The Flame in the Mist (7 page)

But something else had caught Jemma’s attention.

In the middle of the dressing table was a glass jar, in which two cylindrical crystals were immersed in dark liquid. In all the times Jemma had brought Nocturna’s breakfast tray to her, she’d never noticed them before.
Take the crystals out! Take them with you!
a voice in her head urged. No—she mustn’t falter now. Not for anything. But the voice insisted:
Do it! Take them!

Jemma reached for the jar and hastily removed the crystals. They were cloudy and gray, about three inches long, and pointed at each end. She slipped them into her pockets, and quietly replaced the jar. Just steps away from the bed, she crept toward it again.

Nocturna lay sprawled across her four-poster island, satin sheets in twisted disarray as if they’d been besieged. Her face, illuminated by the soft aqua of Jemma’s Stone, was beautiful, but her chest was now covered with a livid rash.
It’s as if the Stone is attacking her skin
, Jemma thought,
now that I’ve realized it’s mine
.

More rustling, as the other two weasels stirred. They started snoring, gently at first, then louder, like the saw Drudge used to cut up carcasses. No wonder Nox slept in his own room.

Nocturna groaned and turned over, then started thrashing her arms and legs. Jemma stiffened, but Nocturna rolled onto her back, arms splayed, revealing her own amulet lying on her chest, next to Jemma’s. The weasels snuffled, stirred, and continued their rattling snores.

Jemma stood beside the bed, and leaned in. Her Stone’s clasp lay on Nocturna’s shoulder, tangled in her hair. As
Jemma inched her hands toward it, her Stone’s light began to pulse. But so did Nocturna’s, blood-red glowing from deep within its blackness.

Jemma found the clasp, her fingers working fast. The blood-red pulse grew stronger, its heat burning her hands. Suddenly, Nocturna’s eyes shot open. She sat upright, arms and torso stiff, and stared straight ahead of her.

“
Jem
-maaah!” she hissed, her eyes like glass. She was still fast asleep.

Jemma held her breath, petrified, while her fingers kept working. But now Rook had woken, and fluttered frantically under his blanket.

“Caw! Caw!”

Nocturna began to shake as if possessed.

“CAW!”

With one last frantic scramble, Jemma’s fingers freed the chain’s clasp. Her fist closed around her Stone. Nocturna keeled backward in a dead sleep, her face reflecting the fierce, red glow of her own amulet, which throbbed under her chin like a warning signal.

Jemma dashed from Nocturna’s room and leaned against the cold wall of the corridor, clutching her precious Stone in her left hand. Waves of euphoria flowed through her. After a few gulps of air, she hastened toward her Bed-Chamber. Lightning flashed through the hall windows below, illuminating the upstairs landing.

Someone was outside her door, holding a candle. Nox. He turned, and saw her.

“Jemma—you’re up!”

Jemma’s mind leapt into action. She glazed her eyes, stiffened, and glided past him.

“Jemma?”

She continued along the East Corridor toward Marsh’s tower.

“Jemma!” Footsteps hurried behind her. “Flamehead, are you asleep? It’s me, Papa!”

Nox touched her shoulder and gently turned her to face him. Jemma widened her eyes and gripped her Stone harder.

“Flamehead, wake up!”

“Mmmm?” Jemma blinked. “Oh, Papa!” She looked around. “Why—what—?”

“You were sleepwalking,” he chuckled.

“In Mord’s name!
Really?
”

“Yes, really!” Nox smiled. “And with your eyes wide open! You should see how they’re glowing—like beautiful blue-green lamps. Now, to sleep with you, my little storm lover. Come. I’ll tuck you in.” He took Jemma’s right hand and led her toward her Bed-Chamber, candle sputtering.

Oh, no—he would see that her sheets were all ripped up.…

Just as they reached her door, Jemma feigned a sneeze and blew his candle out.

“My poor child, have you caught chill? Quickly, into bed. Keep your clothes on; you’ll be warmer.” Nox fumbled into the room. Jemma leapt under the blankets and hastily straightened them over her, hoping he wouldn’t notice the two furry shapes that nestled in behind her.

“My dear Flamehead.” Nox leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. “You remind me so much of someone I knew,
long ago. When you were little—around the same age she was when she died—I used to watch you while you slept, wondering what you were dreaming.”

“Oh.” Jemma’s heart squeezed a little, remembering the twin sister Nocturna had mentioned. Then, thinking it might be suspicious if she didn’t show curiosity, she asked, “Who was she, Papa?”

“Someone very dear to me. But it doesn’t matter now; it’s all in the past. Sleep tight, Flamehead. And happy birthday! Midnight has struck, you know.”

“Oh? I didn’t hear it.” Jemma clutched her Stone. “Thank you, Papa.”

Sometimes
, she thought as Nox closed the door,
he seems so ordinary. It’s hard to think that he could possibly do anything to harm me
. But he
had
harmed her. Had torn her away from her real family. She steeled her heart and closed her eyes, knowing that she must wait yet again for a safe amount of time, until he was asleep. Then she could make her move.

Never had she imagined it could be so easy to escape the castle. Being Outside felt completely natural, as if she had been there her whole life. The air was part of her; the breeze defined the edges of her skin, the sound of it in the trees invigorated her bones. Golden light dappled everywhere, and danced in her veins. She was free! Free at last to twirl and swirl, to run from the forest and out under the Mistless sky, the sky Marsh had described so often. Then she was standing on a cliff, looking down at a sparkling expanse of water the color of her Stone, the color of her eyes.…

“Jemma … Jemma!” A voice lilted from behind her. She wheeled around. A woman was running toward her, arms
outstretched, auburn hair streaming like a sunlit flag. The woman began to sing, the song beautifully familiar, lilting like a lullaby: “Jemma—my darling angel!” Jemma was flying then, over a field of flaxen waves, cloud shadows racing her, and then everything turned lilac-colored, the lilac of the shawl the woman was wearing—the same shawl Marsh had wrapped the books in! Jemma felt its softness on her cheek, breathed in its fragrance as strong arms held her, safe at last.… But—how could this be? Wasn’t the shawl at the castle, under her mattress with the books …?

The sky blackened. Clouds, playful only moments ago, menaced and lowered. A bell tolled. One … Wind whipped up, pulling her away. Two … The woman’s arms were letting go.…

Jemma woke on the last strike of three, clutching her Stone. Pie was tugging at her clothes. Noodle, tangled in her hair, was nipping her ears. Neither the storm outside nor the rats’ attempts to wake her had broken into her sleep.

“Oh,
no
! The night’s half over—we must fly!”

Jemma leapt out of bed, tied her Stone around her neck, and yanked on her weekday boots. Then she grabbed the lilac pouch from under her mattress, knotted it around her waist, and fled from her room, with Noodle in one pocket, Pie in the other. The Stone dangled from her neck, like an aquamarine beacon lighting her way to a new life.

Jemma crept up to Drudge’s sleeping alcove just inside the Corridor of the Dungeons. A wire was strung across it, on which his tattered velvet jacket and doublet hung like a makeshift curtain. She winced as she pulled them aside, imagining decades of filth swarming onto her hand.

Drudge lay on his pallet as if someone had dropped him from the ceiling, a skeletal mound whose snores ricocheted around the granite walls. Jemma peeked under a corner of his worn blanket. The keys were on a large ring tied to a thin, leather strap around his waist. Noodle and Pie hopped from Jemma’s pockets and quickly gnawed through it. She grabbed the keys. They clanked loudly.

Drudge opened one yellow eye. “Jmaaaagh! Help—”

Jemma spotted an edge of white porcelain under his pallet: his chamber pot. “Sorry, old man,” she said, grabbing it. “I can’t risk you sounding the alarm.” For a second, his eyes met hers, and he seemed suddenly meek; just very old and tired, and not sinister at all. She felt a pang of guilt. Then panic took over, and she swung the pot onto his head. Foul-smelling liquid spattered her dress. He groaned and fell back onto his straw pillow.

“Sorry,” she whispered again, then took off across the kitchen, her pouch banging against her hip as she ran. The book, food, and knife inside it were heavy, but she was glad she had them. Halfway down the South Corridor, she remembered something else: the two crystals. She checked her pockets: empty. “Oh, no! They must have fallen out while I was asleep.…” For some reason, she felt sad about leaving the crystals behind, but it was too late to go back for them now.

She stopped at the first of the three locked doors. Noodle and Pie ran to and fro across its threshold as Jemma fumbled with the keys. Most were shiny and smooth from recent use, but three were lumpy and covered with rust—the three, Jemma guessed, that she needed. The first was too big; the second, too small. The third slipped into the lock, and turned with surprising ease. She looked down at the rats, who stared up at her, unblinking.

“What is it?” she whispered, pushing the door open.

A faint sound began echoing in her head: high, distant squeals. As she stepped inside, her boots crunched onto something brittle. She looked down. Thousands of small bones were strewn everywhere—tiny mouse- and rat-sized rib cages and skulls—and whole skeletons nailed to the walls in tortured positions: bats and birds, their wings tattered by years of decay.

Jemma reeled back in dismay. “Ugh! You were trying to warn me, Rattusses, weren’t you?” She covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, the poor things …”

She and the rats ran along the corridor to the second door. Her hand shook as she tried the first, then the second of the remaining keys. Neither worked. She tried the first again, using both hands to turn it. The lock gave slightly, then shot
back. Noodle and Pie started dashing across the threshold again.

“You know there’s something bad, don’t you?” Jemma whispered. “But what if the escape tunnel is in here?” She pushed the door, but something behind it prevented it from opening. The rats nipped at her feet, squealing. The echoes in her head began again, closer now, and lower in pitch. She leaned harder against the door. Slowly, it scraped open.

What met her eyes was more horrific than she could have imagined. Countless small human skeletons were grouped together in twos and threes, some whose arm bones embraced another; others with finger bones entwined. Several behind the door looked as though they’d been trying to claw their way out.

“Oh, no … 
No!
” Jemma leaned against the door frame as the horror sank into her, and she held her head to stop the voices. The screams that had haunted her dreams for so long. Children, calling for help. Were these their remains? How long had they been here? Her stomach heaved.

Noodle and Pie clawed at her ankles. But Jemma’s legs felt leaden, and she couldn’t move. Pie clambered up to her shoulders, leaned around her neck, and nudged the Stone. Jemma closed her hand around it. Its energy infused her. Pie jumped back down to the ground, and the three of them set off again. Through the kitchen. Along the West Passage. Into the Vat Room. Across it was the third and last locked door. The final key slid easily into the lock as if it was well-oiled and ready for her, and the door swayed open into a long corridor, curtained with cobwebs. At the far end, she could just make out another door.

“Thank goodness—that must be it!” Jemma slipped the
key ring around her wrist, leather strap dangling, and ran, the rats bounding alongside. The walls on their right were interspersed with glassless, barred windows through which rain teemed from outside, puddling at intervals along the floor. She slashed through the cobwebs as she passed the first three windows, then the fourth, the fifth, the sixth.…

A swooshing sound swept up from behind her. Black wings swooped at her and swiped at her cheeks. Noodle and Pie clambered to her shoulders and struck out at the creature as Jemma grabbed it and wrenched it away from her face. A gray beak jabbed at her hands, drawing blood. Jet eyes blazed at her, full of malice.

“Rook!” Jemma stopped and tore at his feathers. He screeched in pain but kept beating his wings, trying to peck her neck. “You foul creature! I don’t want to kill you, but you give me no choice!” She reached for the knife in her pouch, but Drudge’s keys, clanking on her wrist, gave her another idea. In one deft motion, she slipped her hand free of the key ring and whipped its leather strap around Rook’s legs, then tied it to the bars of the seventh window. Rook flapped furiously, wings slapping the stone walls as rain sheeted onto him from behind. “Struggle all you like, wretched bird!” she said, knotting the strap securely. “You won’t get free. Now, hang on, Rattusses.”

The rats clung to Jemma’s shoulders as she took off, Rook’s caws fading behind them. But his presence meant Nocturna wouldn’t be far behind. Jemma ran as never before, past the eighth window … the ninth, tenth.… The opening at the end of the passageway was getting closer. They were only seconds from it.…

Wham!
A portcullis slammed down in front of them.

“No!” Jemma hammered at the iron bars with her fists. “Not now! Mother of
Majem
!”

A deafening boom rang out: the single stroke of three-thirty.

Light flickered behind them. Footsteps and rustling silk approached. Jemma clasped her Stone and tugged, breaking the fine chain holding it around her neck, then turned. Nocturna was speeding toward them, lamp in hand, the angles of her face sharp in its light. Her four black weasels trailed her like malevolent shadows. Jemma backed into the portcullis, Noodle and Pie quivering into her neck.