

  Saturday morning

  “Ma—warm water, Carbolic, quick!”

  A low ceiling blurred above Jemma as Digby carried her into a small room.

  “Digby, thank heavens!” A woman’s voice, lilting, low. “You’re home, safe and sound! Oh, my—jus’ look at this poor child. Take her into the parlor, love. I’ll be there in a trice.”

  Digby set Jemma down in an armchair by a fire. Weariness drained from her, and she drifted in and out of restless slumber, sounds and images weaving through her mind.

  “Poor mite!” Something soft and warm dabbed her skin. “… like she been dragged through a thistle patch backward.” The smell of coal tar, stinging pain, dulling into darkness again … She was flying into thick gray, the Aukron close behind.… “Look, the Stone—she got it!” Ghosts, floating around her … “Ugh—rats!” “ ’Sall right, Ma, them’s her friends. Noodle an’ Pie.” “Well, really! Digby, Gordo, look away, now.” Kind hands, undressing her, then pulling on clean clothes. “ ’Tain’t safe here … away from the village …” A small boy, toddling toward her, his hair the color of fire, his eyes sea-green … “What about Mowser, with them rats?” Jemma was lifted again, leaning back into strong arms. More hooves, pounding through her dreams, then she was laid onto what felt like a bed of leaves, wrapped in warmth. And, at last, heavy sleep.

  Jemma inhaled the sweet scent of hay, and felt the softness of it beneath her. Through the haze of sleep in her eyes, she saw Digby gazing out of a small window. Was she dreaming? Blink. He was still there, haloed by dusty light. Her head spun, trying to make sense of her surroundings. To Digby’s right, a door. Next to it, stacks of crates, the words Eurovian Sunshine stamped on them. To his left, hay bales piled to the beams. About halfway up them, Noodle and Pie were snuggled into what looked like a large ginger-colored fur pillow. They were surrounded by apple cores, their bellies swollen like small balloons.

  Jemma heaved herself onto one elbow and pushed back the woolen blanket covering her. The rough sleeves of a serge shirt at least three sizes too big for her flopped over her wrists, and the trousers she was wearing felt baggy and strange. But they—and she—felt warm and clean.

  Digby turned. “Hey, Jem! You awake already?” He walked over and sat on the edge of the hay bales she was lying on. “It’s only jus’ past eleven. I was goin’ to let you sleep another hour or so. How’re you doin’?”

  “I’m all right. I think.” She ached all over, and her ankle throbbed. “Where are we?”

  “Our storehouse, ’bout a mile north of Hazebury. Ma, Pa, an’ me, we decided to bring you here las’ night, after Ma patched you up an’ dressed you in some of my old togs.”

  “I can’t say I’ll miss my stinky old dress.… But why here? Why not your house?”

  “First, the storehouse is a mile farther from the castle. Second, it’s best that no village folk see you. What they don’t know, they can’t tell. So if anyone comes lookin’ …” He swept a lock of sandy hair from his face. “Well, we can’t have them Agromonds findin’ you, can we. Not now.”

  “Agromonds!” The name jolted Jemma fully awake and brought the last few days crashing back into her head. Would they still be searching for her? “I have a feeling,” she said, hoping she was right, “that they think I’m dead.”

  “Really? Why’d they send that Approjection, then? A few seconds more, and you’d’ve walked smack into it. Then they’d’ve known exactly where you was. They was lookin’ for you, Jem. It was a trap.”

  “But I didn’t walk into it, thanks to you. They really might think I’m dead.”

  “Maybe. Not worth the risk, though, is it?”

  “I suppose not.” Jemma sighed, the closeness of her escape shuddering through her. How had Digby known where to look for her? She was about to ask, when he took her hand.

  Her breath caught in her throat.

  “I can’t imagine what you been through, Jem, gettin’ out of that forest,” he said. “You want to talk about it, jus’ let me know, all right?”

  Jemma exhaled. Any lesser drama, and she knew she’d be talking about it non-stop. But this felt too recent, and too huge, to relive just yet. “Thanks,” she said. “Maybe another time.”

  “Well, you’re safe now. Long as we keep you out of sight.”

  “Safe,” she murmured. She’d felt that way with Digby from the moment she’d met him four years ago, when his father, Gordo, had first brought him to the castle to help with deliveries. Though he was more than two years older than she, they’d taken to each other immediately, and Gordo always hung around for an extra half hour, chatting to Marsh so that Jemma and Digby could be together, exploring the cellars or just talking. Salt of the earth, them two, Marsh always said about Digby and Gordo, and Jemma was sure the rest of the Goodfellow family would be just like them. She felt a stab of sorrow at the thought of Marsh, then a stab of disappointment at not being in the cozy cottage she’d so often imagined, and then a stab of shame for her fleeting ingratitude.

  “What you thinkin’, Jem?”

  “Oh … just … I’d have liked to meet your ma. And the triplets. That’s all.”
<
br />   Digby grinned. “Well, if we wanted to let the world know you’d escaped, an’ where to find you, that’d be the way to do it. Them triplets can’t keep their mouths shut, not for a moment. ’Specially Tiny. He might as well be the village crier, that one. Now …” He let go of Jemma’s hand and pulled a puffy crust of bread from a leather bag on the floor. “You hungry?”

  The fresh-baked smell dispelled all of Jemma’s questions, and she grabbed the bread and chomped into it.

  “Hey, easy, Jem!” Digby chuckled. “Here’s some cheese too, an’ your wineskin. I filled it with milk. Sorry—it’s a bit fresh for your likin’.”

  “Thank you!” She took a swig. It wasn’t sour, but it would do.

  “You an’ them rats!” Digby said. “I never seen any critters eat so fast. Now, since you’re up, we might as well get movin’—”

  “Mmmvpm? Wrrto?”

  “You know, where your ma and pa is. Oakstead. I’m goin’ to take you. If we leave soon an’ push our pace a bit, there’s a good chance we can get there by tomorrow breakfast.”

  Jemma stopped in mid-chew. Her parents. Tomorrow. Mord-day. The last day she could be Initiated.

  “Anyways,” Digby continued, “the farther you is from that castle, the better. Good thing we got that Stone of yours. It helped protect you in the forest, an’ it’ll help protect us on our way, I’ll be bound—”

  “Digby, wait—my parents … Oakstead … the Stone … How do you know about all that? And how did you know where to find me?”

  “I told you last night, on the way to Hazebury. I— Oh, Jem, I’m sorry. I should’ve realized you was too tired to take it in. Well, the other night, see—Tuesday, it was—”

  A loud whinny from outside interrupted him.

  “Oh, rotten rhubarb—Pepper!” He leapt to his feet. “Forgot her bran mash. I’ll go an’ feed her, an’ saddle her up. You put those on.” He pointed at some boots and socks on the floor, then walked toward the door. “They’re some old ’uns of mine, they should fit. I’ll explain everythin’ once we’re on our way, all right?”

  Jemma gulped down the last of the bread and cheese, then swung her legs off the hay and dangled her feet onto the floorboards. Her cloak, book, wineskin, and knife were piled next to her hay bed, with the crystals on top. She picked them up, and instantly felt the same triangle of energy that she’d felt in Bryn’s cave, snapping between them and her Stone. Her ankle tingled, and the throb subsided a little. She looked into the crystals. They were as clear as water.

  “Are you there?” she whispered. A bluish tinge appeared in one of them—and then her mother’s face began shimmering through. “Show yourself—please!” she said, louder.

  “Here I am!” A child’s voice lilted across the room.

  Jemma snapped her head up, swiftly pocketing the crystals. “Who’s there?”

  “Me.” From behind a pile of crates, eyes the color of forget-me-nots peered at her. Then one foot appeared, followed by the rest of a girl’s slight form, topped by a tangle of honey-colored hair. “You said, ‘Show yourself’,” she said. “So I did.” She broke into a broad grin the image of Digby’s. “Your hair! It’s brighter than they say, even. You really are the Fire One!”

  “Fire One?” Jemma felt a little uneasy. “What …? No, I—I’m just me. Jemma. And let me guess: you’re Digby’s little sister, Flora.”

  Flora nodded and skittered over to the pallet. “I’m seven,” she announced, as if that explained everything about her. She sat next to Jemma and gazed intently at her. “Was it hard to escape from the castle?”

  “Yes, it was,” said Jemma. “But how do you know about it?”

  “Well, I— Oh! What’s that?” Flora pointed at the Stone hanging from Jemma’s neck. “It’s lovely.”

  “It’s … something I found.”

  “Where, at the castle? Did you steal it?” Flora’s tone of voice suggested she hoped that were the case.

  “Yes. No. Well, not exactly. You see—”

  But Flora didn’t wait for an answer. “What was it like livin’ there? Were you scared? Was they really horrid to you? What was the forest like? Was there lots of monsters? Hey, d’you know the nursery rhyme about them Agromonds?”

  “Nursery rhyme? About them? No, I—”

  “It goes like this: All little children had better beware. Hide in the attic or under a chair. There’s evil a-comin’ from up on the hill. If the Mist doesn’t get you, the Agromonds will! But you”—Flora paused for breath—“you’re not evil, I can tell. Even though you jus’ came from up there. You’re nice! An’ pretty too. You could never be a Agromond. But that’s ’cause you in’t. I know who you is! I heard that lady tellin’ Ma, Pa, an’ Digby, jus’ the other night.”

  “Lady? What lady?”

  “Tuesday, it was. We was s’posed to be in bed, me an’ Simon an’ Tiny, but there was this loud thumpin’ at the door, see, an’— Oh! How sweet.” Flora looked at Jemma’s feet, where Noodle and Pie, having evidently woken, were now attempting to heave themselves up her legs. “Yellow rats! I ain’t never seen yellow rats before. Are they yours?”

  “My friends, yes.” Jemma picked up the rats and plopped them onto her lap. “Flora—”

  “Good thing Mowser didn’t get ’em. He’s the cat. Over there.” Flora pointed to the hay bale where the ginger fur pillow had now grown, revealing four legs and a confused-looking face, its green eyes fixed on the rats.

  “Flora,” said Jemma, hope glimmering under her skin, “that lady you mentioned—”

  “Mowser usually hunts rats, but yours must’ve scared him!” Flora laughed. “Can I stroke ’em?” She reached for Pie’s head without waiting for a reply.

  “The lady, Flora. Who was she?”

  “I don’t know.” Flora shrugged and tickled Noodle and Pie’s heads. “After the knockin’, we creeps to the top of the stairs, me, Simon, an’—”

  The storehouse door burst open. “Flora!” Digby marched over and yanked Flora to her feet. “What in Mord’s name are you doin’ here?”

  “I jus’ wanted to see her—”

  “Flora, the lady—?” Jemma tried to grab Flora’s sleeve, but Digby pulled her away.

  “You know you’re s’posed to stay home!” he said. “Mord sakes, I don’t have time to take you back, I got to get Jemma out of here—”

  “I don’t care! I came on my own, din’t I? I’ll go home on my own. It’s her, I know—the one you was talkin’ about the other night—”

  “I can’t let you go alone! T’aint safe. Oh, you …,” Digby growled. “Jus’ when we had the chance to get a head start. Jem, give me half an hour. I’ll be back.” He dragged Flora outside.

  Jemma hastily shoved her feet into Digby’s old socks and boots and tied the laces. The breeches she was wearing—also old ones of his, she guessed—almost fell off as she stood, and she cinched the belt to its last notch, stuffed Noodle and Pie into her pockets, then stumbled out of the door. Flora was wriggling in Digby’s grasp as he attempted to lift her onto Pepper’s back.

  “But why can’t I tell Tiny and Simon?”

  “For Mord’s sake, Flora!” Digby’s face was red with anger. “Nobody means nobody! ’Specially not Tiny. His tongue’s the loosest of all of you. You got to promise me—”

  “Ow! You’re hurtin’ me, you pig.”

  “Well, if you’d jus’ keep still—”

  At that moment, Gordo emerged through the Mist, red-faced and running. “Flora!” he yelled. “Thanks be, you’re here! Your ma an’ me, we been worried sick.”

  “Sorry, Pa.” Flora stopped wriggling. Digby put her down with a sigh of relief.

  “You’re safe, is all that matters.” Gordo took her hand. “Mornin’, you two. Jemma, lass, good to see you lookin’ a little lively again.” He mopped his brow, reddening more, then bit his lips. “I … I still don’t know, Digby lad, about you goin’ along,” he said. “Your ma, she keeps frettin’ ’bout what could happen to us if them
Agromonds find out you’re helpin’—”

  “Why would they find out? Pa, I told you. They got no idea I know her, do they, Jem?”

  Jemma thought of Digby’s arrival at last Mord-day’s breakfast, and shook her head.

  “So please, don’t you an’ Ma worry. I’ll be back by Tuesday, in time for deliv’ries. ’Sides, I couldn’t let her go on her own. Wouldn’t be what you’d raised me to do.”

  “I s’pose not.” Gordo sighed. “Come on then, little ’un, home with you.”

  “Remember, Flor,” said Digby. “Not a word, you understand? Promise me!”

  “All right, all right. I promise.” Flora broke away from Gordo, then ran over to Jemma and threw her arms around her. “Bye, Jemma,” she said. “You are the Fire One, I knows it! I bet you’re magic too, jus’ like they say. Come back an’ see me one day, won’t you, please, please?”

  “I’d like that,” said Jemma, wondering how that would ever be possible, with Flora living so close to Agromond Castle. She walked Flora back to Gordo, ruffling her hair. “You keep out of mischief, mmm? And Gordo, I’m very happy that Digby will be with me. Thank you.”

  Gordo hugged her, then Digby. “Jus’ take care of each other, eh?” he said. “Blessin’s be with you.”

  Jemma smiled as she watched him lead Flora away into the Mist. She’d been right, thinking that the triplets would be like Digby—Flora was, anyway, both to look at, and with her unabashed cheek.

  “Right, Jem,” said Digby, tightening Pepper’s girth. “Get your things, an’ let’s get crackin’. Sooner we go, sooner we’ll be there.”

  Jemma fetched her belongings from inside the storehouse. Throwing the wineskin over one shoulder, she packed the cloak, book, and knife into the saddlebags slung across Pepper’s back, then pulled the crystals from her pocket and placed them on top. Only as she was closing the saddlebags did she realize that the pain in her ankle had gone. Once again, the crystals had healed her.