Gossan lurched to his feet and lunged forward, grabbing at Martin. But the spriggan moved like the breeze, slipping out of his stony grasp. No matter how many times the Jack clutched at him, he couldn’t seem to keep hold, and even Betony was beginning to frown before Gossan finally got both arms around Martin’s ribs, hoisted him in the air, and began to crush him.
Martin’s face reddened, and he let out a whistling gasp. The knockers roared, and Ivy clapped her hands to her mouth. But then, impossibly, Martin slithered free and dropped to a crouch at Gossan’s feet.
The Jack staggered back, teeth bared in a snarl. “You cheating spriggan worm. Stop changing shape!”
“Am I?” panted Martin. “I just thought you were slow and clumsy.”
Gossan glared at him. Then he took a deliberate breath, wiped his hands down the front of his trousers and straightened up. “You won’t win that way, and you know it. Why are you wasting time?”
Ivy clutched her elbows, fighting panic. If Gossan guessed this was only a distraction, he’d call off the match and send his soldiers into the Delve at once. But Martin only tossed back his hair and gave Gossan a feral grin.
“Why not? After all the years your people made sport of hunting mine, it seems only fair to play with you a bit. And surely you can figure out how to kill a spriggan without me making it easy for you?”
Gossan spat in his hands and stalked forward, his chiseled features ugly with hatred. He lunged left, then right, blocking Martin before he could dart aside. Then he seized him by both shoulders—and instead of dodging, Martin thrust his arms up between Gossan’s and shoved them apart.
That was raw strength, not trickery, and by the shock on his face Gossan knew it. But he set his teeth and snatched at Martin again. Arms twined and muscles straining, they staggered in a circle, staying upright longer than Ivy would have dreamed possible. But then, they didn’t seem quite so mismatched as before . . .
With a start, Ivy realized what was happening. Instead of shifting smaller, Martin was making himself subtly bigger and heavier to hold the Jack at bay. But Gossan was no fool, and no stranger to changing size either. He began to grow as well, and soon he and Martin had reached human height, lurching about the Engine House like grappling giants. The final round, the test of strength, had begun.
At this size the ring was still large enough to hold them, but barely, and the soldiers scuttled back to give the champions more room. Betony stood her ground, but she looked more impatient by the minute, fingers drumming her arm as she waited for the match to end.
Yet incredibly, the two men kept wrestling. They scrambled back and forth, clutching at one another, and now and then the Jack managed to throw Martin down. But though every fall seemed fit to crush him, he always leaped up again. Even filthy and bruised all over, he refused to give Gossan the upper hand.
Then a rook flapped over the Engine House, croaking, and Ivy’s heart bounded. It was Broch, giving the signal she’d prayed all night to hear. Their plan had succeeded. Mica, Mattock, and the other men were free.
Yet their triumph would be short-lived unless Martin won this contest, and she could see him starting to falter. Distracting him could be risky, but if it gave him the heart to keep fighting, it would be worth it. “Martin!” Ivy shouted. “They’ve done it!”
His eyes flashed to hers, bright with sudden joy. Then the Jack’s tough skull cracked into his, and he fell down stunned with Gossan on top of him. Before he could recover, the older man grabbed him by the throat.
Ivy screamed, but the knockers’ cheers drowned her out. Wildly she started forward, but firm hands seized her. “Don’t be a slag-wit!” a familiar voice shouted. “You can’t stop the fight now!”
It was Mica. Grimy from two nights in Betony’s dungeon, reeking of sweat and worse, but alive. And on Ivy’s other side, his eyes full of pity, stood Mattock.
“You can’t interfere, Ivy,” he said.
Ivy struggled to free herself from Mica, but it was no use. The soldiers crowded closer, eager to see their Jack’s triumph, while Martin lay helpless with the life half-choked out of him, face purpling as he fought for breath.
Then Gossan shied back, his grip broken. The slender neck he’d been throttling had rippled into bullish muscle, Martin’s fine features swelling to monstrosity as he changed to his ancestors’ treasure-guarding shape. He heaved himself upright and clapped one ogreish hand around Gossan’s neck.
Martin had told Ivy that the spriggan boys had taught him a few tricks, but she’d never guessed he knew that one. His lips curled, baring peg-like teeth, and the Jack’s eyes bulged with terror as he scrabbled to get free. But Martin only gripped him tighter, and a blue tinge crept over Gossan’s face. He squirmed, batted weakly at the spriggan’s hand, and finally went limp.
Martin spoke then, his voice like a gravelly earthquake. “I could tear your head from your shoulders,” he said, giving the Jack a shake, “and there’s little doubt you deserve it. However, I am heartily sick of killing, so I’ll ask you: do you yield?”
Gossan squeezed his eyes shut, tears striping his dirty cheeks. “I—”
“Let go of him, spriggan!” Light flashed through the Engine House as Betony shot up to human height and strode forward, flames crackling around her knotted fists. “The contest is forfeit!”
Martin sat back on his haunches, small eyes wary in the bulbous mask of his face. “How so?”
“You cheated! Tricked him with a false face, hiding your true nature—”
“He did not.” Ivy wrenched free of Mattock, stepping over the startled knockers as she too grew to human size. “Martin fought with his own strength, as the rules said, and his faery shape is as real as the one he wears now.” And nearly as strong, or he couldn’t have wrestled Gossan as long as he had before changing. “It’s not his fault you underestimated him.”
“How dare you interrupt me.” Betony’s tone was venomous. “You speak as though you were my equal? A wingless, weak, half-faery child? If you weren’t my brother’s daughter—”
“You’d do what?” challenged Ivy. Her heart beat frantically, and her skin was crawling with fear, but this could be her last chance to expose Betony. “Banish me? Burn my mother half to death? Murder my best friend in front of my eyes? How many more ways can you punish me for telling the truth?”
Betony barked out a laugh. “Truth, you say! All you know are the lies your spriggan lover tells you. If you had the right to dethrone me, the Joan’s fire would have passed to you long ago. But you have no power, only ignorance and pride.” She raised her arms menacingly. “Stand aside, Ivy. I won’t ask you again.”
Ivy shook her head. “You’ve lost, and threatening me won’t change that. Martin is Jack of the Delve now.”
“Not while I breathe,” Betony spat. “Drop my consort, spriggan, or I’ll boil the blood in your veins. You haven’t won yet.”
“Technically true,” admitted Martin, still holding Gossan at arm’s length. “But I’m still waiting for him to yield. I think we ought to give him a chance, don’t you?”
The Jack sagged, turning hopeless eyes to Betony. Then he sucked in a rattling breath and gasped, “I—yiel—”
“No!” Betony shrieked, lunging at Martin. But Ivy leaped in front of him and grabbed her aunt’s flaming wrists instead.
The pain was instant and excruciating, searing through her hands to her whole body. She could feel fire racing up her arms and across her chest, her betrothal pendant flaring white-hot and the wool of her sweater withering to expose raw skin beneath. Ivy’s knees buckled, and she clamped her teeth shut, biting her cheek so hard she tasted blood.
This was nothing like the little flame Thorn had conjured on the hillside or the tingling of Valerian’s spell-fire. This was the infernal power of Betony’s wrath, the same dark magic that had scorched Jenny to ash and left Shale a charred husk on the Joan’s stateroom floor. Yet Ivy clung doggedly to her aunt, refusing to let go until either the flames died or she d
id.
She couldn’t look down, couldn’t bear to see the horror she was becoming. Surely her agony should have faded by now, as the fire flayed past skin and nerves to the muscles beneath. Yet the fire burned hotter than ever, scorching through Ivy’s very bones. How was she standing? Her legs should have crumbled long ago.
Ivy threw her head back and flung her arms out like wings. Then with the last of her strength she hurled herself at her aunt.
Betony shrieked and toppled, her whole body convulsing. The fire in her hands died—and with a shout of triumph Ivy leaped to her feet, gloriously reborn.
She’d staked her life on the hope that Betony’s power might not be all it seemed, and she’d been right. The searing pain that had wracked Ivy was only a glamour, like the smoke and heat she’d felt in the barn. Betony hadn’t just warded the farmstead to keep Ivy and her followers from using it; she’d done it to keep them from seeing the lack of fire damage and guessing the truth.
Yet the air around Ivy seemed strangely bright, full of shimmering waves and ripples. Her ears roared, and she could hear something crackling nearby. What was that writhing shape at her feet? She squinted through the brightness but saw nothing she recognized, and in a moment it stopped moving and crumbled away.
“Ivy.”
Martin’s voice cut through her daze, and she turned to look at him. No longer monstrous, he knelt beside Gossan, his eyes shining silver with awe.
What was he staring at? Bewildered, Ivy glanced down—and gave a little cry of astonishment. Her whole body was covered with flickering tongues of fire.
“My mad, magnificent queen.” Martin climbed to his feet, a little unsteady, but smiling. “You never could learn anything the easy way. But could you put that out before you burn anyone else to charcoal?”
For a confused moment Ivy had no idea what he meant. Then horror seized her and she spun around, looking for Betony. But there was nothing left of the older woman but ashes and charred bones.
The fire Ivy had kindled died, and the cool night air rushed in around her. She stood trembling on the trampled soil of the wrestling ground, eyes blurred and chest knotted with grief. She hadn’t meant to kill Betony, only to expose her aunt’s trickery. After all her efforts to make fire had failed, she’d never dreamed the power of a true Joan would come to her now.
But by enduring fire, Ivy had also learned to wield it. And now Betony would never hurt anyone again.
Martin’s hands closed on Ivy’s shoulders and she turned to him, burying her face in his chest. He flinched as her hands touched his bruised back, but when he wrapped his arms about her there was no smell of dirt or sweat on him anywhere. “It’s over,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. “We’ve done it, my love. We won.”
Until now, Ivy hadn’t realized just how many of her people were watching. But once she’d wiped the tears from her eyes and looked around, she found the whole Engine House full. After freeing the trapped men, Daisy, Clover and the other women had raced about the tunnels, rousing all the other piskeys and urging them up to the surface. So nearly everyone in the Delve had seen Betony’s fire die out and Ivy rise in a blaze of newfound glory to take her place.
“Don’t be frightened,” Ivy called to them. She could still sense the Joan’s power inside her, glowing in her bones and tingling beneath the surface of her skin. “You’re safe now.”
Wolfram took a hesitant step forward. “But lady, what of the spriggans?”
“You mean these ones?” Martin nodded to Cicely, who sat in one of the upper windows, and the piskeys all jumped as the false army materialized behind him. “I hate to disappoint you, but my people don’t look anything like that.” He waved his hand, and the apparitions vanished into smoke. “The real spriggans are twenty miles from here, tucked up in bed. Once you meet them, you’ll see there’s nothing to be afraid of.” He bared his teeth in a slow smile. “Unless it’s me.”
Ivy winced. It would be hard enough getting her people to accept a spriggan Jack without that sort of thing, and the nervous silence that followed seemed to prove it. But then Ivy’s brother shouldered though the crowd toward them, with Mattock following close behind.
“I was wrong about you,” Mica said gruffly, then took a deep breath and sank to one knee before Martin. “My Jack.”
Mattock started to kneel as well, but Martin stopped him. He caught Mica’s hand and pulled him to his feet. “I forgive you,” he said. “Just don’t try to beat me up again.”
“No fear of that,” said Mica, with a short laugh. “I’m lucky you didn’t pound me to gravel the first time.”
If Martin had known about his spriggan heritage back then, he likely would have. But it wouldn’t hurt to let her brother think he’d got off lightly. And after spending days in the same dank cave where he’d once chained Martin, Mica had other reasons to regret his rash behavior as well. Suppressing her bitterness, Ivy held out her hand.
Mica took it warily, as though fearing she would burn him. Then he gave a wry half-smile, and pulled Ivy in for a clumsy hug instead. He didn’t apologize or ask forgiveness; perhaps he never would. But he was trying to make amends, and for now, that was enough.
Behind them Gossan stirred feebly and dragged himself upright. He still lived, thanks to Martin, but when he saw where Betony had fallen, his haggard face showed how little he cared for such mercy. He covered his eyes with his dirty hands.
“You killed Shale, didn’t you?” Ivy asked. “And then you burned his body, so it would look like Betony had done it.” No wonder Martin had called her Lady Macbeth. She’d lost the power to make fire when she burned Jenny, so she’d turned to deception and dark magic to keep her power instead. And Gossan had gone along with her, even to the point of murder.
Once he’d been like Mattock, not just loyal but honest and fair-minded. But fear had corrupted him, just as it had Betony. And now there was nothing left of either of them but an empty shell.
“You have your life,” Ivy told Gossan. “But I exile you to beyond the Tamar, outside the border of Kernow. You will never see another piskey as long as you live.”
The former Jack struggled to his feet, not looking at Ivy or even taking the clothes Martin held out to him. Head bowed, he stumbled off into the darkness and was gone.
But a rope of scarlet was unrolling along the horizon, and in the distance a rooster crowed, greeting the new dawn. Her people were free, Martin stood beside her—and at long last, Ivy was home.
“We’ve never had a Lighting this late in the winter before,” mused Cicely, as she and Ivy watched the spriggan children setting the tables for dinner. “Or started so early in the evening, either.”
“Do you think people will be offended?” Ivy asked, but her sister only laughed.
“After you and Martin saved the whole Delve? I’d say you can do anything you like.”
Ivy would have liked to believe that, but old piskey habits didn’t change so easily. Most of her people still hesitated even to speak to the spriggans, let alone welcome them into their homes. Yet the children had proved their worth already, by doing for the Delve what they’d done in their own barrow. Only yesterday Ivy had gone down to the diggings and found scarcely a trace of poison.
Martin had spent days healing the piskeys who’d been worst affected, and though no magic could restore the old uncles’ missing teeth or smooth the wrinkles from the aunties’ skin, they all looked a great deal better. No one coughed anymore, not even the youngest children, and the contrite Yarrow could lock up her store of herbal remedies and sleep untroubled for the first time in years.
But of all the spriggans only Pearl had found a permanent home yet, and only because Thrift had begged so piteously that Gem and Daisy had no choice but to take the girl in. Though Teasel was still giving Jewel regular knitting lessons, and Ivy suspected she and Hew would offer the girl a place in their cavern soon. But for now Jewel shared the Joan’s quarters with Ivy and the other spriggan girls, while the boys camped out
in the Market Cavern with Martin.
Yet things in the Delve were changing, as tonight’s celebration proved. Now that they were all free to visit the surface, Ivy’s people no longer needed a wakefire: they could recharge their fading skin-glows just by spending a few hours outdoors. But a Lighting always cheered the piskeys’ hearts, and Ivy hoped it would soften them toward the newcomers who’d be sharing their feast as well.
“We’ve got twelve bottles of piskey-wine,” announced Feldspar, jogging up with a handcart. “Where d’you want ’em?”
After the fearful awe the piskeys had shown when she first touched fire, Ivy had worried they might always be shy around her. But they’d soon realized that their Joan’s newfound powers hadn’t changed her heart, and now they were almost back to their old casual selves again.
“Wolfram’s dug a cold-hole by the back wall,” Ivy told him. “They can go in there.”
With a cheerful thumbs-up, Feldspar trotted off. Ivy turned back to Cicely. “What did Mum say when you talked to her? Are she and David coming?”
“Not this time,” Cicely said. “He’s got some work thing they have to go to. But she sent her love.”
Ivy nodded, privately relieved. Much as she liked her stepfather, she wasn’t sure her fellow piskeys were ready to welcome a human on top of everything else.
“You didn’t tell her what happened,” Cicely added, a little reproachfully. “Or what’s happening tonight, either.”
It was tempting to ask her, Did you? But Ivy didn’t want to dwell on her sister’s mistakes, or act as though she expected her to repeat them. “Not yet. I only told her the parts I thought she’d want to hear, like Betony being dead and the Delve being safe again. But I told Molly everything.”
“What did she say?”
“She screamed,” said Ivy. “Right into the phone.” Her ear still buzzed from that shriek of delight, but at least she had no doubt of her stepsister’s feelings. Molly had been half-wild with frustration that she couldn’t come tonight, but Ivy had assured her that the Midsummer Lighting would be a much better time.
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