Fyre

by Angie Sage

  “Where are they?” Jenna whispered to Marcellus.

  Marcellus pointed up to the Inspection Circle around the top of the Cauldron, some thirty feet above their heads. Jenna squinted upward but could see nothing—the glare of the flames dazzled her; it was like looking at the sun. Duglius led them around the base of the Cauldron, heading toward the metal steps that would take them up to the Viewing Station and onto the Inspection Circle. As they drew near, two shadows fell across them—everyone froze. They waited for the Ring Wizards to pass overhead like a dark storm cloud, then set off once more until they came within sight of the steps and the Viewing Station above.

  Duglius held up his hand and the party stopped. “Here is safe to wait,” he said.

  “Thank you, Duglius,” said Marcia. “I will go first, then Jenna.”

  “Then me.” Beetle and Milo spoke together.

  “And me,” said Septimus.

  “No,” said Marcia. “The more of us who go, the more dangerous it becomes.”

  “Marcia. I am coming with Jen,” said Septimus. “Whatever you say.”

  “We are all coming,” said Marcellus. “We cannot leave you to do this alone.”

  Jenna remembered what her grandmother had said one evening as they had sat watching the water. “Sometimes, dear, you just have to be what I call Queeny. It may seem strange at first but it always works.”

  And so that is what Jenna did. “I am doing the Committal; I shall choose. The fewer people who are in danger, the better. Marcia and I will go. No one else.” She looked at Marcia. “And I shall go first.”

  Marcia bowed her head. “Very well,” she said.

  From her ExtraOrdinary Wizard belt, Marcia drew out what remained of the Two-Faced Ring and handed it to Jenna. Jenna noticed that Marcia’s hand was shaking—and Marcia noticed the Jenna’s hand was shaking. Neither said a word while Jenna looked down at the twisted band of gold, which lay in her palm so lightly that she could hardly feel it. It was time to go—but before she went, there was something Jenna wanted to say.

  “Beetle,” she said.

  “Yes.” Beetle gulped.

  “I just wanted to say that I am really sorry that when you were in the Sealed Hermetic Chamber . . . you know . . . after the Darke Domaine . . . that I didn’t stay to see if you were all right. Well, not properly all right. I so wish I had. I did really care about how you were, even though I know it didn’t look like it.”

  It took Beetle some seconds to reply. “Oh. Gosh. Well, thank you.” He reached out for Jenna’s hand and took it. “Be careful up there, hey?”

  Jenna nodded and held Beetle’s hand tightly.

  “Time to go,” said Marcia briskly.

  Marcia and Jenna walked toward the foot of the steps, Marcia spoke urgently in a low voice. “Jenna. Remember I will be right behind you all the time. When we near the top I will put a SafeShield around us. When we are close enough to”—she glanced upward—“them . . . and you are ready, tell me. I will let the Shield go. You must then begin the Committal at once. I will protect you. You must not concern yourself about anything else. Concentrate only on the words of the Committal. When you say the Keystone word, there will be a flash of light. Throw the ring into the light but do not stop speaking. Be sure to finish.”

  Jenna and Marcia reached the steps. They glanced upward at the flimsy metal lattice that would its way up around the black belly of the Cauldron into the searing light far above, and exchanged nervous smiles. Then Jenna put her foot on the first step and Marcia followed. Slowly, stealthily, they began the long and lonely climb up out of the protection of the shadows and into the glare and heat of the fire.

  As they disappeared from sight, Milo put his arm around Beetle’s shoulders. “All right?” he asked.

  “No. Not really,” said Beetle.

  “Me neither,” said Milo.

  Jenna and Marcia headed up toward the heat and the roar of the fire. As they neared the top of the steps Marcia tapped Jenna on the shoulder. Shield now, she mouthed. Jenna nodded. An opalescent blanket of Magyk fell around Jenna and Marcia, cutting the roar of the fire to a distant murmur, turning the scorching heat down to merely hot and making the Ring Wizards—who were so very near—feel oddly distant. With the sensation of walking underwater Jenna stepped up onto the Viewing Station. Despite the raging fire in front of her, the loudest sound she heard was the tip-tap of pointy python shoes as Marcia followed her.

  Inside the Shield Marcia’s voice rang clear. “They are on the Inspection Circle going counterclockwise. I can see the Darkenesse behind the flames. To give us the advantage of surprise, I suggest we creep up from behind. If we get onto the Circle now, they won’t even see us.”

  Jenna had planned very carefully what to do, but no amount of planning could prepare her for how scared she now felt. “Okay,” she said, “let’s go.” She stepped down onto the surprisingly shaky walkway and felt Marcia follow. They set off in a counterclockwise direction. Unnerved by not being able to grab hold of the handrails because of the Shield, but insulated from the horror of the wall of fire on her left and the dizzying drop to her right, Jenna moved along the Inspection Circle as carefully as any FootFollowing witch.

  There was a sudden intake of breath from Marcia, and Jenna stopped dead. Two figures, too tall to be human, clothed in Darke light, their long, straggly hair streaming in the rush of air that was swirling in to fuel the flames, were no more than a few feet in front of them.

  “That’s them,” said Marcia—rather unnecessarily, Jenna thought. “Tell me when you’re ready.”

  All Jenna wanted was to get it over with. “Now,” she said.

  “Sure?”

  “Yes. I’m sure. Take the Shield away.”

  Marcia let go of the Shield. “We’re out!” It was like stepping into an oven where a thunderstorm was raging. The Ring Wizards swung around and at once Marcia threw on a Restrain, but not before the red rays of light from their eyes had seared across Jenna’s cloak, sending up wisps of smoke.

  Clutching the ring in her hand, Jenna began to speak the Committal. “By our Power, at this hour, we do you . . .”

  The Wizards sprang forward, their hands like the claws of a pouncing tiger, their long curved nails heading for Jenna’s neck, pushing with all their strength against the Restrain. But Jenna remembered what Hotep-Ra had told her. Stand firm. Look them in the eye. Say the words.

  And so she did.

  Steadily, Jenna made her way through the Committal, determined not to rush and to speak each word clearly. As she stood defiantly on the walkway, the almost unbearable heat from the fire scorching her cloak, Jenna was unaware that behind her Marcia was struggling. Marcia didn’t know if it was the terrible heat, or the combined power of the Wizards, but the Restrain kept slipping and every time it did, the Ring Wizards moved a little closer.

  But Jenna did not flinch.

  Desperately, Marcia listened for the Keystone. She watched, powerless, as the ten-foot-tall beings pushed against her Magyk, inching toward Jenna. And then, at last, there came a soft word, almost drowned by the roar of the flames: Hathor. There was a flash of dazzling purple light, and Jenna threw the ring into it. There was a scream and the Ring Wizards began to melt like candlewax. Concentrating hard, Jenna moved smoothly through the last seven words, and at the final word, “Commit,” darkness fell.

  Within the Chamber of Fyre, Time was suspended.

  Now, from deep inside the void of Time, the Ring Wizards finally understood what their fate was to be. Two blood-chilling howls of fury and despair filled the Chamber of Fyre and set everyone’s hairs on the back of their necks tingling. Seven timeless seconds passed while the Ring Wizards were Subsumed into the gold of the ring and as Time kicked back in, a vortex of wind swirled through the Chamber of Fyre, throwing everyone to the ground.

  Jenna and Marcia clung to the guardrail of the Inspection Circle as the whirlwind spun above the Cauldron, taking the flames with it, spiraling them up through the A
lchemie Chimney and sending them bursting out into the evening sky.

  A shocked silence fell in the Chamber of Fyre. No one moved. All that could be heard was the soft fuff-fuff-fuff of the tiny blue flames of the Alchemical Fyre and a cling as a gold ring with two screaming green faces imprisoned in it hit the lattice walkway and dropped through one of the holes.

  “The ring!” yelled Marcia. “Get the ring!”

  Milo caught it.

  48

  A QUEEN

  Marcellus was smiling from ear to ear as he slowly lowered the Two-Faced Ring, suspended on a golden chain, toward the beautiful, blue Alchemical Fyre. Marcia very nearly told him to get a move on. But she didn’t. Marcellus was, she thought, allowed to savor the moment. He deserved it.

  Marcellus was as happy as he could remember being for a very long time. He was back in his Fyre Chamber by right and about to DeNature the very thing that had destroyed his life so very long ago. He watched the faces of those he had gathered around him for this moment, transfixed by the ring as it dangled above the tiny blue flames that flickered gently across the top of the Fyre Cauldron. Here were people that Marcellus had grown to care about—the ExtraOrdinary Wizard, the Chief Hermetic Scribe and the Queen-to-be, not to mention his old Apprentice, Septimus, and his new Apprentice, Simon, who had come along with the accomplished chimney architect, Lucy Heap. There was Alther Mella, and also the very first ExtraOrdinary Wizard, Hotep-Ra, of whom Marcellus was quite in awe. And as the ghost of Julius Pike, escorted by Duglius Drummin, joined them, Marcellus felt rather outnumbered by ExtraOrdinary Wizards.

  The Two-Faced Ring was now dangling just a few feet above the Fyre, and the tips of the delicate Alchemie flames leaped up to meet it, like fish jumping for insects on the surface of a stream. The pure light of the Fyre illuminated the evil green faces trapped in the ring for the very last time. They flashed in anger and as Marcellus lowered them into the Fyre, clapping and cheering erupted from the assembled watchers.

  Marcellus turned to his audience. “It is done,” he said. “The Two-Faced Ring will stay in the center of the Fyre for twenty-one days. Then the ExtraOrdinary Wizard—I mean Madam Marcia Overstrand, although naturally, all ExtraOrdinary Wizards here are welcome to attend—and I will retrieve the ring, which by then will be no more than a lead band. As we transmute lead to gold, so we transmute gold to lead. It is the Alchemie way.”

  Marcia had bitten her tongue for long enough. “Oh, give it a rest, Marcellus,” she said. “Come and have some lunch.”

  Three weeks later, all the Drummins had gathered beneath the Cauldron. Duglius glared at the late arrivals—young teens who rarely emerged from their burrows before midday.

  “We are all here, we are?” Duglius inquired.

  A singsong murmur of assent spread through the dusty crowd.

  “Good Drummins. There is a ghostly person who has a thing to say to all of us all.”

  A murmuring spread through the crowd as the ghost of Julius Pike Appeared, glowing bright in the gloom.

  “Drummins,” Julius began nervously. “I, um, have come to apologize. Many hundred years ago I did all Drummins a great wrong. I did not listen to your wisdom. I left you all to die. I did not care. For this I am truly, truly sorry.”

  A murmur of surprise spread through the Drummins. Duglius signed for them to be quiet. “Do we Drummins all accept this sorry, do we?” he asked.

  Another murmur began and this time Duglius did not interrupt. It continued for so long that Julius was beginning to think they would not accept his “sorry.” He felt sad at the thought. Over the previous weeks, the ghost had, at Marcia’s suggestion, accompanied her on a series of visits to the Drummins in order to get to know and understand them. Like Marcia, Julius had grown to like and respect them. He was surprised to find how much it now mattered to him that the Drummins felt the same about him. Julius waited anxiously while the Drummin crowd was clearly discussing him, illustrating their discussion by pointing their suckered fingers at him.

  At last the discussion subsided and Duglius signed to the crowd. They made a sign back to him, which looked to Julius like a refusal. Duglius turned to the ghost and Julius felt nervous.

  “We, Drummins,” said Duglius. He paused. “We do accept your sorry, we do.”

  “Oh!” Julius sounded surprised and pleased. “Thank you, Duglius. And thank you, Drummins, all.” He bowed and floated up the ladder to join the group on the Viewing Station above.

  Julius was just in time to see Marcellus present Marcia with the DeNatured ring. “It is done,” said Marcellus.

  Marcia looked at the plain lead band resting on her palm. “It is done,” she agreed. “Thank you.”

  Marcellus bowed. “It was, I can truly say, my pleasure.”

  Marcia smiled and handed the lead band to Hotep-Ra, who inspected it closely. He sighed. “It is for the best. But who would have thought that it was once a beautiful gold ring,” he said, giving it back to Marcia.

  Marcia had an idea. “Can you turn this back to gold?” she asked Marcellus. “To how it was when Hotep-Ra gave it to the Queen?”

  “Indeed I can,” said Marcellus. “And I shall do so with great pleasure.”

  Preparations now began for Jenna to be crowned Queen.

  Hotep-Ra decided to stay for the Coronation and he continued as the honored guest of the Wizard Tower. Everyone, even Marcia, was a little overawed to have the founding ExtraOrdinary Wizard take up residence in the Tower, but Hotep-Ra was used to a quiet life in the House of Foryx and preferred to spend most of his time in the Pyramid Library with Septimus and Rose. One morning, during a visit to the Sick Bay to see Jim Knee and Edmund and Ernold Heap, Marcia confided in Dandra Draa that she was worried that Hotep-Ra did not like her.

  “It not you he not like, Marcia. It that nasty little ghost on your sofa.”

  Marcia felt relieved, but she made her way back to her rooms with a heavy heart. How she would love to have cozy evenings sitting by the fire with Hotep-Ra, Septimus and Rose discussing Magyk. Trust the wretched Jillie Djinn to ruin a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. She opened the door and Jillie Djinn welcomed her with what had become her usual greeting: “Fire!”

  Marcia stomped up to the Library, where Hotep-Ra was sitting at the table, explaining an Arcane Transformation to an enthralled Septimus and Rose. “Excuse me for interrupting,” she said apologetically.

  Hotep-Ra smiled. “Come in, Marcia, my dear. It is always good to see you.” Encouraged, Marcia joined them. “Hotep-Ra, I have a question,” she said.

  “Yes?”

  “Is there any way of removing a ghost from their place of entering ghosthood during the first year and a day?”

  Hotep-Ra shook his head. “Generally, it is not possible. But if, like your friend on the sofa downstairs—”

  “My friend!” Marcia was shocked.

  “Is she not?”

  “No! No, no, no! I can’t stand the woman—I mean the ghost. That is why I am asking. Is there any way of getting rid of her?”

  Hotep-Ra smiled. “Ah. I see. Well, you are fortunate. She has short legs, does she not?”

  Marcia was bemused. “Yes, she does. Short, fat little legs, actually.”

  Hotep-Ra smiled. “Then it is an easy matter.”

  That evening Marcia Lit the fire in her sitting room and sat around it with Hotep-Ra, Septimus, Rose, Simon, Lucy and Marcellus talking quietly about Magyk and Alchemie. A feeling of contentment stole over her—this was how it was meant to be.

  Outside, in the wide corridor that led to the stairs, sat the sofa. And on the sofa sat the ghost of Jillie Djinn. Her little legs had never touched the ground.

  MidSummer Day—the traditional day for a Coronation—drew near. Jenna decided, despite Queen Cerys’s disapproval, that she wanted it to take place beside the river.

  Sarah Heap began to panic. “What if it rains?” she said.

  “It won’t,” declared Jenna.

  Jenna’s grandmother though
t it was a wonderful idea. “I wanted to have mine outside too, dear,” she said, “but I let my mother talk me out of it. Remember, today you can do what you want and, take it from me, it won’t always be like that. I would make the most of it.”

  And so preparations went ahead, and the Palace and its gardens once more became the busy hub of the Castle. The four Forest Heaps stayed to help Sarah and Silas get things ready, and everyone lent a hand—except for Milo, who once again had disappeared.

  On Coronation Morning Marcia was up early. Milo, to Marcia’s annoyance, had insisted on a 7:00 A.M. appointment at the Palace to “check everything is tiketty-boo, if that’s all right with you, Marcia.” Marcia arrived as the Clockmaker’s clock was striking seven. She knocked on the Palace doors and yawned. She would be glad when the Coronation was over and Hotep-Ra—lovely though he was—had gone home, so that she and Septimus could get back to normal.

  The doors were flung open. “Good morning, Marcia,” said Milo chirpily.

  Embarrassed, Marcia stopped in midyawn. “Oh! Morning, Milo.”

  “Good morning, Madam Marcia.” A familiar voice came from behind Milo.

  “Hildegarde!” said Marcia.

  Milo turned and clasped Hildegarde’s hands in both of his. “Thank you so much, Hildegarde,” he said. “It’s been a long night. You have been wonderful.”

  Hildegarde blushed. “It was my pleasure,” she said as she squeezed out of the door past Marcia.

  Marcia watched Hildegarde hurry off down the Palace drive. “Well!” she said.

  It was a distinctly frosty Marcia whom Milo escorted through the Palace entrance hall. At the entrance to the Long Walk, Milo stopped. “Close your eyes,” he said.

  “Milo, I do not have time to play silly games,” Marcia snapped.

  “Please,” Milo said. He gave Marcia the slightly lopsided smile that she had liked so much, so very long ago.

  Marcia sighed. “Oh, all right.”