Now I see fire, inside the mountain
I see fire, burning the trees
And I see fire, hollowing souls
And I see fire, blood in the breeze
And I hope that you'll remember me
I See Fire—Jonathan Young
It's a three day trip to the Spelt-Mill, three miserable days filled with a constant drizzle and leaden skies. Julianne thinks of rain whispering against a windowpane, her sister whispering that someone is standing in the yard. They trudge through the woods with their heads down until the trees begin to thin and they can make out a valley spreading out in front of them. Sunlight streams down through the trees, casting a lazy river in golden light that looks so welcoming that Julianne nearly steps out of the cover of the forest. Dustfinger catches her wrist, shaking his head without looking at her. There aren't many buildings to be seen, just the mill and a few outbuildings for storage.
"I've never seen a mill before," she whispers, marveling at everything. She's sure it's not the most impressive thing, but a great wheel churns the water of the river and it's fascinating to her, hypnotic. Another glorious morning, makes me sick, she thinks, suppressing a giggle.
There's a cart in the yard, a man covered in flour loading sacks into it with barely a problem, built for such a task with his bulging arms and barrel chest. His son is sitting on the steps of the mill, watching on in quiet fascination or boredom. Julianne's sure it's more the latter than anything, daily tasks get old after a while and the boy has to be at least seven.
"I'm sure Fenoglio has written you something amazing to read," Farid whispers, trying to cheer Meggie up. "And if it's not here yet, then we'll wait." Dustfinger snaps his head around so fast that Julianne's surprised when it doesn't pop off his neck.
"Like hell we will," he hisses. "We'll ask after the letter and then move on."
"Is this place not safe?"
"Many people visit this mill and the soldiers will be coming right past here on the road. If we get spotted by them, they'll add us to their remaining prisoners." Farid's brows form a V above his eyes, head cocked to the side. "You and Meggie might be able to blend in, but Firefox knows Julianne and I don't exactly have a forgettable face." He traces a finger along one of his scars, a line of silver that cuts through the ginger stubble on his cheek.
"But what if the letter isn't here yet," Meggie asks anxiously. "I told Fenoglio that I'd wait for it here."
"I don't remember telling you to write to Fenoglio at all."
"What would you do if it was Roxane and Brianna that these soldiers had," Julianne asks, turning a hard look on Dustfinger. "If you had the power to change things with just your voice, wouldn't you do anything to keep them safe?" His scowl is answer enough and he turns to look past the trees again.
"Let's just get this over with and hope that the old man isn't showing your letter to the wrong person." He strides out of the woods with the others following after him, struggling to keep stride. There are times when Julianne really hates how short her legs are in comparison with everyone else's.
The boy raises his head when the chickens start making noise, edging away from the approaching group with a tense set to his shoulders. Gwin's head pops up from Farid's pack and then he's moving before anyone can stop him, chasing one of the hens into the mill past the startled boy. There's a ruckus and then silence, making Dustfinger sigh.
"Wonderful," he mutters irritably. "A marten in the flour and a dead chicken. Come on, we need to get this over with before the miller tries to lynch us." The man by the cart glances up when he notices them, wiping his hands on his trousers. "Could you tell me where the miller is? I'm expecting a letter and I've also got a chicken to pay for."
"I'm the miller now," the man says, straightening to his full height. He's a full head taller than Dustfinger and he's studying the fire-eater like his life depends on it. Dustfinger doesn't seem to notice it, his gaze drawn to the mill. "Where's the letter from?"
"Ombra. Say, why isn't the mill grinding? Don't the farmers bring you their grain anymore, or have you run out of men?" The miller shrugs, his eyes moving on to Julianne and then the kids. His indifference feels a little forced, eyes lingering on each of them a beat too long.
"Someone brought us damp spelt and it gummed up the works. My man's working on cleaning the gears now." He shifts his weight and tilts his head, narrowing his eyes in something just short of suspicion. "Who's the letter for?"
"It's for me," Meggie says, stepping up beside Dustfinger. She looks ready to burst from the anxiety growing in her chest, fingers fidgeting with the loose material of her dress. "I'm Meggie Folchart. Is the letter here?" The miller studies her again, more intently this time as he nods.
"I have it inside. I can't just give them away, you understand. It'd be a bad day if a letter ended up in the wrong hands these days. Go on inside while I finish loading these sacks. I'll be along in a moment." Meggie nods, looking to Dustfinger for his approval.
"Fill up our water bottles," Dustfinger tells Farid, handing his pack over. "I'll catch the damn marten and get the letter, then we're heading out again." They don't give him a chance to protest the job, the other three disappearing inside the mill. Julianne doesn't notice anything at first, not until they're well away from the door and her eyes follow the trail of blood to a pair of shining boots. She follows the boots to a pair of black trousers, a silver cloak, a knife in the belt, and the thin face that stars in most of her nightmares.
"Oh, son of a bitch," she grouses, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I always forget how hard it is to kill a cockroach." Basta's answering grin is just as nasty as it used to be, just as hard. Had she not seen the horrible things he's done, she might have found him handsome.
"Come now, Songbird," he purrs. "There's no need to be so nasty." Nasty would be commenting on your lack of fashion sense, buddy. The miller comes inside and kicks the door shut, blocking the only real exit. There's a window, but the miller's man is standing in front of it and another man is standing next to Basta.
"I take it these are the ones you're after," the miller says, all too pleased with himself. Julianne wants to put her hands around his neck and press hard, but she resists.
"The little witch with the fire-eater and the songbird in the bargain! It was well worth the wait even if I'll never get all this flour out of my lungs."
"Do me a favor and choke on it," Julianne mutters. Basta's gaze turns back to her and she ducks her head. Gwin is perched on the millstone between the two groups, eyeing the dead chicken in Basta's left hand like it's a prime steak. She glances at Dustfinger, silently urging him not to do anything stupid. If he dies because of that fucking marten, then Julianne will personally strangle Fenoglio herself.
"Grab the Marten, Slasher." She remembers Basta's friend now and how he earned his nickname. Basta is fond of his knife and has plenty of ideas of how to use it, but they all pale in comparison to what Slasher's done.
"Do it yourself," Slasher says, shaking his head. "I'd rather not catch rabies." Beside her, Dustfinger holds out a steady hand that doesn't betray his nerves. His expression is just as calm as usual, offering nothing to people that can't see past the fine cracks in his façade.
"Come here, Gwin," he calls. Gwin leaps off the stone and scrambles his way up onto Dustfinger's shoulder, curling his bushy tail around Dustfinger's neck like a scarf. "You've got fine new clothes for a servant, Basta. Did your new master buy them?"
"Dude," Julianne says," I think we share a brain. I was just thinking the same thing. Do you think his fine new clothes are a little too flashy?" Dustfinger nods and even cracks a smile when Basta growls. He sets his boot on the millstone, leaning forward threateningly.
"I'm no one's servant," he says. "How bold the two of you have grown in my absence! It's almost as though you've forgotten the feel of my knife on your face or my belt against your back." Dustfinger starts to raise a hand, but Basta gives a sharp shake of his head. "Put your hands in the air and keep them there, Dirtyfingers! One little whisper from you or a snap of your fingers and my knife goes in the little witch's chest."
"Bold words for someone that doesn't like to sleep without a light on," Meggie grumbles under her breath, glaring at Basta. There's no hint of fear in the way she holds herself, but her fingers are twitching like they itch to curl into fists. Julianne's own nails are biting into her palms, anxiety eating her up from the inside.
"See how the little witch is staring at me, Slasher," Basta asks with a mocking smile. He hadn't heard her comment, which is probably for the best. "What a pity she needs written words for her witchcraft, but there's no book anywhere here. Wasn't it nice of her to write to us in person to tell us where to find her?"
"Mm," Slasher grunts, looking bored as Basta takes on a bad falsetto.
"The Adderhead's men have taken them all away, my parents and the strolling players! Write something for me, Fenoglio!" Julianne goes cold as she realizes how Basta must have gotten his hands on the letter. He killed Cloud-Dancer. "You know, I was really disappointed to know that Silvertongue was still alive."
"Have you learned to read in the past two years or are you just rambling to see if we react," Julianne snaps. "If it's the latter, then I think I'll find somewhere to nap."
"I didn't have to learn, Julianne. A scribe ran into our arms right outside the city gates of Ombra and he was motivated to decipher your sister's scribblings." Basta pats his knife lovingly, stroking his thumb over the cross-guard. "We had enough of a head start to beat you three here and kill the old man's messenger."
"You're even more talkative than usual, Basta," Dustfinger says, sounding for all the world like he finds this tedious. Julianne wonders if anyone beside her and Roxane could see the fine mist over his eyes, the faint tremble in his shoulders. Basta draws his knife from his belt in a slow motion, admiring his reflection in the sharp blade.
"Talkative, eh? No one could say the same of you, could they? Don't worry, though, I'll do all the talking necessary when I carry the news of your death to your wife. Or should I say ex-wife? Seems Roxane moved on to a farmer in your absence. Perhaps she'll be happy to see me again." The thought of having this monster around her new family is enough to make her speak without thinking.
"Get anywhere near that farm and I'll carve you up with your own knife," she snarls, baring her teeth. Basta just laughs, tossing his head back dramatically. His dark hair brushes over his cheeks when he straightens again, that ugly smile still twisting his lips.
"You won't be able to carve me up, little miss. I'll have you locked in a gilded cage and make you sing for me every night until you lose your voice just like your mother did. After that, I'll pluck your tongue out and leave you for the animals." She swallows hard, somehow always forgetting that Basta's favorite activity is describing the horrible things he wants to do to people.
"How'd you get my letter," Meggie demands, stamping her foot. She's not fully focused on Basta like she should be, her gaze straying to the hopper over the millstone. Julianne flicks her eyes up as well, able to see the faint shine of fire reflected in the metal, a quiet voice whispering the words that conjure flames. Basta doesn't know that Farid is with us.
"It was simple." Basta runs two fingers over his knife, like he's caressing a lover rather than castle-forged steel. "Your messenger was a stiff-legged tightrope-walker that wasn't nearly as fast as my knife." All of Julianne's hope that Cloud-Dancer had survived is dashed against the rocks, broken up like so much fine china.
"You killed Cloud-Dancer," Dustfinger asks, all his false placidity falling to the wayside. Basta smiles like the cat that got the cream, contentment filling his voice when he speaks again.
"Did you not already know? Well, there'll certainly be no more dancing for your old friend."
"You're lying," Meggie yells, but her voice is shaky and tears make her eyes shine. Dustfinger pushes her roughly behind him as Basta jumps up onto the millstone and looks down at them. Is this how Red Riding Hood felt when the Big Bad Wolf revealed himself to her? My, Grandmother, what a sharp knife you have.
"Why should I lie, little witch?" He tosses his knife from hand to hand and Julianne thinks the bad guy finger-snapping will be coming anytime. "Dirtyfingers is much faster than the messenger, I know, but not faster than my knife. I think this time I'll carve you up like a ham from head to foot."
Basta looks ready to leap at them when the first flames shoot out of the hopper above him, licking at Basta's boots. He shouts and overbalances, toppling backwards as the miller starts to yell for water, cracking his head against the millstone. The miller's man jolts as Farid comes storming down the stairs, watching as Farid grabs Meggie's arm and propels her to a window.
"He's my new favorite person," Julianne says, wide-eyed. "You know, aside from Dustin. Farid's definitely in the top five."
"I'm a little busy, dear," Dustfinger grits out, urging the flames higher. The miller and his men are beating desperately at the fire with empty sacks, but Dustfinger's whispered words are more powerful. The fire surges upwards, a devouring, hungry thing that drives the miller and his man backwards in fear of it.
"Come on," Farid shouts, crouched on the windowsill. "Hurry up!"
"Go, I'll be right behind you!" Julianne nods, starting toward the window only to freeze a moment later. The place where Basta had fallen is empty aside from a pool of blood, a pair of boot prints in the ashes. "Juli, go!"
"Get them," Basta howls from somewhere among the smoke. It's really gathering now, making Julianne's eyes burn and her lungs ache. She can't stand the smell of it, the taste of ash on her tongue. "Hold the fire-eater!" Dustfinger drops his hands and begins to run, able to catch up with Julianne before his foot lands on an empty sack and he sprawls out on the ground.
"Dustfinger," she shouts, pulling at his arm.
"Julianne, help him," Farid yells from somewhere behind her. There's a sound like feet on stone and a faraway part of her mind acknowledges that Farid is trying to scramble back into the mill to help them out. Her hands shake as she picks up a broom, holding it like a bat and readying to swing as Slasher approaches.
"Stay back!" His grin is an ugly thing that belongs in a children's cartoon, revealing crooked, stained teeth. She lets him get within range and then she swings as hard as she can, the broom handle cracking against his jaw and sending him back a foot. It's enough time for Dustfinger to regain his footing at any rate, enough time for Farid to wriggle his way back inside.
"He's coming back!" Slasher is a strong little bastard, she'll give him that. His trousers have caught fire, but he still manages to swing his sword and catch Dustfinger in the thigh. Dustfinger leans hard against Julianne, fighting to stay on his feet as Farid rushes past them. The boy leaps onto Slasher without hesitation, sinking his teeth into the man's shoulder until his sword clatters to the floor and he follows soon after. He looks ready to attack Basta, but Julianne latches onto the back of his shirt and pushes him toward the window. Dustfinger raises one hand and hisses as the flames leap higher, engulfing Basta until the man starts to scream.
"Go," Dustfinger shouts. "Come on! Go!" Farid is the first one out the window, then Julianne so they can help keep Dustfinger upright when he jumps into the river. The cold water is a shock after the prickling heat inside the mill, Julianne's breath hitching in her throat even as she tries to keep moving.
They don't talk as they slog through the water, just doing their best to focus on the upside to this whole disaster: Basta might be dead. The flames had licked up his body, devouring his silver cloak and making his screams grow louder. She doesn't think she'll forget that sound, the unadulterated agony Basta must have been feeling, the fear.
It's dark by the time they drag themselves out of the river, their clothes soaked and heavy as they trudge away from the bank to the shelter of the trees. Julianne sprawls out on the grass, too tired to remove her wet clothes. The others follow suit, all except for Farid. He's standing and alert despite the way he's swaying slightly, eyes wide.
"What's making that sound," he whispers.
"The sea," Dustfinger slurs out, cheek pressed against the grass. Julianne can barely make him out, wriggling blindly until she's curled against his side and soaking up some of his meagre warmth.
"What's the sea," she asks, eyes closed.
"Listen." She does, straining for anything that isn't the river. It's a distant sound, the roaring of waves as they crash against the sand. She's missed that sound, a soothing background noise that she could sit and listen to for hours. Tonight, however, she just wants to sleep. "You weren't lying about that softball scholarship, little bird. You knocked Slasher's block off."
"Damn right. I've got a mean swing." She forces herself to sit up, watching as Farid digs through Dustfinger's pack. He's muttering something, shooing the martens away with one hand and bringing clean bandages out with the other. "How's your leg?"
"I've had worse." Meggie kneels beside him, looking as though anxiety is eating her up from the inside out. They must get that particular illness from Mo considering he's the set of genes they've got in common.
"This is all my fault," she says, wringing her dress between her hands. "I sent that stupid message and it got Cloud-Dancer killed, and- and…." She gestures at Dustfinger's leg, the cut on his thigh bleeding freely. "And you're hurt! We didn't even get the stupid letter from Fenoglio." Dustfinger flops onto his back after Farid pats his good leg.
"Don't blame yourself for everything, Meggie." Dustfinger keeps his voice even, calm. "This whole story can be laid at Fenoglio's feet, not yours." He spits out Fenoglio's name like it's poison on his tongue, his lips drawing tight over his teeth as Farid dumps something that glitters over his wound. "Sweet Christ—"
"Don't be such a baby," Farid mumbles. "It's just fairy dust." Dustfinger looks ready to pitch a fit, but Meggie steps in.
"Did you feel his words back there," she asks in a hushed voice. "The weight of them on your shoulders before Gwin came to you?" Her cheeks are flushed, but Julianne can't tell if it's from fear or the cold. "I thought for sure Basta was going to do what Fenoglio wrote in his book."
"Oh, Jesus," Julianne moans, flopping sideways again. "I'd forgotten about those damn words! I'm going to strangle Fenoglio when we get back to Ombra." Farid growls low in his throat, tying strips of cloth around Dustfinger's leg with clumsy fingers. His face is still twisted with pain when Dustfinger takes his wrists gently in hand.
"Your fingers look as though a dozen fire-elves have landed on them," he says, frowning down at the blisters. "I suppose we'll need to find a physician." He sighs, lying back on the damp grass with one arm under his head. "You know, Farid, if Meggie's father hadn't plucked me out of my story, I wouldn't have found such a fabulous watchdog."
"Watchdog," Meggie asks, brows furrowed.
"Did you not see the way he attacked Slasher? Between him and your sister, that particular fire-raiser will have good reason to avoid confrontations for a good long while." Meggie slaps her palm against her forehead, looking beyond exasperated.
"She hit him with a broom, didn't she? Mo's told you to stop doing that, Juli." Julianne shrugs, making a show of examining nails that she can't quite see in the dark. She knows that they'll be dirty and cracked, so it's probably a good thing she can't actually see them.
"You should have seen the two of them, Princess. Julianne swung that broom like it had personally offended her and Farid bit Slasher's shoulder with such force that he probably thought it was the Prince's bear taken human form." Farid ducks his head in embarrassment, plucking at blades of grass.
"It wasn't so impressive," he says, shaking his head.
"Farid is much cleverer than some bear," Meggie states, and the sly smile she sends Farid is enough to make Julianne want to bang her head against a tree. She's way too young to be an aunt.
"Cleverer than me, too," Dustfinger adds. Farid's blush spreads to his ears and there's a faint smile at the corner of his mouth. "As for what he can do with fire, well…. It won't be too long before I'm able to retire and he can take care of all of us." The faint smile curls into a proud grin.
"Dustin won't like that much," Julianne says. She lays back with her head in Meggie's lap and her eyes on the stars, tiny pinpricks of light in the dark. Beside her, Dustfinger prods at his leg and stands, limping around a few times with some irritable grumbling.
"Why's that? Won't he love having his daddy home?"
"He'd hate to have his Uncle Fair gone, though." There's no denying the pride that makes Farid's chest swell this time, his grin broad enough to show teeth. Dustin is a loving child like Meggie had been, always ready for cuddles and love, but he's claimed Farid as his number one guy. If the kid ever decides to demand one million dollars, he'd make Farid be there to laugh evilly with him.
"He's got good taste," Farid says, winking at her. "He's got his Ma and his Uncle Fair. Why should he need anyone else?" Dustfinger makes a sound of offense, dropping back down beside them to ruffle Farid's curls. Farid bats the hand away, but there's a fond gleam in his dark eyes.
"The boy's got a point."
"I take back what I said about him being clever," Dustfinger sniffs, but he can't hold back his smile when Farid nudges him with his shoulder. "Although, when do you think we should inform our darling Dee that Farid is his brother?"
"It's not going to stick, so why bother? He's got Uncle Fair and Jai, then he's got Auntie Meggs and Aunt Roxane. The kid's picking up aunts and uncles like they're going out of style. At this rate, he's going to take one look at Jehan in the near future and decide that he's Uncle Toast."
"Toast," Meggie asks, wrinkling her nose.
"It's a long story." Julianne waves off her sister's confusion, then keeps waving her hand because she's just tired enough that everything seems funny. She's pretty sure Freddy Krueger follows that, his knives all sharp and his gallows humor surprisingly good considering he was created in the eighties. Welcome to prime time, bitch. She giggles because her inner monologue is funny and fuck anyone who says differently.
"Freddy Krueger thoughts?"
"Yup." Meggie nods once, a curt little thing like a soldier readying for a fresh wave of gunfire. Julianne laughs at that, too. "You need to get some sleep because I'm too tired to deal with what comes after Freddy."
"What comes after Freddy," Dustfinger asks. "I usually slipped some of her hydroxyzine in her coffee before she got that far." Which makes sense now that she thinks of it. Usually she could pull all-nighters without a problem when working on school papers, but she was always in bed before midnight when Dustfinger came to visit.
"She starts to quote Poe or Stephen King, it depends on which of them she's been listening to." Meggie shrugs, used to Julianne's odd little quirks when she's running on fumes.
"Not surprising." Dustfinger hums, tracing a fingertip over Julianne's brow with a touch light as a feather. She relaxes into it, eyes fluttering shut as the finger moves down her nose and traces her lips before withdrawing. "Farid, I believe I owe you a debt. How about I repay you by showing you a game with fire that only I know?"
"What kind of game," Farid asks, and the excitement in his voice makes Julianne remember just how young he still is.
"The game requires the sea and, thankfully, we must head in that direction to see a physician anyway. The best physician I know lives near the sea, but it's always in the shadow of the Castle of Night." There's a moment of quiet and then there are fingers working through Julianne's knotted hair. "How shall I repay you, Juli?"
"A kiss," she answers. Dustfinger's chuckle is a quiet thing that vibrates in his chest, his lips just as soft as his touch had been a moment ago. They brush against Julianne's teasingly at first, barely more than a whisper, but then there's just enough force to make her toes curl. When he pulls back, she can taste the fire-elves' honey on her tongue.
"Would you sing for us, little bird? Something to keep the nightmares at bay?" She nods but has to stop and think for a moment. She can't exactly sing the Barney theme song now that her sister is older than five and she's certainly not singing the lullaby Resa had taught her because it doesn't feel right. Fenoglio's songs saved Mo's life. And, really, that settles the matter.
"Bright hope arises from the dark and makes the mighty tremble…."
Sorry for how late this chapter is! I had most of Inkspell written out, but my flashdrive corrupted and I had to rewrite several chapters which filled me with endless amounts of spite.