The Flame in the Mist (35 page)

Digby cantered ahead of Jemma and Marsh, the distance between them growing.

“Not so fast, Digby,” Marsh muttered, kicking Flashwing on. Suddenly, she pulled to a halt, and held out her stumped arm, stopping Jemma. “I got a bad feelin’,” she whispered.

“Then … Digby—we should warn him!”

The snort of a strange horse, ahead of them. The gruff voice, grating through the Mist.

“Oy, who goes there?”

“Jus’ a poor traveler.” Digby spoke in a dull tone.

“Wot, on a fine pony like that? Don’t give me that guff, you lyin’— ’Ere, don’t I know yer?”

Jemma went cold. Zeb. Lok’s right-hand man.

“Yeh … I do know yer—
you’re
the one wot escaped! Well, I’ve got yer now!”

“No—let go!”

The sound of a whip. Steadfast, whinnying. Digby, yelling.

“Jem,” said Marsh, “use your animal talents—quick!”

Swift as lightning, Jemma’s thoughts sped to the upper branches of the tall pines.
Wings, fly down, surround him, the one in the black coat—go, now! With no harm to anyone, man or beast …

More yelling, whipping, screams of pain. Then, from the canopy above, a whirring sound began. It grew rapidly louder, then exploded into a chorus of caws and a fury of flapping as a mass of wings and feathers swooped down through the branches.

“Oy! What the— Help!” Zeb yelped.

“Come on, Marsh!” Jemma kicked Grayboy, and he lurched forward. Digby was just visible through the Mist, Steadfast backing away from the thick curtain of birds that had dropped around Zeb and his steed. Jemma galloped by, reaching out to smack Steadfast’s rump as she passed. Steadfast took off after her with Marsh thundering behind, leaving the panicked screams of Zeb and his horse to be absorbed into the Mist and the trees and the cacophany of wings.

The sun dipped toward the horizon. Once they were well south of Blackwater, they had crossed to the west of the Elm again, just before it branched off into the smaller Stoat River. For several hours, they had kept up an even pace, stopping
occasionally to let the ponies drink and snatch a snack of grass before pressing on.

The air was brisk, a stiff breeze whipping up. Jemma pulled Talon’s hat over her ears and huddled into her cloak. The terrain became more hilly, the gray tree silhouettes more frequent. They were entering Agromond territory. Once or twice the Mist investigated her, jumbling words in her head, but she finally had the measure of it, and by focusing on Flora’s smile, and envisioning the triplets safely back in Hazebury, she kept it at bay.

Soon, Jemma heard the faint rush of water in the distance: they were back near the Stoat River. Hazebury wasn’t far now. Digby and Marsh were practically out of sight, apparently unaware that she’d fallen behind. She kicked Grayboy into a faster canter.

“Dig, Marsh—wait for me.”

The wind buffeted Jemma’s words into the hillside. Unease bristled her back, and she urged Grayboy on. But Digby and Marsh were also gathering speed. The unease twined around her heart. Something felt very wrong. Grayboy, evidently, felt it too. He laid his ears flat, stretched out his neck, and surged forward, then veered sharply to the left, heading toward the river. Jemma was thrown to the right. The reins snapped from her hands, and her left foot wrenched from the stirrup, leaving her knee hooked over the saddle. She grabbed the pommel and held on for dear life, the rush of the Stoat becoming louder with each stride Grayboy took. Noodle and Pie peeked from the saddlebags, squealing as she’d never heard before. She followed their gaze. A black cloud was approaching, thick and deadly, swifter than Grayboy could bolt.

Mordsprites. Hundreds of them.

Jemma remembered her father’s warning:
Once they catch you unawares, they’ve got you in their clutches.…
Thank goodness she had seen them in time! Mustering every ounce of concentration she could, she envisioned a ball of gold Light expanding around her. The first ranks of Mordsprites slammed into it. She managed to grab one of the reins and heave herself back into the saddle. But the saddlebags were slipping sideways. Before she could stop them, they slid from Grayboy’s haunches and out of the protective light sphere, with Noodle and Pie inside.

A Mordsprite caught them in midair.

“No—Rattusses!”

The Mordsprite flew upward, lifting saddlebags and rats into the swarming throng.

“Noodle, Pie, jump!” Jemma shot a grounding cord to them as they tried to scramble free, but the Mordsprite swerved, and the cord missed. “Jump—
jump
! I can’t keep up—”

She leaned into Grayboy’s neck and urged him on.
Faster, boy, faster!
He shot forward. The saddlebags were just ahead now, Noodle and Pie dangling perilously from them.

“Now, Rattusses—
jump!
I’ll catch you!”

Suddenly, Grayboy pulled up at the river’s edge. Jemma flew over his ears, grasping for the rats, but she landed empty-handed in freezing water. Sputtering to the surface, she slammed into a rock. She clung onto it, looking frantically around. The black trail of Mordsprites turned to the right and disappeared into the Mist, dropping the saddlebags into the torrent below with the rats still dangling from them, and the crystals and book inside.

“Noodle! Pie!” Jemma screamed. She tried to wade farther into the river, but was swept off her feet and slammed into another rock, her cloak ripped from her shoulders by the rush of water. She pulled herself up the muddy bank, then ran in the direction of the flow, but the Mist was so thick that she could only just make out a piece of driftwood being tossed in the swell. Noodle and Pie were nowhere to be seen.
Please, please, let them be safe.…
For a split second, she thought she saw a streak of light speeding across the river, but it was swallowed, like the driftwood, into white noise.

“No-o-o-o!” Jemma leaned against a tree and wailed into her hands. “No-oooo—my Rattusses!” The Mist curled around her as if gloating in triumph. The treacherous river rushed by. The thought of never seeing Noodle and Pie again speared through her. How would she manage without them? It was unbearable. As unbearable as if she lost Digby or Marsh.

Digby. Marsh …

Suddenly, she realized where the Mordsprites had headed off to. “Oh, no,
no …
”

Grayboy nibbled her hair—Talon’s hat, she now realized, had also been claimed by the river. She shivered, her muscles like jelly. It was all she could do to climb back into the saddle. The pony set off of his own accord at a rapid trot, weaving between bushes and trees until Jemma could see Flashwing and Steadfast’s gray forms through the Mist.

“Marsh!” she cried. “Digby!” Nothing but chilly white. “Where are you?
Digby!
”

“Jem!” Digby leapt up behind a bramble bush. “Over here!”

“Dig, thank goodness!” Jemma slid off Grayboy and stumbled through the heather toward him. Marsh was lying in the
mud, rubbing her right calf, groaning. Jemma dropped to her knees beside her. “What happened?”

“Caught me unawares,” Marsh growled between gritted teeth. “An’ now look at me!”

“A great black cloud it was,” Digby croaked, squatting down. “Came right up behind us. Brought Marsh down, an’— Jem, are you all right? You’re soaked! An’ you look right shook up.”

“Thrown into the r-river. Noodle and Pie …” Jemma choked on the words. “Swept away.”

“No!” Digby gasped.

“Oh, Jem!” Marsh reached up and put her hand to Jemma’s face.

Jemma bit back tears. First her parents, then the rats, and now Marsh, who surely couldn’t go on in such pain—but at least Jemma could do something about that. Her hand was drawn to Marsh’s calf, sensing the jagged fracture beneath the skin. She pinpointed her intention, and drew energy through her Stone, saw the bone mending in her mind’s eye—

“Aaaagh—stop!” Marsh yelped and pushed Jemma’s hand away. “I can feel it knittin’ all wrong. It’s no good out here in the Mist, Jem, with you feelin’ so upset; an’ I’m no help neither, the state I’m in. I’ll ride back to Oakstead. Your folks’ll fix me up.”

“No, no! Let’s make a shelter—I’ll work all night, and, and … tomorrow, you’ll see—”

“Jem, there’s no time. Here, you two, help me up.”

Jemma and Digby lifted Marsh to sit. Her face was tight with pain.

“Listen to me. Jem, I knows you feel the loss of your
friends deep in your soul, an’ believe me, I knows how guttin’ it is. After my Julius was killed … Well, you jus’ can’t let it stop you. Think of the loss of them triplets to Digby and his folks. Think of the Prophecy. You mustn’t hold back now, not for a second, least of all to wait for me to heal. You got to go on without me.”

Jemma closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The Prophecy. Despite everything, it still burned inside her, driving her. She’d been drawn inexorably to this destiny from the moment she first started having doubts about the Agromonds, and had set it in motion with her first step toward escape. She tilted her face skyward and opened her eyes. How she would ever bring back the sun, she had no idea, but rescuing the triplets was vital. They couldn’t wait.

“Right,” she said. “We’d better get moving.”

With the help of a nearby rock and a great deal of effort, Digby and Jemma lifted Marsh into Flashwing’s saddle. Digby padded her wounded leg with Steadfast’s saddle rug.

“Well, pet,” said Marsh, squeezing Jemma’s hand, “it’s up to you an’ Digby now. Don’t forget the Light Game, will you? An’ blankin’, an’ …”

“I’ll remember, Marsh.” Jemma squeezed her hand back, gratitude for her dear ally’s years of devotion pouring through her. “Thank you. Be safe, won’t you? I— Oh!”

A golden wisp of light whisked out of nowhere and began spiraling around Marsh.

Marsh gasped. “A Luminal—Jem!”

“What? I didn’t do that!”

“Yes, you did! It wooshed up from behind you, I seen with my own eyes. Quick as a flash, they come. Whatever
you was thinkin’ just then is what brought it. Best protection I could wish for!” Marsh’s face glowed in the Luminal’s golden light.

“Protection?” Jemma thought of the streak she’d seen speeding across the river toward Noodle and Pie not ten minutes earlier. “Oh, I hope so.…”

“I know so, Jem. Ain’t no more Mordsprites can get me with this for company, even if they do catch me unawares!” She squeezed Jemma’s hand again, her expression turning serious. “You can do this, pet. I knows you can. See you soon, eh?”

Jemma nodded, and Marsh rode into the Mist, the Luminal rotating slowly around her.

“A Luminal,” said Digby. “After all these years! Not bad, Jem. Reckon I’ll be all right with you.”

“I don’t even know how I did that, Dig.
If
I did. So don’t go expecting Luminals at every twist and turn, all right?” She sighed. “I can’t believe Marsh didn’t sense the Mordsprites coming.”

“Ouff, you should’ve seen ’em! They jus’
went
for her. Din’t seem to even notice me.”

“Really? Maybe you do have some kind of immunity, Dig, like Marsh said. From Mordsprites, as well as the Mist.” She smiled. “Must be that purity of heart of yours.”

Digby shrugged and put his hand on her shoulder. “P’raps it’s ’cause I wasn’t thinkin’ of them Agromonds. I was thinkin’ of you, an’ holdin’ you, back there.”

Jemma remembered her father’s words about positive thoughts keeping Mordsprites at bay. Digby’s had probably saved Marsh from a worse assault too.

“How are you now, Jem?” Digby said. “After … you know …”

Jemma knew what he meant: Noodle and Pie. Sadness clawed at her. “I have to try and believe they’ll be safe, somehow.”

Digby nodded. “I feel like that about Flora, Tiny, and Simon. Come on, let’s get goin’. Ma will cook a good hot meal for us— Hey, I just realized, you’re completely dry!”

“So I am! That’s odd.…” The book and cloak were somewhere at the bottom of the Stoat River, along with the crystals. Had her Stone taken on some of their Power? She put her palm over it, and silently thanked it, grateful for not being soaked through.

They cantered on in silence. It was an effort for Jemma to suppress the image of Noodle and Pie being swept away, but she found that by imagining them surrounded by Light and jumping from the driftwood onto dry land, she could counter the hollow in her heart, and the rest of their journey passed without incident. Dusk brought a sharper breeze to the air, and at last, Hazebury’s ragged thatched rooves and gray stone cottages emerged through the Mist. From far above, came a doleful sound that struck doom into her bones:

Clang!

A light drizzle began to fall as they pulled up outside Goodfellow’s Grocery, its sign squeaking in the gathering wind.

“I’ll stable the horses,” Digby said, his teeth chattering. “You go on in.”

Jemma opened the door, expecting to find the warmth she remembered, but inside was almost as cold as out, the atmosphere denser than November clouds. Gordo and Berola Goodfellow sat hunched at the kitchen table, a candle stub set between them. They looked up as she walked in.

“Oh,” said Berola. “It’s you. You’ve got a nerve, you have.”

“Don’t know why you’re here,” Gordo muttered. “You, of all people.”

“But Gordo, Mrs. Goodfellow …” Jemma was taken aback. This wasn’t at all the sort of welcome she’d anticipated. “I don’t understand.… You asked Digby to fetch me.…”

“You? Come off it!” Gordo snapped. “It’s your fault this happened! Hadn’t been no snatchin’s for years, not since they took you. If you hadn’t escaped …” He lowered his eyes and stared at the candle’s wan flame. “An’ now, who knows if our babies is still alive, even.”

Guilt snapped through Jemma’s nerves, but then she remembered what her mother had said: No amount of Power would be enough for the Agromonds. The abductions would have started again, no matter what. Gordo and Berola were
desperate. That was why they blamed her. They just needed a little hope.

“Gordo, Mrs. Goodfellow,” she said gently, “I understand you thinking it’s my fault. But I’m going to do everything I can to get your little ones back. They
are
still alive, I know it. My dreams showed me … and my parents said—” Jemma stopped herself before any mention of sacrifice could escape her lips.