The Flame in the Mist

by Kit Grindstaff

  “Yer lookin’ a bit peaky, Um,” said Talon. “You afraid of heights?” She looked at Jemma sideways.

  “I’m fine,” Jemma muttered.

  “Grisly goblins—look at them Inquisitors!” Talon squeaked. “Five of ’em, round the stage.”

  Jemma looked down and saw five men in long black coats, flanking the platform. Coats like Lok’s—so he was an Inquisitor! She squinted, but couldn’t see him among them.

  “How d’you like ’im, then?” Talon asked. “The Master, I mean.”

  “The Master?” Jemma felt faint. The Master … Surely, it couldn’t be …?

  The crowd broke into a roar. She held her breath and looked down. A black steed pulled up next to the platform; a cloaked rider dismounted. He strode onto the stage, his back to his audience, then raised his arms. Jemma’s fists tightened, her knuckles grazing the rough shingles.

  “It’s like he’s got ’em all under a spell,” said Talon, her voice full of awe.

  A spell … That was what Digby had said earlier. Jemma’s belly felt like a thousand leaves in a hurricane, and she wished she could blow away, to anywhere but here. Anywhere but near that man below …

  Very slowly, Nox Agromond turned around.

  Jemma snatched her Stone. Her head spun. After all she’d been through—he couldn’t find her now! She felt Talon’s stare boring into her. Must calm down.… Don’t let her see what I’m feeling.… The Stone’s pulse took the edge off her panic. The crowd’s roar died down. A fierce drizzle began to fall, needles of wet through the misty glow.

  And then Nox spoke.

  He spoke of the Agromonds’ tireless championing of their followers, and his words were answered with cheers. He spoke of the mindless rabble that made up the rest of Anglavia, the idiocy and superstition that was rife among the villages—everywhere, in fact, other than Blackwater—and his words were answered with jeers. He spoke of the rebels who even now refused to recognize the Agromonds’ supremacy, and his words were answered with louder jeers. Even so, he said, the Agromond influence was spreading fast.

  “But, friends, Blackwatermen, countrymen!” he boomed. “Heed me well! I come tonight to warn you: there is one at large who threatens our supremacy, and our very existence!”

  A deathly hush fell over the square, leaving nothing but the hiss of rain.

  “Yes! It is true. I had thought to be telling you tonight of our success in obliterating this danger, and to be celebrating with you, for just this morning we had evidence, or so we believed, that our adversary was dead”—When I wasn’t snared by your Approjection, Jemma thought—“but, my friends, we were misled! For on my way here, I happened upon a trusted ally, the Widow Strickner, who was on her way to bring me the dread news: She had seen our adversary not an hour before, taking luncheon on the moors, as merrily as you please!”

  The crowd booed. Sweat beaded on Jemma’s forehead. So the old woman at the cottages had been a spy! Jemma clutched her Stone harder. It burned in her fist.

  “What’s that, Um?” Talon pointed at the turquoise light glowing between Jemma’s fingers. “An’ why’s the air around yer hands all clear?”

  Jemma quickly tucked the Stone down her shirt and stuffed her fists into her pockets. Talon’s gaze drilled through her. Fang’s claw tracks throbbed on her back.

  “And who, you may ask, is this adversary of whom I speak?” Nox continued. “Why, none other than the One I have spoken of before—Jemma, the girl we have been nurturing since she was a babe, giving her succor! The child of our sworn enemies, who, Marked as she was, we believed to be one of us! And oh, dear friends, I cared for her as my own—” His voice cracked, and sympathetic murmurs rippled across the square. “Yet she turned against me. Against us. Against you, my friends, you! And now, to add insult to injury, she is set on destroying us! You must keep your eyes as keen as a hawk’s and your wits as sharp as a razor’s edge, for she is close by, even as I speak. You will recognize her by her flame-red hair—”

  Jemma gulped. Thank goodness Digby had shorn her, and dyed her stubble!

  “—which she may, however, have thought to disguise. She also has an accomplice—a youth of around fifteen or sixteen years—and may be traveling with two yellow rats, as well—”

  “Two rats?” said Talon incredulously. “Yellow ones?” Titters drifted up from the square.

  That’s not nice! Noodle and Pie stirred in Jemma’s hood.

  “—and, we are certain, is en route to Oakstead to find her parents, our sworn enemies—”

  “Mord’s revenge upon ’em!” someone yelled. Others took up the cry: “Mord’s revenge! Mord’s revenge!”

  Nox raised his arms, hushing the hecklers, then continued. “At all costs, she must be prevented from reaching Oakstead before nine tomorrow morning. For up until that time, she can still gather great Powers unto herself with which to carry out her mission!” He paused, letting his words sink in. My Initiation, Jemma thought, more determined than ever to make it in time.

  “How do we know she in’t already there?”

  “Excellent question, my good man! But fear not. The Widow Strickner sent falcons to all our allies between here and Oakstead, bearing stones whose message they well know: that the girl is loose and must be stopped. Besides, she could not yet have gone that far, for remember I was but an hour behind her, and my steed is as swift as lightning”—he gestured to Mephisto—“whereas she and her cohort, I am told, have naught to ride but an old nag, barely even fit for a dog’s dinner!” More jeers, and laughter.

  “And so, my friends, I bid you join the hunt! The boy is of no consequence, do with him what you will. But the girl …” He cleared his throat. “If you catch her before nine, and then bring her to me—unharmed, mind—you shall be richly rewarded. At the very least, stop her. We already have spies and Inquisitors posted along the main road to Oakstead, and with your help, we shall surely achieve our goal.”

  “An’ after nine, then what?”

  “Why, the spies and Inquisitors will go home, and you may all rejoice! For as long as she does not reach Oakstead by nine and receive her Initiation, she will no longer be a danger to us. No, my friends! As history has shown us, those with such Powers who are not properly Initiated lose their Powers. Moreover, any she already has will dry up like a rotting carcass, rendering her harmless to us—a paltry dreg, like the rest of Anglavian peasantry, and no longer able to disintegrate the merest fly! Then let her wither away with her own kind, within Oakstead’s walls—or better yet, go where she pleases, for she will be nothing but a laughing-stock, a public disgrace to those who have believed in her! Let their noses be rubbed in it! For then, what effect can she have on us, my friends? What effect can a gnat have on a lion? I tell you, only prevent her from entering Oakstead, and after nine on the morrow, the danger will be over—victory will be ours, with nothing to oppose us any longer! And then, oh, then, how we shall celebrate! Mord be praised!”

  Cheers erupted amidst cries of “Mord be praised! Victory! Nine tomorrow—victory!”

  Jemma trembled with rage and disappointment. So what she had feared in Bryn’s cave was true—her Powers really would be gone! Her dreams of helping to end the Agromond reign of Mist and terror shattered like eggs hurled from a high tower. There was no hope of reaching Oakstead in time, not with every Blackwater eye looking for her—including Talon, whose gaze continued to spear into her. The girl suspected her, Jemma could feel it. Under Talon’s scrutiny, even rescuing Digby and hiding out until after the danger was passed were impossible tasks now—let alone reaching Oakstead by morning. Rain and sweat dribbled down her forehead, and she wiped it with her hand, then looked at her hand in horror.

  It was purple. The rain was washing the berry dye from her hair. Without thinking, she pulled her hood over her head. Noodle and Pie flew out of it, and thudded onto the roof. Rain streaked the mud on their coats, revealing patches of golden fur.

  “Two yellow rats, eh?” Talon snatched Jemma’s hand. �
��It is you, innit? You in’t a boy at all!”

  Jemma tried to pull away, but Talon held fast.

  “You best come with me,” she said, opening the trapdoor, “or there’ll be Mord to pay.”

  “Please, no …,” Jemma said, but it was hopeless. She was caught, like a mouse in a maze.

  “Hurry!” Talon jumped down. “An’ tell yer rats to look lively too.”

  “What?”

  “Quick, I said! Let’s get you out of ’ere, afore they start huntin’ for yer.”

  Noodle and Pie leapt onto Jemma’s shoulders, then Talon turned and raced down the stairs, with Jemma on her heels. They crashed out into the square just as an enormous image appeared above the platform. An Approjection. Of Jemma. Her red hair and aqua eyes were illuminated giant-sized in the Misty rain for all to see.

  “This is she, my friends,” Nox said. “Do not be fooled by her air of innocence.…”

  “Grisly goblins, look at that!” Talon said. “Amazin’ what they can do. Come on—this way.” She dashed into the tiny alley that Jemma had spied earlier.

  “Talon—” Jemma was puffing, trying to keep up. “Why are you helping me?”

  “I hate ’em,” Talon said. “Every one of ’em. An’ I know all about you, Jemma Solvay. Been hearin’ tales ’bout you all my life. My ma an’ pa used to work at the castle, see, an’ Ma told me ’bout the terrible goin’s-on there, an’ how this new baby arrived one night. We left when I was two—you was four, I think—an’ came here, but Ma never forgot you. Said you wasn’t like them, even when you was little. Later, she heard ’bout some Prophecy, an’ jus’ knew you was the Fire One it talked about. Her an’ me always said we hoped you’d escape someday—an’ to think now, it’s me as is helpin’ yer!” She zigzagged along tiny alleys, and in what seemed like no time had led Jemma back to the street where the jail was. Even from here, they could hear Nox’s voice echoing across the ramshackle rooves.

  “… a special event tomorrow, to celebrate—a stoning, arranged by my good man Lok.”

  “Good man Lok, my big toe!” Talon snarled as she stomped toward the jail, pulling her keys from her pocket. “Let’s get yer friend out of that cage.”

  Jemma trotted after her. “How do you know it’s him in there?”

  “Saw ’im from the alley when Lok and Zeb brought ’im in, then saw you lurkin’. I din’t know who you was, though, or that you was tryin’ to save ’im. Thought you was jus’ lookin’ to thieve what you could from their swag, same as I was. Then I ’eard what Lok said ’bout the stonin’. Typical of ’im. Look.” She stopped, and yanked up one sleeve, revealing a large bruise on her upper arm.

  Jemma gasped. “Lok hit you?”

  “Hits. Whenever ’e can.” Talon wiped a sodden strand of hair from her face. “In’t that what a pa does to his daughter? Bein’ the Chief Inquisitor’s kid has some uses, though.” She grinned and jangled her keys, then marched into the jail. Jemma stood for a second, horrified by what Talon had just revealed, then ran inside. Talon unlocked the cage, and the door swung open. Digby was slumped on the floor, looking worn out.

  “Dig! Digby—wake up!” Jemma ran over to him.

  “Mmmm?” His eyes shot open. “Mmmm mmm mmm!”

  Jemma grabbed her knife from the table and slashed through his gag, while Noodle and Pie started chewing through the ropes binding his ankles, and Talon untied his wrists.

  “Ag-ro-mond! Ag-ro-mond!” The cry rose into the night.

  “Jem! How … Where … Who’s this?”

  “Digby, meet Talon. Talon, Digby. Dig, we’ve got to hurry. Nox is here. That’s him they’re cheering.” She stood, and shoved the book and sandwiches into the saddlebags, heart-sore at the loss of her crystals.

  “Where’s Pepper?” Digby said, leaping to his feet and rubbing his wrists.

  “An’ who in Mord’s name is Pepper?” asked Talon.

  “Digby’s horse. Dig, I’m sorry, I had to leave her in an alley.”

  “Oh, no!” Digby hoisted the saddlebags over his shoulder. “Fat chance we have of findin’ her in a place like this!”

  “Yer prob’ly right,” said Talon, “but let’s go an’ see. Show us where, Jemma.”

  With Noodle and Pie in her pockets, Jemma wove through the muddy alleys, retracing the way she had come. Her mind burned with Pepper’s image, calling to her—Be there, girl! But when they reached the corridor, the mare was nowhere to be seen.

  “Mother of Majem!” Jemma said. “We’ve got to find her!”

  “Got to leave ’er, more like,” Talon said. “Can’t waste time lookin’.”

  “But she’s my family’s livelihood!” Digby said. “Pa will never forgive me—”

  “Dig,” Jemma said, “it’ll be worse for them if they stone you to death!”

  A distant roar rose above the rooves.

  “Listen,” Talon said, “any minute, they’ll be startin’ to look for yer. You got to go—”

  “But where?” Jemma said. “There’s already spies and Inquisitors out there—you heard what Nox said!”

  Talon frowned, then broke into a grin. “I know—come to my house! It’s the last place anyone’ll think of lookin’. Pa’s never home, an’ it’d never occur to ’im you’d be hidin’ under our roof. Don’t worry, Ma can’t stand ’im any more’n I can. We both felt ’is fist a bit too often. ’Sides, she’d be dead chuffed to meet yer. So come on, let’s be off!”

  It was their best chance, Jemma and Digby agreed. Jemma pulled up her hood against the gathering rain, wiping more dribbles of purple from her face as they followed Talon back to the smaller square by the town gates. It was eerily deserted, all evidence of the earlier mayhem reduced to garbage and half-eaten skewers of burned meat strewn in the mud. Only the cages remained, stuffed with birds and rodents that sat like statues, awaiting their inevitable fate.

  “We must free them!” Jemma ran to a pile of cages and lifted the latches. A few animals darted out, but most sat gazing at the open doors as if restrained by some invisible chain.

  “Come on, Jem.” Digby pulled her away. “There’s no time for that. You done what you could.”

  Talon was waiting by the gates. Her face fell as Jemma and Digby approached, and she pointed wildly at the main street. Jemma turned. A darkly cloaked rider was emerging through the Mist and galloping full tilt into the square, straight toward them. Digby and Talon grabbed her, hauled her through the gateway and pushed her into a watery ditch, throwing themselves and the saddlebags beside her. Her hood fell back, and she stayed still, praying that the rapidly approaching rider wouldn’t glance to the side and see the girl with purple rain streaming down her face, and two golden rats on her shoulders.…

  The hooves galloped closer, and closer, then passed by, and faded. Jemma looked up and saw Mephisto speeding away into the night, the black cloak of his master streaming behind like the tail of a dark comet.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  The Final Hours

  Mord-day, wee hours/dawn

  They walked past the shacks in silence. There was no point avoiding the main road, Talon had said: Who would expect fugitives to be in plain view? In any case, nobody would dare suspect the Chief Inquisitor’s daughter. She was right, it seemed. Several packs of youths rode by, laughing and yelling; then a few girls about Digby’s age rattled past in an old cart, chattering wildly. Nobody stopped to question Talon or her companions, but Jemma kept her hood up, just in case.

  Soon, the rain let up, and Jemma told Digby about Nox’s speech, and how at nine the following morning—the last moment she could be Initiated by her true parents—the Agromonds would declare victory. He nodded, purse-lipped, looking strained under the weight of the saddlebags. She could tell he was still upset about Pepper, though he was trying not to show it, even pointing out that they’d have been more noticeable on horseback.

  As they walked, the truth of her situation sank in. It was one thing to wonder whether her Powers would be gone if she wasn
’t Initiated, but knowing for sure was far worse. It was all over. Anglavia would never be free of the Agromonds and their Mist now. Gloom gnawed into her bones. She wished Digby would say something. Didn’t he realize how serious things were?

  He knows. Pie crawled to Jemma’s shoulder and nuzzled her ear. Feels he let you down.

  Oh.

  The shacks behind them, they came to the fork in the road, and trudged on. Another band of marauders rode by on ragged-looking ponies, jeering as they passed—at least ten or twelve of them, including two girls. A stench of stale beer trailed in their wake, turning Jemma’s stomach.

  “Wicked lot,” Talon mumbled, wringing out her soaked skirt. “Good thing you’re with me, or they’d attack yer jus’ for the fun of it.”

  Digby shifted the saddlebags to his other shoulder. “How much farther, Talon?”

  “Just up ’ere, then left by the yew tree.” She sighed. “Home sweet bleedin’ home.”

  “Why not leave?” Jemma asked, then immediately felt foolish. It’s not so easy, she thought. I should know.

  “Leave?” Talon said. “Wish I could. But Ma’s sick. Nothin’ infectious, mind,” she added hurriedly, “jus’ … well, sick in her spirit, is what I think. It’s been years. She can’t hardly move any more. Married to my pa, an’ havin’ six other bairns, each one of ’em dead before a year old, it’s took its toll. I’m all she’s got. So I in’t goin’ nowhere without her.”

  “Oh, Talon …” Jemma took Talon’s hand, her own problems seeming to shrink slightly. “And to think you have to deal with Lok, as well.”

  Talon shrugged. “Don’t see that much of ’im these days. Keeps ’im away, Ma bein’ like she is. Somethin’ to be thankful for, I s’pose. Look, here’s the yew. This way.”

  She turned along a narrow path, which led through a grassy marsh. The three of them walked in single file, their footsteps falling into a rhythm. Jemma’s cloak had already dried her, and she lent it to the others, who soon dried as well. Before long, the air began to stink of stagnant water, and tall reeds swayed in the breeze. Then, at the far edge of the marsh, a shack came into view. It was larger than most they’d seen—probably because of Lok’s status—but just as run down. Its walls pitched in every direction, and looked as though they were being devoured by the black mold and toadstools clinging to them. A cow was tethered to a fence nearby and looked up lazily as they approached. (“She’s called Horn,” Talon said. “Another of Pa’s stupid ideas, like my name, and Fang’s.”) The only other sign of anything faintly wholesome was the candlelight sputtering in one of the crooked windows.