The Flame in the Mist (30 page)

The final blow to Majem and the Solvay family was Gudred’s mysterious disappearance. By now, at the age of only twenty-six, he was already beloved as a great warrior and Visionary, and his renown only grew with his absence. At the time of Majem’s writing
From Darknesse to Light
, he had not been seen in over four years.
In my Hearte
, the chapter ended,
do I know that never shall we set Eyes on my deare Brother-in-law again
.

“That’s so sad, Rattusses!” Jemma closed the book and yawned. Dawn was beginning to break, and at last, weariness weighed down her eyelids.

She blew out the candle and lay down, with Noodle and Pie nestled into her neck. The story wove through her mind. All those twins who had met such a terrible end! The forest phantoms, Majem’s brother—and Nox’s sister, Malaena, too. It was just as well, she thought, that the Agromonds
had
cursed the Solvay line. Being a twin was obviously far more dangerous than being a single child, as she was.

Wakey wakey
.

“H’mmm?” Jemma opened one eye and saw four ruby ones staring at her. A gust of wind flapped the curtains, carrying the sound of voices from outside.

Sun! Come, see
. Noodle and Pie hopped onto the window ledge. Pale squares of light slanted onto the wall opposite, throwing the rats’ whiskered silhouettes against mottled whitewash, but Jemma’s heart felt dark and heavy. Remnants of Majem’s story flickered through her head, and she tried to breathe away its thick shadows as she slid out of bed and went to the window.

Over the rooftops, the sun was golden, the Mist barely more than a wispy veil pulled across it. Her spirits lifted a little as she leaned out and looked at the cobbled courtyard below. In the center was a circular fire pit, into which a small, barefoot boy was placing kindling. A few feet away, a long table was spread with a patchwork cloth, held down at intervals by thick candles and bowls of nuts. Several other ragged children ran around it, laughing. Then Pedrus staggered out through the kitchen door, puffing under the weight of a pig carcass that he hitched by its hind feet onto a post at one side of the pit. As he crouched to light the tinder, his daughters, Bethany and Moll, walked through an archway into the
courtyard, carrying baskets of heather and gorse that they laid along the table. In the light of day, Jemma could see that they were about the same ages as her and Digby. Their dresses were plain and dusty-looking, and she noticed that their hands were swollen and rough: working hands, like Marsh’s.

The smaller one, Moll, looked up, and nudged Bethany. Jemma waved at them, and they waved back, then scuttled inside. They seemed happy. What was it like for them, never to have been confined by castle walls, and to have each other’s company day after day? She felt a pang of jealousy and sadness. If not for the Agromonds, she and Jamem would have had that kind of companionship. She had missed so much. Him. Her parents—

There was a knock at the door. “Jemma?” The latch lifted, the door creaked open, and her mother peeked in. “Good morning!”

“Good morning, Mother.”
I should be as happy as a lark
, she thought,
seeing the sun for the first time. And my mother’s here
. But melancholy had her in its clutches, and wouldn’t let go.

“I’ve brought you some tea. Your favorite, Ida tells me.” Sapphire walked over and put a steaming mug of mauve liquid on the window ledge, then gave Jemma a hug. “I see heaviness in you today,” she said. “Digby’s departure, perhaps?”

Jemma shrugged, and took a sip of tea. Its citrus tang did nothing for her nerves.

“Ah, no. It is about your brother. And things you have read …” Sapphire glanced at the book on the floor. “How far did you get?”

“Just to where Majem and Valior marry, and the curse Kralyd put on them.”

“A fair bit, then. I was afraid it might be too much for you, so soon.”

“I couldn’t sleep. It was there.” Jemma nursed her tea, wondering whether to mention the hand-written dedication. Last night, it had thrilled her to think of her ancestor writing to her across so many generations. Today, it felt empty and pointless.

Sapphire tilted Jemma’s head, searching her eyes. “These threads of the past are burdensome indeed, my child,” she said. “It’s normal that you should feel their weight. Do not fight your heartache, though, for that will only give it more strength. But don’t allow it to hold you captive either. There is always balance. Today, the sun is shining for the first time in many years. The air is warm. Oakstead is free of Mist for at least a hundred paces from the walls. We are safer than in many years from the threat of the Agromonds and their supporters, who despise sunlight, and will not venture into it. Everywhere in Oakstead, people are talking about it—about you. For this is your doing, Jemma. How perfect that you returned yesterday, on a Sunday!”

“Sunday? But … yesterday was Mord-day.” Saying the name sent a chill through her.

“Here, we call it Sunday, in honor of the sun, the bringer of light and life. ‘Mord’ is everything opposite to that: darkness, and death. Before Mordrake Agromond, there was no Mord-day. Only Sunday. We have always refused to call it otherwise.”

“Sunday.” Jemma thought of her life’s longing. “
Sun
day …”

“Our name, too, honors it,” Sapphire said. “ ‘Solvay,’ in
Lappic, means ‘way of the sun’. Today, let us enjoy it, and tonight, we shall celebrate! As you can see, Pedrus is preparing a feast for us. Now, there are clean clothes on the chair—old ones of Bethany’s, which should fit you. Oh, and this.” She dipped into her pocket and pulled out Jemma’s Stone, attached to a new, golden chain. “The chain is special, given to me by Lumo’s mother, who trained your father and me, and Marsh before us.” She fastened it around Jemma’s neck.

“Thank you.” Jemma laid her palm over the Stone and felt its familiar comfort.

Her mother stood back. “There. Now, after you’re dressed, come down to the kitchen. I see that Noodle and Pie, anyway, are eager for breakfast. They’ll have to mind Paws, though—he’s the inn’s cat. But I’m forgetting, you’ve probably never seen one. Cats don’t like rats.”

Jemma smiled, remembering the effect that Noodle and Pie had had on Mowser in the Goodfellows’ storehouse. “I don’t think Paws will be a problem,” she said.

“Good. I’ll see you downstairs, then.” Sapphire hugged Jemma again, then left the room.

The rest of the morning was a bustle of preparation for the night’s feast. Everyone was in good spirits. Her parents were feeling stronger. Marsh’s stump, which she proudly displayed, was better—she’d taken the bandage off before sleeping, and the scabs had healed overnight into a healthy pink. Noodle and Pie were perfectly at home, having terrorized Paws into keeping his distance. And although Digby had gone, he’d left a note for her with Marsh.
Gud luk Jema, by by
, it said, his scrawl looking as though someone had dipped a spider in the
plum-colored ink and allowed it to crawl across the page. At the bottom was a single
X
, whose meaning Marsh explained while Bethany and Moll, who were busy chopping beets and parsnips for that night’s soup, tittered knowingly. Jemma felt a flush of pride as she folded the note into her pocket. Yet despite all this, she couldn’t shake her gloom.

Before lunch, her parents took her for a stroll around Oakstead. They showed her the house where they had lived before she was taken, now empty; the side streets with their mostly deserted shops; the fountain in the square where she’d paddled as a baby. Everywhere they went, people stopped to welcome her home, and talked about the clock, and how the Mist had rolled back as far as the orchards now, the fruit trees were showing buds for the first time in years, and the fountain water looked less green by the hour. It was a miracle! Still, Jemma’s spirits kept sinking. She wondered increasingly about Jamem. Had they played here together? What would he have been like now? His absence gnawed deeper into her, and she wished her parents would talk about him. But the two times she mentioned his name, they quickly changed the subject.

After lunch, she was too agitated to rest. Leaving a note for her parents, she went outside with Noodle and Pie and followed a path down to a brook, then wandered alongside it until she came to a willow. She sat beneath it, trying to enjoy its soft shushing, the brook waters’ lapping, and the warmth of the Mist-free sun on her skin. This was everything she had longed for, but still, sorrow scraped her heart. She sighed, and closed her eyes.

Black swirled around her
. You are mine—all mine!
Screams, the children
—Help us, help!
A tiny shadow reached for her from
the darkness, a shadow shot through with flame, whispering, then screaming
, “Jem-Jem!”
Gray baby fingers stretched toward her—

“No! Stop it, stop! Enough of these dreams!” Jemma leapt to her feet, grabbed Noodle and Pie, and ran back up the path to Oakstead. A few people were gathered in the square, and looked surprised as she pelted past. She sat on the edge of the fountain to catch her breath. The water was even clearer now, and she set the rats down, then leaned over and dabbled her fingers in it. Suddenly, she saw a flash of flame, like in her dream, rippling on the surface. Her heart punched into her chest. She looked again: it was only her hair, reflected in the water.

“Miss Jemma—are you all right?”

Jemma wheeled around. Bethany, the older of Pedrus’s daughters, stood several feet away. “Oh! Bethany … Hello. I’m … I’m fine, thank you. And please, just call me Jemma.”

“Right. Jemma.” Bethany edged closer. “You seemed a bit affrighted, if I might say. I would be too, if I was you. Bein’ the Fire One an’ all.”

Jemma shrugged. She didn’t feel like the Fire One. More like a soggy mop.

“Mus’ be a lot for you to take in all that’s happened. I’m jus’ glad you didn’t get killed, like Jam—” Bethany slapped her hand over her mouth. “Mother of Majem! I’m so stupid.”

“You mean my brother?” Jemma’s heart flipped. “It’s all right, I know about him.”

“Thank goodness! I always speak without thinkin’.”

“Me too.” Jemma smiled. “Actually, I’d like to talk about him.”

“Really? I don’t know much, though, just what everybody
knows, about him disappearin’ an’ all. Must be hard for your parents, mustn’t it, yesterday bein’ his birthday?”

“Whose—Jamem’s?”

“Why, yes … But surely you knows that, don’t you? I mean, you an’ him bein’ …”

“Being what?”

Bethany’s eyes widened, and she slapped her hand over her mouth again. “Mord take my tongue! You
don’t
know, do yer? Lawks, I’ll get skinned alive!” She gathered her skirts and ran across the square toward the inn.

“Bethany, wait!
What
don’t I know? Tell me!” Jemma gave chase, the rats skittering after her, but by the time she reached the inn and entered the courtyard, Bethany was nowhere to be seen. Jemma stumbled into the kitchen. Marsh was sitting at the table, frowning at a book.

“Why, Jem,” she said, “you’re here! Your folks got your note—but what’s bitten you? First Bethany charges through here like she was bein’ chased by a ghost, and now you—”

“Something she said … about me and Jamem … What is it I’m not being told?”

Marsh put her book down. “Jem … ’taint for me to say. You mus’ ask your folks.”

“But Bethany said yesterday was his
birthday
!” she said, wondering why it mattered to her so much, “and they didn’t even mention it!”

“Why would they? Their focus was on you, an’ on seein’ you for the first time in twelve years. But if it’s any comfort, they had a little ceremony to honor him yesterday mornin’, like they done every year, they told me. They done the same on your birthday too.”

“Oh.” Jemma sat down. “Did they ever find out what happened to him?”

“Jem … I …”

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” said Jemma, certainty falling around her like a heavy cloak. “I think I’ve known that all along.” His disappearance needled her again, prodding at thoughts she didn’t want to think.

“I’m sorry, Jem.” Marsh took Jemma’s hand.

Jemma sighed. “How much older than me was he, anyway?”

“Older? I … Jem, like I said, you got to talk to your folks ’bout all this. Today, if you must. Jus’ … maybe think about waitin’ a day or so. Give ’em time. An’ yourself too.”

Jemma nodded. Whatever her feelings, they were nothing compared to what her parents had suffered. She didn’t want to spoil her homecoming celebration. Not for them, nor for herself. “You’re right, Marsh. I’ll ask them tomorrow,” she said. “I just wish I didn’t feel so
sad
.”

“Try the Light Game, Jem. For yourself, an’ your own feelin’s. It’ll be good practice.”

“You always told me that before, at the castle. I did use it once,” she said, remembering how she had chased Nocturna’s rose potion through her veins, “but mostly, I kept forgetting.”

“Don’t I know it! You was such a flibbertigibbet at times. Ah, Jem. Little did you know how much I used that Light to stop their evil creepin’ into you when you was little, an’ strengthen you while you was sleepin’.” She squeezed Jemma’s hand. “I’m here to help you, pet, like I always been. But hows about we put all this aside, hmmm? Jus’ for today, anyway.
Now, maybe you can help me with readin’ this.” She picked up her book:
How to Grow New Limbs
.

Jemma took it, and leafed through it. “Marsh … This is about trees.…”

“Oh, my! You don’t say!” Marsh rocked back in her chair and laughed. Soon Jemma was laughing too. Perhaps, she thought, she was going to enjoy tonight’s celebrations, after all.

“And the Earth bathed in Light!” Freddie and Maddie Meadowbanks played the last chord with a flourish, then lay their lutes on the ground behind them. Everyone applauded. Other than in her dreams, the only music Jemma could remember was Marsh singing nursery rhymes to her in a rather off-key croak, and she was amazed at how the glorious rise and fall of a melody carried her along when sung—in tune—by even a small gathering. It had banished her gray mood almost entirely, and she’d only thought of Jamem seven times all evening.