The Flame in the Mist

by Kit Grindstaff

  “Won’t your mother be asleep?” Jemma said, putting her cloak on again.

  “Nah. She hardly ever sleeps. Her dreams is too scary. She jus’ naps.” Talon opened the door gently. “Ma, I’m home. I brought some friends.…”

  “Friends?” a thin voice wheezed. “Bring ’em in, love. Make ’em some nettle tea.”

  Jemma and Digby followed Talon into the shack. The floors sloped, gaping with holes from which Jemma heard rustling and pattering footsteps. Mice and rats, probably. Stay hidden, she thought to Noodle and Pie. They might not be very friendly around here. Pie dropped from Jemma’s shoulder and burrowed into her pocket next to Noodle.

  In the corner, a woman lay under a heap of blankets, looking barely more than skin and bone. Talon walked over to her and squatted down. “Ma,” she said, “you remember at the castle, the baby they took? The One we figured was from that ol’ Prophecy?”

  “Course I do,” came the weak reply. “ ’Ow could I forget a thing like that? Poor l’il mite.”

  “Well, guess what? She’s here! Jemma—she’s here, Ma!” Talon beckoned to Jemma, who walked over and knelt beside her while Digby stoked the coals in the hob and poured some water into a pan.

  Talon’s mother looked at Jemma. “This can’t be her, love. Her hair’s too dark.”

  “She dyed it, to disguise herself, but look—there’s a few bits as bright as flame, see? It’s her, all right, Ma. Nox Agromond was in the square t’night, sayin’ as she had to be found, an’ now, folks is out huntin’ for her. I said she could stay here, with her friend.”

  A wan smile spread over Talon’s mother’s face. “Any time,” she murmured.

  “Thank you, Mrs.…” Mrs. Lok? Jemma couldn’t bring herself to call her that.

  “Alyss. Call me Alyss.” Alyss lay a damp hand on Jemma’s, then closed her eyes. Instantly, Jemma sensed the blackness twining through the ailing woman. It resonated in her own body, sapping her strength, reminding her of the terrible Entity she’d experienced last Mord-day. It was as though threads of Scagavay’s evil were here, in Alyss. Jemma pulled her hand away, imagining light inside her to ward off the darkness. No wonder Alyss’s dreams kept her awake. Then a strange thought came to her, as if from somewhere outside her own head.

  “Talon,” she whispered. “I think your mother has been cursed.”

  “I knew it! This all started when Pa started workin’ for that Nox. The wretch! Poor Ma.… Is she jus’ gonna keep fadin’?”

  Not if I can help it, Jemma thought. “If only I had the crystals,” she muttered. They had healed her, in Bryn’s cave, and somehow, she knew that they could have helped now.

  “Crystals?” Talon said. “What crystals?”

  “Your dear pa took ’em.” Digby said from over by the hob. “I watched him.”

  Talon dug into her pockets. “You mean these?” Two clear quartz cylinders lay in her palms.

  “Talon … Yes! But how?”

  “Told you I was watchin’ the jail to see what I could thieve, din’t I?” Talon blushed slightly. “When Pa an’ Zeb rode away, I saw somethin’ drop from Pa’s pockets. Found these on the ground. Sort of smokin’, they was. Sorry. Din’t know they was yours.”

  Jemma took the crystals. As soon as she held them, energy crackled between them and her Stone, then jolted through her.

  “Alyss,” she said, “do you mind if I try something to help you? I can’t promise anything, but …” Alyss nodded, her eyes still closed, and Jemma settled herself cross-legged on the floor, wondering what on earth she was about to do. But if her Powers were going to drain as Nox said, then this might be her last chance to bring about some good, and at that moment, nothing felt more important. Especially if it could erase an act of Agromond evil. “Dig, would you pass me the book?”

  Digby pulled the book from the saddlebags and handed it to her. She placed it on the floor between her and the mattress, took a deep breath, and improvised an invocation.

  “Calling on Majem,” she said, “and all my healer ancestors, to come and help this woman.” Noodle and Pie crept from her pockets, and sat on the book. “Trust,” she whispered, imagining Drudge by her side, as well as Bryn, with his simple, earthy goodness. Then she thought of her parents. You too, she murmured, as she slipped the crystals into Alyss’s upturned palms. If you can … Alyss drew in a sharp breath and winced.

  What happened next, Jemma couldn’t have anticipated. A pale stream of smoky light began curling up from the book, surrounding the rats, and enveloping her. Then a clear, airy force seemed to take her over, flowing through the top of her head and pulling her into a kind of trance, guiding her movements. Her hands danced above Alyss’s torso, fingers unwinding what appeared to be thick, tarry strands of blackness from Alyss’s bones and sinews. A story unwound with them, filling the room with a flow of images—or were they in Jemma’s head? Alyss at the castle, daring to defend five-year-old Feo from Nocturna’s cruel tongue after he’d wet his bed again … Lok’s rage about their ensuing banishment, and hers toward him, for taking it out on two-year-old Talon … Talon, bruised and crying … Lok swearing loyalty to Nox … A contract being signed in blood between the two men, followed by Lok being given his black Inquisitor’s coat … Then Alyss’s first collapse in the small garden she tended outside their Blackwater shack, and the six more babies she bore to Lok, every one sickly, buried before its first birthday. Each image burst like a bubble, scattering fragments that turned into gold light and drifted back into Alyss as though she were transparent, filling the spaces that the darkness had occupied. And all the while, the crystals sparkled with luminous blue, like lightning across two miniature night skies, as Noodle and Pie sat stock-still, watching.

  The smoky light shrank as if it were being sucked back into the book. It hovered for a moment around the rats, then disappeared. The images stopped, and Jemma’s mind snapped back into the room. She was exhausted. The crystals’ glow in Alyss’s palms began to fade.

  “Jem!” Digby’s amazed voice came from behind her. “What the …?”

  “Look at Ma!” Talon said. “She’s sleepin’ like a babe! I don’t know what you done, Jemma, but you done somethin’. Her breathin’s easier too.”

  Jemma was vaguely aware that the soreness on her own back from Fang’s scratches had subsided as well. She mumbled thanks to whatever or whoever had guided her, then crumpled onto the floor next to Alyss. The image of a face—her mother’s—floated from one of the crystals and hung in the air. Another, a man’s, hovered beside it. Her father? It wasn’t clear, just a dark blur.

  The faces diffused, and she fell into a deep sleep.

  A cord of light pulled her toward a man. Behind him, a small town appeared, walled, on a hill. The man became clearer—the one from her dream last week, cloaked, coming for her through the Mist! She tried to scream, and resisted with all her might, but the cord of light kept pulling, pulling.… Then she saw his face. It was Nox Agromond—she was being pulled toward Nox Agromond! “You have the Power to call her back,” he said. “The mare. Call her back!” Who, Pepper? Why, why was he telling her this, him of all people?

  * * *

  Jemma woke, terrified. Noodle and Pie were sitting in front of her face, their ruby eyes blinking at her in the gray dawn light.

  Another dream?

  Yes, another dream, and she didn’t want to think of it. She sat up and looked around. Alyss, on the mattress, was still sleeping peacefully, with Talon beside her. Over by the hob, Digby was snoring on the floor, the saddlebags under his head as a pillow.

  Last night’s events rolled through Jemma’s head: her hunt for Digby, the rally, Nox’s words.… A dull ache spread across her chest. What time was it? About six, judging by the light. Three more hours to go. Then they would stop looking for her. She’d be safe. But Powerless.

  Even if Pepper was to turn up at that very moment, it was too late to reach Oakstead in time. And anyway, far too dangerous, with people out hunting for her.
/>   Call her back. Noodle nudged Jemma’s hand with his snout. The horse. Call her back.

  “Are you reading my dreams now, Rattus?” Jemma whispered. Call her back.… Well, she may as well try. Closing her eyes, she thought of Pepper’s velvety muzzle, her brown eyes, her dappled coat—every detail she could. Pepper, she called in her head, picturing the route they’d taken from Blackwater. Come on, girl. Past the fork. Left at the yew … She crawled to the window to look outside. Nothing but Mist, of course. She crawled back to the rats and nestled with them under her mud-caked cloak. What was it going to feel like to lose her connection with it, and the book and the crystals? Would she no longer be able to hear Noodle and Pie either? The thought was unbearable. It was all unbearable. Even the prospect of meeting her real parents did nothing to lighten her mood. Anglavia was doomed. And she would be nothing but a laughing-stock for the Agromonds and their followers to crow about, just as Nox had said.

  Jemma opened one eye. The mattress next to her was empty.

  “Hey, Jem.” Digby was squatting next to her. Behind him, Talon was sitting at a small table, Alyss opposite her, both tucking into something and finger feeding morsels of it to Noodle and Pie, who were perched one at each bowl.

  “What time is it?” Jemma’s voice rasped. Her heart felt as heavy as an anvil.

  “Around noon. We thought we’d let you sleep. Here, I’ll help you up.” He held out his hand and pulled her to her feet. “There’s some nice bread an’ milk. You must be hungry.”

  Hungry? She ought to be; she’d hardly eaten a thing for almost a day. But she had no appetite. The world had changed. All her dreams, come to nothing. She slumped onto an upturned pail at the table.

  Alyss took her hand. Her fingers were skeletal, but this morning, energy bristled through them. “I can’t thank you enough, child,” she said. “I been out of bed for more’n an hour. It’s at least two years since I was strong enough to do that.”

  Jemma tried to smile.

  “Jem,” said Digby, putting a bowl of milk-soaked bread in front of her. “I know this is hard on you. Your Powers gone, an’ all. But life don’t end here. Your folks is waitin’ for you in Oakstead. Marsh too. You still got family. An’ me.”

  “Us too,” added Talon. “Me an’ Ma, we’re gonna leave Blackwater as soon as she’s strong enough, in’t we, Ma? You done that, Jemma. You healed ’er. You changed our lives.”

  Jemma nodded and picked up a piece of the soaking bread. It smelled nice and stale, and she nibbled at it, hunger inching into her. “Any sign of hunters?” she said.

  “No,” said Talon, shaking her head. “I heard yellin’ earlier, though. Hollerin’ like lunatics they was. Sayin’—” She clamped her lips together.

  “Saying what?”

  “Victory.” Talon whispered. “Sorry, Jemma. I should’ve kept me trap shut.”

  “Victory.” Jemma sighed. “It doesn’t matter. It’s the truth; I may as well face it. At least Digby and I can go to Oakstead now, with nobody to stop us. How long do you reckon, Dig, to get there on foot?”

  “On foot?” Digby’s face lit up. “We in’t goin’ on foot, Jem! While you was asleep— Well, come an’ see!” He jumped to his feet, pulled Jemma to the door, and threw it open. “Look who turned up a couple of hours ago!”

  Pepper lifted her head from a patch of chickweed, tossed her mane, and snorted.

  “Don’t know how she found us, but find us she did. All ready to go, she is.”

  Hope dribbled into Jemma’s veins. The last acts of her short-lived Powers were here in front of her eyes: Alyss’s recovery and Pepper’s return. At least that was something.

  “Well then,” she said. “Oakstead, here we come.”

  Before long, she and Digby had packed up their few belongings, filled her wineskin with milk, and were back in Pepper’s saddle, having made Talon and Alyss promise that they’d come to Oakstead as soon as Alyss was strong enough to travel.

  “Thanks again for savin’ Ma,” Talon said, patting Pepper’s shoulder. “I’m awful sorry ’bout you losin’ yer Powers, though. Here, let’s make a friends’ knot. Like this …” She reached for Jemma’s hand and interlocked their fingers. “Now, say, ‘Friends forever, friends forever—’ ” She stopped, her eyes widening. “Well, grisly goblins … Look—around yer hands!”

  Jemma looked. The air around them was still free of Mist—even though her Initiation time had passed.

  “Cor, yes,” said Digby, peering over Jemma’s shoulder. “It’s still clear around ’em!”

  “What d’you s’pose it means?” Talon said.

  “I’m not sure,” Jemma said, her spirits lifting, “but I think it might be a good thing.”

  Digby kicked Pepper into a gentle canter. Jemma looked over her shoulder and waved at her new friends until they were no longer visible in the midday Mist, then turned her gaze forward. Nine o’clock was long gone; yet around her hands, every strand of Pepper’s mane was crystal clear. Perhaps she had not lost her Powers after all, back there among the couch grass and reeds.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Light Games

  Jemma wrapped her cloak around her and leaned against Digby to give him some of its warmth. Soon after leaving Talon and Alyss, they’d been deluged by rain that had washed the remaining berry dye from her hair before she’d had a chance to cover it. Now, a steady drizzle was falling. Noodle and Pie burrowed into her pockets, and Pepper’s initial zest after leaving the shack was replaced by a solid, soggy stomp. But despite the cold and damp, she felt content. Every muddy hoofstep was bringing them closer to Oakstead and meeting her parents. And rain or not, being close to Digby was not such a bad place to be.

  “Your hair’s red again, Jem,” Digby said, stretching. “All but a few bits. Hey, look down there in the valley—you can just see the river. This must be the Elm River Pass.”

  Jemma wiped her face dry with her cloak and looked at the faint ribbon of water below. “We couldn’t have seen anything from so far away, yesterday. The Mist is definitely getting thinner.”

  “Mmm. But not much. An’ Marsh said that by an hour north of Blackwater, it’d be nothin’ more’n a wisp. Which means it’s spread quite a bit since she last came this way, twelve years ago.”

  Jemma gripped Pepper’s mane. The Agromond evil was everywhere, even this far from the castle. Well, if the clearing around her hands meant anything, and Nox had been wrong about her losing her Powers, then she would show them, somehow! Them, and their accursed Mist—

  “Jem!” Digby gasped. “What’s happenin’?”

  A bubble of clear air shot out to several yards beyond Pepper’s ears. Within it, every raindrop and blade of grass was sharply visible.

  “I didn’t do that, did I?” Jemma said. The Mist sprang in, engulfing them again.

  “You tell me!” Digby sat up straighter. “Try it again, an’ let’s see.”

  Jemma focused, and prayed, and muttered under her breath—Mist, be gone! Nothing happened. She held her Stone, and the Mist rolled a few inches up Pepper’s neck, then swirled into the space again. “Sorry, Dig,” Jemma said. “It must’ve been a coincidence.” Her momentary hope deflated like an overcooked soufflé. Nox must have been right, after all. It probably just took time until her Powers drained completely. And besides, merely having a halo around her hands wasn’t much use to anyone, and certainly couldn’t bring down an empire.

  Digby walked Pepper at a steady clip. They’d seen no sign of Inquisitors, and had passed barely a soul; the moorlands were almost devoid of any shack or cottage. Mid-afternoon, the road turned west, and Jemma spotted two shadowy figures lurking between the trees, then slinking away. Digby and the rats tucked into the rest of the previous day’s sandwiches as they rode, but all Jemma could manage was a few swigs of milk. The closer they came to Oakstead, the faster her heart beat in anticipation of meeting her parents, and the harder her stomach churned. Eight miles to go, Digby said. Then seven. Then six—

&nb
sp; “Stand an’ deliver!” The gang was upon them before Jemma or Digby realized it, lashing their ponies into attack from behind the trees, screeching with gleeful triumph, and wielding whips and knotted ropes.

  “Get ’em!” A boy pulled alongside—the ringleader, Jemma guessed. His face was scarred, his nose pierced with a small bone. The others moved closer, the alcoholic stench of their breath filling the air. With a start, Jemma realized who they were: the last herd to careen past them last night on the road from Blackwater—the ones Talon said would attack just for sport.

  One of the girls reached for the saddlebags. “Let’s see wot they got ’ere!”

  “No you don’t!” Jemma slapped the girl’s hand away. The ringleader reached out and grabbed Jemma’s arm, leering at her with a rotten-toothed grin.

  “An’ who are you to be tellin’ her what to do?”

  “Careful, Jem,” Digby hissed into Jemma’s ear. “Pretend to be a boy—”

  “Let us go!” Jemma jerked her arm away. “We’ve got nothing—”

  “Yeh, but we got you!” The girl fingered Jemma’s cloak. “Nice …”

  “Leave it alone!” Jemma tugged the cloak away.

  “Wait a minute, wait a minute!” The ringleader held up his hand, quieting the others, then looked Jemma up and down. “Them eyes,” he said, “an’ the purple all over yer ugly mug—” He darted out his hand and yanked her hood back. A slow smile oozed across his face. “Well, well … looky here! If it in’t that girl wot Nox Agromond is wantin’ … she in’t a boy at all!”