The Flame in the Mist

by Kit Grindstaff

  “Oh, poor Rook!” She walked toward Mordrake’s statue, kicking Simon—as gently as she dared—out of the way. “So brave, wanting to defend Mama! There now. Jemma’s here.” She reached up and held her wrist under Rook’s chin, spearing a thought into his dull brain: You are in my power.…

  Come to me.… His eyes glazed, and he stepped onto her hand. She turned to face the family. “You don’t mind, do you, Mama?”

  The four of them looked stunned. Nocturna yanked her arm away from Shade. “I … No …,” she said. “But … he’s never allowed anyone but me to touch him before.…”

  “Well, we’re friends now, aren’t we, Rook?” Jemma kissed his beak, stroking his feathers as she walked across the room and placed him on Nocturna’s shoulder. He sat there, dazed.

  “There, Shade!” cried Feo. “Jemma must be changed! Rook always hated her the most.”

  “Anyone could hypnotize that squawking idiot!” Shade stamped her foot. “I want proof of these supposed Powers! Besides, why has she come back today of all days? It’s too much of a coincidence, with the Sacrifice tomorrow!”

  “That is exactly why I returned now!” Jemma said, surprised by the force of her own words. “My dreams showed me what you were planning. We all know how important it is for you—for us—that the Ceremony goes well. But I also saw that you were in danger of failing. Yes, failing! So I hurried home to help, and when I went to check on these whelps in their cell”—she gestured at the triplets huddled at Mordrake’s feet—“I found to my horror that I was right to be afraid. You know how vital it is for the victims to be strong, and primed for the Ceremony—yet you’ve been starving them! How could you?” Her fury at the Agromonds’ abduction and treatment of the triplets came through full force. “To risk so much with such negligence!”

  “But … I did not command this,” Nocturna said. “Who …?”

  “If not you, Mama”—Jemma could almost taste victory—“then who indeed?”

  “You … you …” Shade scowled daggers at Jemma.

  “But it isn’t too late,” Jemma barreled on, “if we hasten, and feed the brats immediately. And we must keep them comfortable for as long as possible before tomorrow morning—”

  “Indeed, let us do so, this instant!” said Nocturna. “Feo, ring for Drudge!”

  “Yes, Mama.” Feo strode to the fireplace and yanked the tattered bell-pull hanging to the right of it. Hope flickered on the triplets’ faces.

  Nocturna turned to Shade, her face red with fury. “Shade, you will pay dearly—”

  “No, no, Mama, please!” said Jemma. “No recriminations. Don’t you agree, Shade?”

  Shade screwed up her face in disgust. “I’ll show you!” she sneered, flames from the fire sharpening her eyes. “Waltzing in here like Madem’selle Muck! Well, if you’re so powerful, let’s see how you deal with this!” She flicked her right arm toward Jemma, and a bolt of pure blackness shot from her fingers. Jemma raised one hand instinctively, stopping the bolt, which fell to the ground. She felt as astounded as Shade looked.

  “Good one, Jemma!” said Feo. “Parrying a Dromfell like that. Shade, you always think you’re the best, but Jemma’s got more in her little finger than you—”

  “Shut up, Feo!” Shade slapped the back of his head, then minced up to Jemma, her Mark turning a deeper purple. “Dreams, fancies, stopping Dromfells … I need more than party tricks to convince me. I. Want. Proof!”

  “All right, Shade, you asked for it,” Jemma blurted before she could stop herself. “I can read your mind!”

  “Don’t talk such rubbish!” Shade grabbed the neck of Jemma’s shirt. “You accursed impostor. I’ll show you—”

  “Shade!” Nox took three paces and grabbed Shade from behind. “You’ll choke her!”

  “It’s all she deserves,” said Shade, writhing in her father’s grasp, “for all her lies!”

  Jemma rubbed her throat, panic gripping her. Why in Majem’s name had she said she could read Shade’s mind? She’d never been able to do that! But suddenly a horrific image leapt into her head, and words were gathering in her mouth again. Words she didn’t want the triplets to hear, but which she couldn’t prevent from pouring out.

  “If it’s such lies, Shade,” she said, “then why don’t you tell Mama and Papa about those bodies you’ve been hiding under your bed?”

  Shade froze.

  “What?” Nocturna cried. “What bodies?”

  “A boy,” said Jemma, nauseated at the sight in her mind’s eye, “and a girl. Twins. Six years old. She rode Mephisto to get them, and practice on them. Just three weeks ago.”

  “Is this true?” Nox snarled into Shade’s ear.

  “What if it is? You’ve not killed any children since you took her.” Shade spat at Jemma. “Mord forbid you make a mess of the first Sacrifice in years. I had to practice, to be sure it would be done properly!”

  “Properly?” Nocturna marched over and slapped Shade’s face. “Reckless girl! What have we always taught you? This kind of Sacrifice must be done with the correct rituals, the force be honored, or it can turn horribly against us! I trust at least one of their souls went to Scagavay …? But I see from your expression that it did not. Oh, this is insufferable! And you talk of ‘properly’?”

  Shade glared at Jemma and Nocturna, her eyes oozing hatred. Then all malice seemed to drain from her. She went limp in Nox’s grasp and burst into tears.

  “Mama, you think Jemma’s better than I!” she wailed. “And Papa has always preferred her to me, his own flesh and blood! Mama, please, I’m sorry—I know I shouldn’t have killed those children.… I … just wanted you to be proud of me again! Oh, to think I used to be your pride and joy!” Shade wrenched free of Nox’s hold and threw herself at Nocturna’s feet. “Mama-a-a-a, forgive me, ple-e-ease! You don’t know how miserable I’ve been since falling from your favor!”

  “I … well …” Nocturna looked taken aback. “Perhaps I did react harshly … but you must see, Shade, that you—we—cannot turn away this opportunity for more Power. Just give Jemma a chance, and we shall know tomorrow.…”

  “Yes, yes, anything you say, Mama!” Shade clutched the skirt of Nocturna’s dress. “Oh, I’m so unhappy! I just want you to love me as much as you love her—”

  “I do, I do. More!” Nocturna pulled Shade to her feet and stroked her hair awkwardly. “You’re my little Shadowkins! Hush, now. It will all come out right—”

  “But what if it doesn’t, Mama?” Shade sobbed. “What if Jemma is lying? Surely, to be on the safe side, we should keep her locked up, just for tonight? If you really love me, you’ll do that for me, won’t you? Mord forbid she should try to steal something from us in the dead of night, as she did before!” Shade grabbed the keys tied to her waist and rattled them at Jemma. “These, for instance.”

  “Oh, Shade, Shade!” Nox sighed, looking weary. “You really are overreaching yourself.”

  Overreaching yourself … The phrase echoed in Jemma’s mind from the conversation she had overheard all those weeks ago. Nocturna, too, evidently remembered. She turned to Nox slowly, ire scudding across her face.

  “I heard those very words from you before, Nox,” she said, “the night I voiced my suspicions about Marsh. And I was right, was I not? Jemma herself said so. But you let Marsh go, instead of killing her as I decreed. What if Shade is right?”

  “But if she is wrong,” he retorted, “and Jemma has indeed returned in fealty to us?”

  “Then I’m sure she won’t mind,” said Nocturna, turning her coal-hard eyes on Jemma, “spending this one night in the dungeons. Will you, my dear?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Secrets in Vellum

  Victory flashed through Shade’s tears.

  Jemma felt the blood draining to her feet. Locked away, how would she be able to retrieve the keys, much less rescue the triplets? “I confess I’m disappointed in my sister’s mistrust of me,” she said, trying to prevent her voice from wavering, “
but of course, if that is what you wish, Mama …”

  “Go-o-o-od!” Nocturna’s face reconfigured into its habitual angular certitude.

  Eight o’clock began tolling from the Bell Tower. The door creaked open and Drudge appeared.

  “Ah, Drudge,” said Nox. He waved toward the triplets. “Take these three to the kitchen and feed them, if you will.”

  “It would be best if it was something they like, Drudge,” added Jemma, affecting her brittlest tone of voice.

  “And put them in a larger dunge—er, room,” Nocturna added, “with warm blankets, if you will. A little Slumber Potion in syrupwater will keep them relaxed and well-rested too.”

  Flora, Simon, and Tiny cowered as Drudge shuffled toward them. Jemma’s heart was breaking for them. She hated the idea of them being drugged, but at least it would dull their terror. Besides, it would stretch her hand to protest. She hardened her face as they traipsed out of the room, Tiny casting a forelorn glance at the fireplace for his lost bear. All that remained of it was the lone arm that Shade had ripped off, lying near the hearth.

  Drudge herded the triplets out, and closed the door.

  “Now that is taken care of,” said Nocturna, “let us repair to the Lush Chamber and hear of your adventures, Jemma. But first, we must get you out of those vile rags. We burned all your attire after you left, so you’ll have to wear something of Shade’s. Shade, your black-on-black stripe, I think. You’ve outgrown it, have you not? Feo, while Jemma is changing, go and tell Drudge to add extra pancreas to today’s luncheon stew—Jemma’s favorite, to honor her return.”

  “Thank you, Mama,” Jemma said.

  The rest of the morning dragged by. The family gathered around the fireplace in the Lush Chamber, Nocturna, Nox, and Feo entreating Jemma for stories of her adventures. Nocturna’s mother scowled down from her portrait above the mantel as a mix of truth and fiction flowed easily from Jemma’s mouth—Feo being especially delighted by her gory description of Marsh’s remains. Once out of the forest, still afraid that her family (“I mean, you,” she said) would be looking for her, she’d cut and dyed her hair. (Feo complimented her, telling her it made her look more fierce, “Though I’m glad it’s your normal color now,” he added.) Jemma was careful to mention the boy she’d been traveling with (“A common lad I met on the road. He had food, and seemed to like me”), knowing that Digby had been seen with her by the Widow Strickner and again on the road to Oakstead. This, Nox said, was indeed just as the Widow and two spies had reported—proof that Jemma wasn’t lying to them. Thankfully, none of them realized that the boy with her had been Digby. For a moment, Jemma’s heart was in her mouth as she wondered whether word about the gang who had ambushed them had reached Nox, but he said nothing of it, and something told her they’d been too ashamed to boast of such a crushing failure.

  All the while, Shade’s cast-off Mord-day dress clung uneasily to her, as though atoms of Shade still inhabited its fabric and were seeping into her skin. At least she still had Digby’s old boots on; all of Shade’s were too big for her, and wearing something of his was comforting. She’d also made sure to put Bethany’s golden coin in the dress pocket—luckily, it had buried itself deep in her trouser pocket, and was the one thing that hadn’t been ripped away by the river. She kept fingering it to remind her of her roots, but still, she couldn’t help feeling nervous.

  Eventually the questions ebbed. Nox stared into the fire. Feo picked at his fingernails. Shade slumped back in her armchair. Nocturna’s eyes closed, her crimson mouth spreading into a contented smirk. Jemma could almost see the scene unfolding in those twisted reveries. The Mist spreading, bringing more of Anglavia under Agromond suppression. The crag’s magic strong again, and the renewed riches that would come from the sale of its rock. The rewards of finally having won Jemma over to their side.

  Noon struck. Shade’s head lolled forward, her eyelids flickering shut. The keys dangled from her belt, tantalizingly close to Jemma’s grasp. But now, it would be up to Digby to steal them while Shade slept. She mulled over the night’s plan. Imagine it, like it’s already happened, Marsh would say, like you’re already holdin’ them keys … unlockin’ the cell door …

  “Dreaming again, Jem-mah?” Shade opened one eye. “I see those schemes you’re hatching, don’t think I don’t.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sister dear.”

  “Sis-ter, is it? Ha!” Shade closed her eye again.

  Everyone dozed. Only Grandmama Mallentent seemed to be awake, her crazed paint-cracked eyes staring from her portrait as if they saw into Jemma’s duplicity. Jemma fixed her gaze on the fire, and on the family motto glaring at her from the mantelpiece: Mordus Aderit. She tried re-ordering the letters to make pleasant words, but it only yielded ones that seemed to taunt her: Ruse. Dare. Dread. Dread. The word slithered into Jemma’s head, then wormed into her bones, where it curled up and tightened like a noose.

  Jemma mopped her mouth with a napkin, her stomach in revolt. The stew had been vile. The silkiness of the pancreas made her retch, and how could she have ever liked the bitter taste of spleen, with its crumbly texture? Even the crunch of the bees-in-syrupwater dessert was disgusting to her now.

  “Thank you, Mama,” she said. “That was delicious.”

  “You’re welcome, my dear. Now, let us retire for Repose.”

  “Where will Jemma rest, Mama?” asked Shade.

  “Why, in her old room, I suppose.”

  Jemma’s heart skipped. Good! That meant she could retrieve her journal from under the mattress—

  “But, Mama,” Shade said, tapping her black-varnished fingernails on the table, “should we not lock her up this afternoon, as well as tonight?”

  “For Mord’s sake, Shade.” Nox sighed. “I object!”

  “And who are you to object?” Nocturna snapped back at him.

  “A mere precaution, Papa,” said Shade sweetly, making no attempt to conceal the smugness on her face.

  And so, on the toll of two, Jemma was marched downstairs by Shade and locked in the cell closest to the kitchen, next to Drudge’s sleeping alcove. He was napping, his bony form rising and falling gently. Shade strutted away with a satisfied sneer on her face, leaving Jemma to Drudge’s snores and the drug-induced breaths of the three Goodfellow children that echoed from the end of the Corridor of Dungeons.

  Three tolls of the bell. Three luminous orbs, spiraling above her head. The castle walls undulated, their gray stones crumbling inward into a cloudy mass that swirled her upward. She tried to yell—Leth gith bal celde!—but the cloudy mass sucked the words from her throat and spun them into the air. Their letters separated, rearranged themselves: Leth gith bal celde … eth lithg … the light … the light be …

  “The Light be called!” Jemma woke with a gasp, feeling as though fire was pumping into her muscles. Shade’s old dress was drenched in sweat. She leapt from the pallet. “So those words were anagrams,” she muttered as she began pacing, “but of two words jumbled at a time, instead of just one!” She thought of when she’d first heard them in Bryn’s cave, and the times after that. “But why all mixed up, and not in plain Anglavian?” If only Noodle and Pie were there! Talking to them always helped her to think more clearly. She gazed at the pallet, remembering how they used to sit on her pillow, waiting for her to wake. “I mustn’t think of you, Rattusses.” She sighed. “I have to stay strong.” Then she noticed something sticking out from under the straw.

  The corner of a thin, fragile-looking book.

  She pulled it out. Its cover was made of the softest moleskin she’d ever felt, bound around seven or eight sheets of cracked, yellowed vellum. Slowly, she opened it, hardly daring to hope what it might be. In the middle of the first page, hand-written in scrolled capitals, she read:

  ETH GROEFNOTT GNOS

  The elegant slant, the graceful flourish … Jemma recognized the writing immediately. The letters needed no coaxing: they were simple anagrams. Her skin tingled as s
he read.

  “The Forgotten Song. This is it—Majem’s missing book!” Beneath the title, other words shone from the page. “Rof het Rien Foe. Yam ey valprie … For the Fire One. May ye prevail …”

  Heart thumping, Jemma paced again as she sped through the following page.

  The purpose of this Booke knowest thou already, else would it not be in thy Handes. Heere is writ the Guydance thou shalt need. Learne it well and in strict order, for thou must know it by Heart till it be a part of thee.

  First be the Opening Call.

  Second be the Song itself, writ herein for the remynding of the One who shall teach it to thee. Joyne with it wenne the Tyme cometh, for it is thy voice whych is awaited.

  Thyrd be the Releasing Rime of Saeweldar, whych thou must say as the Song is sunge by Others who shall also joyn with it.

  Last be the Words to be spoke on the clearinge of all else.

  All Rimes herein are for thine eyes only, writ in Code to conceal them from the Evil Ones. Discover the Code, and unlocke the Secrets herein.

  Guidance. A song. Rhymes and secrets. A code she had to decipher. For her eyes only … It was thrilling. And ominous. There were two more lines, and she read them slowly, a strange sense of destiny creeping under her skin.

  Thanks be to thee, Rien Foe. May your Heart shine, and your Courage burn through Doubt and Despair like a Flame in the Mist, hidden and quiet, yet fierce as the Sunne. Yours, MS.

  “A flame in the mist …” Jemma’s entire body tingled. “Fierce as the sun …” Majem’s words sank into her like a solemn oath, and she turned the page, prepared to take that oath.

  The Opening Call, she read at the top. She was getting used to the archaic language, and swiftly interpreted the instructions. She had to be ready, then focus, then say what was written below with force, three times. In Anglavian, not in its jumbled form.

  “I can do that,” she said. “So, let’s see what this Opening Call is.”

  The next words made her stop in her tracks.