The Flame in the Mist (27 page)

“I’m all right.” He winced, and closed his eyes tight. “Jus’ give me a mo’ …”

All right? Jemma bit her lips. His hands and face were covered in scratches, a bump rising up on his cheek. She
imagined Light pulsing from her heart into his. Noodle and Pie nosed out of her pockets and sat on his chest.

Digby opened one eye. “I really
am
all right, Jem. Honest.” He grinned. “Gave them thugs quite a turn, you did.”

“Why, what happened? All I remember is wanting to stop them beating you. Everything else was a blur.”

“Well, you … you jus’ sort of burst into flames, Jem. Only it wasn’t flames. It was light. You burst into light, Jem.”

“I
did
?” She’d never realized the Light Game could be so powerful. “Burst into light …”

“Yup. A bit like las’ night, when you was helpin’ Alyss.” He let go of her hands and heaved himself up to sit, causing Noodle and Pie to roll onto his lap. Then he looked at his fists. He was still holding the crystals. “Well, rotten rhubarb! Look, Jem—my hands!”

His scratches had already healed over.

“The crystals did that,” said Jemma. “They healed me too, in the forest. They probably helped make the light too, just then.”

Digby looked at the crystals, then at her. “Maybe that was true last night. But they was nowhere near where that ball of light started, Jem. That was
you
. You realize what this means?” He looked at her squarely. “I reckon you ain’t lost your Powers after all. I’d stake my life on it.”

The harsh moorlands gave way to gentler, rolling hills. The drizzle had stopped soon after the attack, and now the milky orb of sun dipped behind the treetops.

Noodle and Pie lay between Pepper’s ears, peering into the distance. Jemma gazed over their heads into the graying
twilight, wondering for the hundredth time about her parents. Would they be like the heroes and heroines in Marsh’s tales, bold and fearless? Magical, mysterious? Her mother had looked beautiful in the crystal. But what did her father look like? He’d only been a vague image. Why hadn’t she been able to see him? Perhaps showing themselves took effort, more than he could muster, for some reason. For example, what if he was still weak, even after twelve years? Whatever the case, it wouldn’t matter to her. She just wanted to meet them.

“Jem, listen … D’you hear that?”

Hooves thundered toward them. Jemma’s heart lifted. Someone was coming to meet her! She strained to see as a pony emerged from the Mist. Its rider was short, one arm raised in a welcoming gesture, an arm with a bandaged stump where a hand should be—

“Marsh!” Jemma vaulted to the ground and pelted toward her. “Marsh! Marsh!”

“Jem! My precious pet!” Marsh swung from the saddle and folded Jemma into a bear hug. “Thank goodness—you’re here! You’re really here—safe, at last!”

“Marsh, Marsh—it’s so good to see you!” Overjoyed as Jemma was, she peered over Marsh’s shoulder into the Mist. No one else was there. Disappointment flared through her. But Marsh was here, holding her, just as she’d held her during all those years at the castle.

“Jem, my Jem …” Marsh swayed her from side to side, humming gently, then pulled away and held her at arm’s length. “Let me look at you. Oh, my, your hair! It’s all gone! An’ your face—it’s all streaky an’ purple! Well, that’s some disguise, pet, I must say!”

“It was Digby’s idea. He’s been amazing, Marsh. I’d never have managed without him.” Jemma took a breath, plucking up the courage to ask about her parents. “Marsh, where are—”

“Digby, lad!” Marsh said as Digby pulled up beside them. “Thank you for bringin’ her!”

“Told you I would,” he said, grinning.

“An’ look—them rats of yours, Jem, perched on Pepper’s head! I never was gladder to see a rodent, I don’t mind tellin’ you.” Marsh’s gaze softened. “I can’t tell you how we been hopin’ an’ prayin’, your folks an’ me,” she said. “Then, just a short while ago, your ma had this feelin’ in her bones, an’ she says to me, ‘Ida,’ she says—”

“Ida? That’s your real name? Ida Sharm … That’s going to take some getting used to!”

“I’ll always be Marsh to you, Jem. Long as you want. Anyway, your ma says she just had a Vision—a Vision, Jem, her first full one in twelve years! She saw you in a great ball of Light, an’ knew you was near. Sent me to come an’ meet you—oh, she wanted to come herself so bad, but she couldn’t—the Mist still holds her back. So here I am. But hush my mouth! We mustn’t waste time gabbin’—plenty of time for that! Your ma’s waitin’ back at the inn. She’s been
livin’
to meet you!”

“And … and my father?”

“Of course—he’s there too. But …” Marsh’s eyes clouded. “Thing is, Jem, there’s somethin’ you need to know about your pa before you meet him. Your ma will tell you, though.”

So I was right
, Jemma thought.
He’s still weak. That must be why he was just a blur
. “It’s all right, Marsh,” she said. “I know. I have these two crystals and saw, in one of them—”

“You saw
him
—your
pa
?” Marsh looked shocked, then
puzzled. “He didn’t want you to, not till your ma had warned you—but … well … that’s good, good! No nasty surprises, then. Come on, let’s be off. Your ma’s orderin’ the inn’s finest fare. Looks like you two could use it!”

She jumped onto her pony, and Digby pulled Jemma back into the saddle. Noodle and Pie clambered down Pepper’s neck and hopped into Jemma’s lap.

“Marsh. Your hand,” said Jemma. “I’m so sorry.”

“Ah, Jem. Reckon you an’ me knows a thing or two about that forest, don’t we?” Marsh’s expression darkened for a moment, then she smiled. “But here we both is, alive an’ well. An’ as for this”—she waved her bandaged stump—“long as I can still ride, an’ shoo away the odd sprite or two, I’ll be fine. Now, let’s get goin’, eh? It’s gettin’ dark an’ chilly out here. Giddyap, Flashwing—back to Oakstead!” Holding the reins in one hand, she kicked her pony and took off into the Mist. It was all Pepper could do to keep up.

They galloped past sweeping fields, where cattle and ponies were grazing, and soon Oakstead loomed into view. Jemma instantly recognized it: the small town on a hill that she had dreamed of just last night. She remembered the cord of light she’d felt pulling her, and the man it was attached to. Nox. Her stomach clenched.
It was just a dream
, she reminded herself.

Marsh pulled up outside the gates. “Your family’s stronghold, pet,” she said. “Centuries of Solvays have lived within these walls. Them, and their followers. Full o’ good folk, it is, wot have kept it protected these past twelve years. Not with arrows and cannons, mind,” she added, registering Jemma’s surprise. “They create a sort of force around it, like a shield.
You won’t find a bad soul within a league of here nowadays, you mark my words.”

They rode side by side through the arched entrance and continued slowly across the town square. It was bordered by half-timbered houses with worn whitewash and cracked windows, their rooves sagging as if under an invisible burden. Candlelight flickered from behind drawn curtains. Along the pavements, wooden poles held lanterns—mostly unlit—and in the center of the square was a circular pool of dark water. A stone clock tower stood on one side of it, the clock’s pale face barely visible through the dusky Mist.

“Used to be grander, all this.” said Marsh. “The fountain hasn’t worked in years. An’ the clock stopped the instant they took you, Jem. In mid-chime, so it’s said. Six-thirty on the dot.”

Both hands were pointing downward as if frozen in perpetual defeat.

“Yep,” Marsh murmured. “It’s like time’s stood still here.”
While for the Agromonds
, Jemma thought,
it’s kept booming out from the Bell Tower like a death knell
.

“Marsh,” she said, steeling herself to ask the question she’d pushed back from her mind. “My brother … They never found him, did they?”

“No, pet, they didn’t. I’m sorry.”

They rode in silence toward an inn at the far end of the square. It was a larger building than the rest, with broken stone steps leading up to its entrance. Above the doorway, haloed by a large lantern, swung a sign:
THE HEATHSHIRE ARMS
. As they approached, Marsh leaned over and nudged Jemma with her stump. “You ready for this, love?”

Jemma bit her bottom lip and nodded. Her heart felt as though it was stuck in her throat.

“Good luck,” Digby whispered.

Every nerve and fiber of Jemma’s body jangled. In a ground-floor window, a curtain pulled back, and a face pressed against the glass. The curtain fell; a shadow hastened out of view. The inn’s door opened, and a woman stood silhouetted against the warm light inside. She swayed slightly and clutched the door frame, her flowing robe billowing in the breeze like a silken flag. A flag of hope. Of triumph.

“Jemma,” she said, her blue eyes piercing the twilight. “My child …”

“Mother,” Jemma whispered. The air between them seemed to spark into life, throwing golden beams around the square, and all at once Sapphire Solvay was running down the steps and Jemma was on the ground, speeding toward her mother’s outstretched arms, arms that enfolded her as if they would never let go, as if they never had.

At last, she was home.

The murmur around the low-beamed dining room fell as Jemma, her mother, Marsh, and Digby entered. Beer tankards were placed onto tabletops, cutlery onto plates. Men and women with their youngsters nodded a greeting at Sapphire, then fixed their eyes on Jemma, whispering as she passed—
“It’s her! Look … her hair!”
—then nudging each other and digging back into their dinners as if to stuff down the impulse to gossip.

Jemma’s mother walked to a far corner of the room, seeming to float through the smoke and lamplight. She was slight, like Jemma, yet she commanded attention, as if a core of fire ran through her. She ushered Jemma into an alcove and slid in beside her. Digby and Marsh sat at the other side of the table. Jemma was glad they were there. The emotional moments of reunion over, she felt a little shy, and in awe of this longed-for stranger next to her.

Sapphire took Jemma’s hands, her eyes almost luminous as they searched her face. “My darling child,” she said. “Ida—Marsh—has told us so much about you during these past few days. And now I see for myself how strong your spirit is, and how full of Light and color. How I’ve longed for this moment, hoping and praying for your safe return. And at last, here you are!”

Jemma looked at the suffering etched on her mother’s face, and the silver mane of hair cascading over her shoulders. “I’ve longed for it too,” she said, her awkwardness ebbing slightly. “I used to hear your voice in my dreams, singing, only I didn’t know it was you.”

“How were you to know I even existed? Those monsters! I can hardly bear to think of what you’ve been through, living with them.”

“What
I’ve
been through? What about you and Father? Losing me, so soon after my bro—” Jemma clamped her lips shut.

“Ah.” Her mother drew out a long breath. “So you know about him. You found the articles Ida left hidden for you in the book, then, and read about his … his disappearance?”

Jemma nodded, noticing flecks of gray flit across her mother’s eyes. Stupid, stupid! Why did she have to go and mention something so painful, so soon?

“Don’t feel badly, Jemma.” Sapphire said. “It’s normal that you’d be curious about him. We shall tell you all, in due course. But … not today, all right?” She smiled, and squeezed Jemma’s hands. “How much of the book did you read?”

“Just bits and pieces,” Jemma said, surprised at how her guilt lifted under her mother’s touch, and how rapidly her shyness was passing. “It helped me a lot, though. It gave me clues when I asked it questions, like Marsh said it would. It kept me warm and dry. Oh, and I also realized that Majem is my ancestor, and that her name and mine are anagrams. I feel such a connection to her, somehow—more than just our names and being related, I mean.”

“Those anagrams are no accident, Jemma. They are
sacred, giving power to your very name. But there’s another reason you would feel the connection with Majem. Your Stone came from her.”

“Really?” Jemma felt the Stone’s mysterious Power fluttering through her.

Her mother nodded. “We shall talk more of all this another time. But now, let us sup! Digby looks as though he could eat a horse.”

“Oh no, ma’am,” said Digby, looking shocked, “I’d never do that.”

“It’s just an expression,” Marsh whispered to him. Digby’s face turned red.

“Well, horse or not, Digby,” said Sapphire, “I trust you will eat well after your long journey. I can’t thank you enough for bringing our daughter home! What a friend you are to her.”

“An’ she is to me,” he said, reddening more.

Sapphire let go of Jemma’s hands, then turned toward the back of the room and beckoned to a stout, balding man. “Pedrus! We’re ready when you are, please!”

“Isn’t Father going to join us?”

“Your father? He’s … a little weary, and before you meet him, I need to warn you—”

“She knows, Sapphire,” said Marsh softly. “She saw, in the crystal.”

“What? After all his efforts—how could that be? Jemma, were you not alarmed?”

“Alarmed?” Jemma said, wondering why she should have been. Was her father weaker than she’d imagined? Unwell, even? “No, I wasn’t. But—”

“What a wonder! He went to great pains to conceal
himself. That is why he’s so weary now. But by tomorrow, I am sure he will have recovered. Then you will meet him.”

Jemma’s mind whirled. Her father was tired—that was all? Then why had her mother and Marsh been so afraid that she’d be alarmed by seeing him? She was about to ask, when two girls appeared carrying bowls, spoons, and bread, and a flagon of water with four tumblers, all of which they hastily placed around the table while stealing curious glances at Jemma.

“Grub’s up!” Pedrus walked up behind them, plunked down a pot, and lifted the lid. A meaty puff of steam wafted up. “Special stew, for a special day!”

“Thank you,” said Jemma. The stew smelled delicious, even though she couldn’t detect any spleen or pancreas in it.