The Flame in the Mist (19 page)

Terror ripped through her. Wind buffeted her from left to right, whipping the extra hide from her shoulders. Ahead of her, in a small clearing, treetops crashed into one another in the wind. Another of Nox’s lessons sprang to mind.
“Aquadyles are like sharks,”
he’d said.
“Once their jaws start snapping for the kill, there’s no stopping them until they’ve torn their prey to pieces.”

Inspiration struck. Jemma pelted into the middle of the clearing, then stopped abruptly. On either side of her, the Aquadyles also stopped, and turned to face her, teeth chomping. She stood stock-still, heart pounding, sensing them in her peripheral vision as they lumbered toward her. Suddenly, they lunged. At the last split second, she sprang forward. Guttural roars broke out behind her. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the Aquadyles tearing into one another, shreds of flesh and leathery hide flying everywhere. Stomach lurching, she turned and ran.

Mist thickened again. Branches whipped her face as she passed. Shrubs and hummocks seemed to move in front of her, making her falter. The sickly orb of sun was hidden behind trees; she’d lost her bearings. The ground began sloping upward, and felt as though it was undulating beneath her. Her ankle burned. Her limbs were as limp as mops. All she had learned, every device she might call upon for help, jammed in her head.

“Rattusses, I don’t know which way to turn.…” The slope became steeper; the trees more dense. The road … she must find the road to the bridge.…

“Jemma, over here!”

A voice, soothing, through the Mist.

“Jemma!” A woman’s voice, sweetly familiar, calling from up the hill. “Come, Jemma, it’s me! Over here.”

It couldn’t be, could it? The fragment of dress … the shoe … the hand … She’d been so sure! But that voice,
lilting like music, full of stories, safety, and love—it
sounded
like—

“Jemma!”

Relief filled Jemma’s chest. “Marsh!” she cried. “Marsh, where are you?”

“To your right, Jemma. Follow me!”

Through the firs, Marsh’s familiar form moved away, disappearing up the crag.

“Marsh, I can’t see you!” Jemma’s yells were absorbed into Mist. “Where are you?”

“Here—up here!”

Branches eased back, clearing her way. Jemma limped onward, the pain in her ankle now searing. “Marsh, wait, please! I can’t keep up—” Noodle and Pie scratched and clawed in her pockets as she staggered up the hill. Then Noodle bit through her dress, his tiny teeth sinking into her leg.

“Ouch, Noodle—what are you
doing
?”

Stop!
Noodle bit again, hard.

“Stop? Noodle, you’re hurting me!” Jemma yanked him out of her pocket and shook him. “Why should I stop? Can’t you see? It’s Marsh!” Noodle squirmed, clawing her fingers, and she dropped him. He clambered back up to her pocket, and he and Pie kept nipping and scratching at her leg. “Rattusses,
please
! We’re so close—”

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.

“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.”

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.