The Flame in the Mist (10 page)

With the rats squeaking their encouragement, Jemma wriggled out onto the hillside.

She lay on the soaked ground, half-expecting the shriek of the Wailing Alarm to wake her and for this to be a cruel dream; or to faint, felled by her supposed allergy to the Mist. But no Alarm came. This was real, as real as the soft earth beneath her. And she was alive and well.

“Rattusses,” she whispered. “We’re free.”

Free, for the first time she could remember. Free to find Marsh, her real family, and the world beyond Agromond Castle.… The possibilities were wonderfully, terrifyingly endless. Noodle and Pie stood on their hind legs and sniffed at the dawn air, then began nosing into fallen branches and nibbling gleefully on dead bugs as though life Outside was nothing new to them. She wished she could feel their ease. But Jemma felt the trees edge toward her, tendrils of Mist thicken around her. The place where she had longed to be did not feel the least bit friendly. All she knew was that within an hour, the Agromonds would wake. She must flee, as fast and as far as she could, before then. But first, there was her Stone to find, caught somewhere in the shadows of the castle walls.

The dawn breeze chilled Jemma’s earth-caked clothes. She brushed herself off and wrapped Drudge’s cloak around her, pulling its hood over her head and hugging herself for warmth. Then, tying her shawl bundle around her waist, she stood and faced the castle.

The only home she knew loomed through the Mist like a massive beast of prey. For twelve years, it had hoarded her in its belly, and now it crouched as if plotting its revenge on her for daring to break out. Her skin bristled, every instinct telling her to turn and run—run, into the forest, despite the dangers it held, and come back tonight—not go searching for her Stone now! Surely that was madness? It would be safer to wait, at least until after the hour of her planned Ceremony had passed, so that the Agromonds wouldn’t be so intent on finding her.

“Stop it, Jemma,” she muttered, gritting her teeth. “It’s almost a whole hour until they’ll wake up. Whatever happens, you’ll be stronger with your Stone. So calm yourself! Breathe. Now, where are we?”

Directly in front of her was the Bell Tower, which meant the kitchen and Vat Room, and the corridor from which she’d
thrown her Stone, must be around the back of it. Noodle and Pie scampered alongside as she set off, her footfall soft in the silence. The sodden ground felt strange to walk on after a lifetime of flagstones, and she teetered a little, off balance, but soon got used to the rise and fall of the grass-tufted earth.

To the left, ranks of trees sloped away into the forest, pale silhouettes in a sea of gray. Mist swirled around her like damp fingers, suspicious, searching her out. She shuddered, focusing her intention: the Stone, its aqua glow … The Mist seemed to edge back, and she relaxed a little.

Keeping her distance from the castle, she rounded the Tower, expecting to see a long expanse of wall stretching away toward the kitchen. What met her eyes took her aback. Built into the side of the castle, as if swarming its base, was a mass of ramshackle huts. Of varying heights and sizes, they leaned every which way, looking desolate and desperate. Most had no rooves. A few had tumbled down completely, leaving their stone chimney stacks to point accusingly up the castle walls.

“The Dwellings, Rattusses,” she whispered. “That’s where the servants used to live, till they went away.” She had all but forgotten, but now it dredged up from the depths of her childhood, the hushed talk she’d overheard: kitchen-maids, and footmen, spooked by the cries they heard late at night from the forest. The hauntings, they’d called them—most likely the same cries that had plagued her, she now realized. It was no longer worth staying, all the servants had said, even for food and shelter. The last to go, when Jemma was seven, had been the cook. Apart from the fact that Jemma then had to start helping Drudge with the cooking and cleaning, she hadn’t cared—in fact, had been glad to be rid of them, as
most of them were dour and unfriendly.
If only Drudge would go too
, she’d thought at the time; but she’d been wrong about him, and she’d probably been wrong about them, as well. Living under a shroud of fear, no wonder they’d been so surly.

Noodle and Pie skittered onto a furrowed, pebbly track running parallel to the castle walls—the track that must lead to Hazebury. She imagined Digby and his father trundling along it in their cart on delivery days. What would they think when they came tomorrow and found she had gone? Would Digby be worried? Would he miss her? Then she imagined the Agromonds in their coach, leaving for one of their “visits” to the villages. What did they really do on those trips? Terrify the life out of people, no doubt. Certainly nothing benevolent, as they’d always pretended.

The track was easier going than the rough ground, and Jemma picked up her pace. Above the huts and occasional leafless tree, she could just make out the slit windows of the corridor where Nocturna had caught her. Soon she was parallel to the one from which she’d hurled her Stone—the seventh. The hut beneath it looked sturdier than most, and had a tree growing in front of it.

“Let’s get closer, Rattusses. I couldn’t have thrown it this far out.”

The rats hopped ahead as Jemma crept along, scanning the ground. Brambles and briars unfurled as if awakening from slumber and snagged her cloak, slithering around her ankles, slowing her down. Noodle and Pie were also being assaulted, their gnawing barely keeping ahead of the unrelenting undergrowth. Finally, she and the rats reached the huts. But there was still no sign of her Stone.

“Sprites! Where
is
it?”
Breathe, Jemma, breathe
, she told herself.
Keep calm.…
But it was hard to keep calm while precious minutes marched by like soldiers with swords raised, ready to strike. Maybe she should come back later after all, and run for cover while she still could.

Her foot hit something large and pale, lying on a low thicket of brambles. A book, splayed open, pages downward, the faint indent of its title shining from its wet, leather cover.

“
From Darknesse to Light
! How did that get here?” Jemma bent to pick it up.

The instant she touched it, a story unfolded in her mind: Nocturna, going back to the corridor after locking Jemma in the dungeon, intending to destroy the book for having the audacity to wound her … protecting her hand with the hem of her dress … the fabric searing … the book sailing through the air, hurled from the window in a rage. Jemma hugged it to her chest. It felt like an old friend.

“I’m glad to have found you,” she whispered. “Perhaps you can help me find my Stone.”

She was about to open it when a tiny bead of turquoise light appeared in front of her eyes, then grew brighter, and brighter still. It floated upward, leading Jemma’s gaze through the branches of the tree, then stopped several feet above the roof of the hut. Its light intensified and expanded, then flared and disappeared, leaving a faint aqua glow through the Mist. Her heart leapt.

“There it is, at the end of that branch! I’ll have to climb up to get it.” Slipping the cloak off her shoulders, she piled it with the book, wineskin, and pouch at the base of the trunk next to the rats. As she touched the tree, its bark seemed to
expand a little into her hand as if welcoming her, but the roughness of it surprised her. She had expected it to be soft, the way firs looked. But such large beings needed to be sturdy to hold themselves up and root themselves into the earth, she reasoned, remembering Marsh’s explanation of how they grew.

The lowest branches were within easy reach. Smoother than the trunk, they were slippery, still damp from rain. Carefully, Jemma hoisted herself up, keeping her eyes fixed on the glow. From beyond it, up the castle wall, a light flickered through the Mist. Tensing, she stopped climbing. It was coming from the kitchen window. Drudge! He must be preparing the breakfast trays. She felt a pang of regret for having judged the old man as she thought of his entreaty to her:
Trusssst …
The words warmed her, and she wished him warmth too, hoping that somehow, he would feel it.

Moments later, she was lying on the branch that held her Stone. Its thin chain was wrapped around a twig at the end, and it swung slightly as she inched toward it. The branch bent under her weight. She clung on with one hand, reaching the other toward the precious aqua glow. Just a hare’s whisker more …

Her fingers closed around her quarry. Energy surged through her. Mist recoiled from her hand, leaving a clear halo around it in which she could see every nub of the twig, every thread of her woolen cuff.

“Well, Mother of—”

Clang!

Seven-thirty.

Jemma started. Her hands and legs slipped, and she swiveled around the branch. Hanging upside down from it, she felt
the branch shake and dip. Then, with a loud
snap
, it broke, and fell to the roof of the hut below, with her still clinging to it. The drop was only a few feet, but the roof splintered under the impact, and she crashed through it onto the earthen floor inside. The Stone was jolted from her palm; her right foot twisted beneath her. Yelping in pain, she rolled on the floor and clutched her ankle. It swelled under her hands.

Noodle and Pie wriggled in through a gap in the door, and scampered to her side.

Stone! Stone will heal you!
The words flew into her head, though not exactly as words, more as impressions that formed as words.

Jemma looked at the rats. “Was … was that
you
?”

A dazzle of aqua caught the corner of her eye. She turned, and there it was: her Stone. The instant she picked it up, a tingling sensation shimmered from the top of her head to her wounded ankle. The pain subsided, and was gone.

“Sprites! How did that happen? When I was fighting Nocturna, it worked so slowly. Perhaps she had a bad effect on it.”

That’s right. Very bad
.

“Rattusses … you just did it again!” Jemma looked at them, amazed, then stood and tied the amulet around her neck by the two ends of its broken chain. “Right. Let’s get out of here.”

As she stepped toward the door, her foot clanged against a half-empty pail of water. Two cups hung on metal hooks over its lip. Then it occurred to her that the hut was warm. Embers were burning in the grate. A pot hung in the fireplace; another sat to the right of it.

Someone lived here.

Clothes—or rags, more like—were piled on a three-legged chair. At the back of the hut, two filthy mattresses lay end to end, one large, one small, blankets strewn across them. On the smaller one, propped against the wall, was a cloth animal—a rabbit, barely bigger than the rats. Glassy-eyed, its ears flopped over its shoulders, one hanging from its head by a thread. It was wearing a patched leather waistcoat, much like the one Digby wore, and was missing an arm.

An eerie recognition clawed at Jemma’s chest. “I’ve seen that before,” she said, “but how could I have?” She wanted to look at it closely, touch it, hold it—and yet, angst fizzled under her skin. Why? Why be afraid of something that attracted her like a magnet?

Jemma turned, ran out of the hut, grabbed her belongings from the base of the tree, and pelted away as fast as she could. This time, the brambles and shrubs held back their grasp, and within seconds she was on the track. She stopped, out of breath, and turned to see Noodle and Pie leaping over tuffets and brambles, trying to catch her up.

“Sorry, Rattusses—I didn’t mean … to leave you behind. It was … just … so … so
spooky
.” She tied the pouch around her waist and stuffed the book into it, then looked back at the hut. Who lived there? A mother and child, evidently. Did anybody else know about them? And why had that toy rabbit alarmed her so much?

Jemma slipped the wineskin over her shoulder, pulled on the cloak, and picked up the rats. Then she noticed the clear air around her hands again: Noodle and Pie’s fur looked as well-defined as if they were indoors, every golden strand of it clearly visible.

“Look at that, Rattusses! If the Stone can do that, and heal my ankle, perhaps it’ll help us on our way. Quickly, let’s be off, before they find out I’ve gone.”

She looked down the track. It would be easier to navigate than the steep slope leading into the trees, but she knew from Digby’s descriptions it meandered around the crag’s flatter side before leveling off into Hazebury. That meant it was a longer route. It was also the way anybody searching for her on horseback would take. She decided to run along it for five or ten minutes to put some distance between her and the castle, then head into the trees, where it would be harder to follow her and there would surely be more places to hide.

She slipped the rats into her pockets and broke into a trot. But she had barely taken ten strides, when the air was split by a blood-chilling scream coming from the castle. Nocturna! She must have woken early.… Jemma imagined her hastening to the dungeons, eager to carry out her torturous Rites, and now, staring at the empty cell.