The Foxfire Lights

by Elizabeth O'Connell

  “He’s taken him, sir,” Addy said, freckles standing out in stark relief. “The man in the window—the one made of blue flames. He came in and took little Albert with him, before her Ladyship and I could even move.”

  “How often have I told you to keep that window closed?” I turned to see Mrs. Forsythe standing in the doorway, face pinched and pale, blue eyes reflecting the light of her candle. Behind her stood a man, tall and dark-haired, with a sour expression, and a boy, fair-haired and blue-eyed. “Now look what you’ve done!”

  “I didn’t—it weren’t open before he got here!” Addy looked up pleadingly at Lord Ransom. “I swear it, sir!”

  Lord Ransom ran a hand over his face. “Never mind the damn window—I want my son found. Forsythe—take your son and as many of the men as you can rouse. We’ll walk the grounds.”

  The sour-faced man nodded, and turned silently away, taking the fair-haired youth with him. I blinked—somehow it had not occurred to me that Mrs. Forsythe could have a family.

  “It won’t do any good,” Hal said, when they had left. He had been watching the scene closely, though he had not said a word, and now he was puffing away furiously at his pipe. “I very much doubt this creature has kept the boy in the mortal world.”

  Lord Ransom went white as chalk, and took hold of the casement to steady himself. “You don’t mean—he hasn’t . . . the child is alive, he must be.”

  Lady Ransom gave a shuddering cry, pressing the blanket against her face and muttering something in Spanish, of which I understood only her son’s name. Hal glanced at her and frowned, pushing his hands into the pockets of his dressing-gown.

  “No—you’ve misunderstood me,” he said. “I mean only that the spirit has no doubt carried the boy away into his own realm—beyond our reach.”

  Lord Ransom looked back out the window, clutching the casement until his knuckles turned white. He closed his eyes. “I can’t—I won’t simply stand here and wait for him to be returned. I must at least—we must try to find where he has gone.”

  Hal watched him for a moment silently, rocking back on his heels. “Then we will help you,” he said, finally. “Come along, Jem.”

  Lord Ransom let out a long breath and turned away from the window. “Yes—let us do what we can.” He turned to Addy. “Fetch Mrs. Forsythe—have her make a cup of tea for her Ladyship.”

  Addy nodded, but Lady Ransom looked up, eyes red-rimmed and wide in her pale face. “I don’t want any tea,” she said, her voice hoarse and shaking. “I won’t drink anything that woman brings me. What I want—I want that creature upstairs gone.”

  “You are tired, Isabella,” Lord Ransom said—firmly, but not unkindly. “Addy, take her to her own room—and fetch up some brandy, anyway. Lady Ransom has had a terrible shock.”

  Lady Ransom gave him a long look, and I thought she might argue further—but then her eyes fell upon the blanket in her hand, and a terrible weariness set over her face. She let Addy help her to her feet and lead her from the room meekly. Lord Ransom watched her go with a troubled expression.

  When she had left the room, he turned back to the window, looking almost as tired as his wife. “God—she hates Matthew enough already . . .” He shook his head and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Never mind—for now we must try to find Albert. I hate to think—he is such a little boy . . .”

  There was a quiver in his voice, and he turned back to the window, taking a deep breath and clenching and unclenching one fist.

  “We will find him,” Hal said quietly. “Perhaps not tonight—but we will find him.”

  Lord Ransom did not answer; he closed his eyes and pressed a fist against the casement, and it occurred to me that we were very much unwanted at that moment.

  “Let’s go, Hal,” I said. “If we’re going to help with the search, we’d better get ready.”

  Hal nodded, and we left the nursery, going back up the staircase to our rooms. I quickly pulled on my shirt and trousers, and was just pulling on my boots when there was a knock at the door, and Hal entered, pale and agitated. He sat down at the desk, drumming his fingers.

  “Why are you so impatient?” I said, pushing my foot into one boot. “You don’t believe the child is out there at all.”

  “No,” he said, drumming his fingers more rapidly. “But—something else may be. We mustn’t lose the opportunity.”

  I frowned at him, but he did not explain further; he gave a pointed look to my other boot and continued drumming his fingers. When I had gotten my boots on, we went downstairs and found Lord Ransom and the sour-faced Forsythe already there, with lanterns ready. Mrs. Forsythe handed out our coats, and then we were walking out into the chill night. Once outside we were joined by a group of other men and boys. I stamped my feet and rubbed my hands together against the chill and tried to listen to what Lord Ransom was saying—but when I looked over at Hal, I realized he was paying no attention at all. He was gazing up at the fell, where Foxfire Tor loomed over the manor.

  Lord Ransom finished his instructions to the men, and the group began moving together silently, a cluster of lanterns against the darkness, down to the valley where lay the mire; but Hal did not follow. He continued gazing up at the tor, smoke curling about his head.

  “What are you looking at?” I said. “They’ve already gone—we’ll lose track of them if we don’t catch up.”

  “We are not going with them,” he said, without taking his gaze from the looming rock.

  “What do you mean?” I said, staring at him. “You told Lord Ransom you would help with the search.”

  “I told him I would help find his son,” he said, beginning to walk toward the tor, with lantern held high. “And I shall.”

  “But they’ve all gone the other direction,” I said, following him. “Shouldn’t we . . .”

  “They’ve gone the wrong direction,” he said. “But it can’t be helped—they don’t know what to look for.”

  I shook my head, unable to puzzle out what he meant, and followed him on his way up the fell. It was a long, silent walk up the fell; the higher we went the more the wind seemed to pierce through my coat, and the howling of it made my ears ache. I pulled up my muffler to cover them and quickened my pace—but as we neared the tor, I found it harder to keep up. The air took on a heavy quality—strange, for being up so high—and I felt a stitch start in my side, pinching with pain every time I took a breath.

  Hal strode onward ahead of me, never slacking in his pace, his pipe billowing out smoke against the dark night sky. He reached the tor well before I did, and turned to watch for me impatiently. By the time I reached the rock, I was breathing as though I’d run a foot race. Hal frowned at me, but the impatience was gone from his expression.

  “Are you all right?” he said, as I came up and sat down heavily on a small rock beside the tor. “You look—winded.”

  “I am winded,” I said, my voice hoarse. There was a familiar smell creeping in at the edges of the air—the same smell from Albert’s nursery—and it was making my head ache as well as my chest. I rubbed at my forehead. “That’s—it was a long climb.”

  His frown deepened, a line appearing between his eyebrows. “Well, wait here and catch your breath.” He picked up his lantern and began walking around the other side.

  “Hal,” I said, and he turned around, eyebrows raised. “What are you looking for, anyway?”

  “I’ll know it when I see it,” he said, and vanished around the side of the tor, leaving me alone with my lantern.

  I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, and tried to catch my breath. I felt a bit foolish—it really hadn’t been that much of a climb. But I thought it must have been more than merely the climb that had done this to me—the sickly odor of rotting plants was filling my nostrils, making my head throb.

  I felt a rush of cold air and looked up; a heavy mist had come up, almost out of nowhere, blanketing the fell. I gazed out into it, and felt the hair on the back of my neck rise up—for there,
not six feet in front of me, floated a ring of blue lights—just as Lady Ransom and Addy had described.

  “Hal!” I got to my feet, picking up my lantern. “Hal! Come quickly! I see them—I see the lights.”

  I waited, but there was no answer except the wind. The lights winked out for a moment, and I thought I had lost them—but then they reappeared, a bit further away. I hurried over to them, but they winked out again, only to reappear once more, a few feet away. I don’t know how long this went on, nor how many times I repeated the chase, but finally the lights went out completely, and I was standing alone, in a heavy fog, with nothing but my lantern for company. I thought I saw a shadow move in the corner of my vision.

  “Hal?” I called again, uncertainly.

  “You,” said a sepulchral voice behind me. “Are you one of them?”

  My stomach went to ice, and I froze where I stood, unable to turn and see the speaker. Another gust of wind, and a man stood before me—or rather, something shaped like a man, but formed of shadow and flame. He carried in his left hand a lantern, filled with blue light—and from the lantern came a chorus of moans.

  The man floated closer to me and leaned in to inspect my face. I stood completely still, hardly daring to breathe. He floated back with a look of discontent.

  “No,” he said, in a dolorous tone. “Three there are, but you are not one.”

  And then he vanished into the mist, and the mist itself dissipated. I lifted my lantern and turned around to see the tor looming above me; I had come nearly half-way back down the fell without knowing it. I stood there a moment, somewhat disoriented—I had no idea how much time had passed, nor how I had come so far without realizing it.

  Then I heard Hal calling me, and I answered back, gripping my lantern and beginning the long trudge back up the fell. I had not gone far when I saw Hal’s lantern bobbing through the darkness, and then he took shape behind it. His pipe was billowing smoke, and he clutched something in his left hand.

  “What are you doing out here?” he said, agitation in his tone. “I thought you were going to wait by the tor.”

  “I know,” I said, my voice thin and hoarse. I hadn’t felt it when I was chasing the lights, but now my chest was aching from the long walk. “I was—I saw something.”

  He looked at me expectantly, and I sat down on nearby stone. I set down my lantern and told him the story of my encounter. When I had finished, he stood silent a moment, his brow furrowed.

  “Three there are,” he repeated, muttering the words half to himself. “Then Albert is not all we have to worry about.”

  I frowned at him. “What do you mean?”

  “I am certain that what you encountered was the spirit,” he said. “And I believe he has told you that he is not finished here.”

  He held out the paper that he clutched in his left hand, and I took it. I unfolded it, and Hal held his lantern up so that I could read it. He had drawn a pattern on it—unmistakably a copy of a summoning spell, though for no spirit that I had ever heard of. It sent a shiver through my spine, and I handed it back to Hal.

  “Then someone has brought this thing here deliberately,” I said, feeling a quiver in my stomach at the thought of that horrible moaning lantern. “To take Albert.”

  “And two others,” Hal said. “Judging by what the spirit said to you.”

  “But why?” I said, shivering. “Who would do such a thing? And who are the other two?”

  “If I knew the answers to those questions, I should have this case solved,” he said, tucking the paper back into this pocket. He glanced at me, frowning. “And now I think we had better go inside.”

  I nodded, picking up my lantern and following him back down the fell.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The manor was eerily silent when we arrived, and mostly dark. Only one window was lit, in the far corner of the second floor, and when we stepped in the door, we were greeted only by a harried-looking Addy, who took out coats distractedly. The silence was punctuated periodically by a quiet moan coming from the upstairs room. Every time it sounded out, Addy would glance upstairs, her freckled face pale and drawn.

  “Oh, my poor Lady Ransom,” she said. “I hope they find the little boy—but I don’t see how. That blue creature will have drug him off to God knows where.”

  “No one else has returned?” Hal said, as she took his coat and folded it over her arm.

  “No, sir,” she said. “Like as not his Lordship will have them out there until the morning. Oh, what shall we do if he isn’t found? Her Ladyship will die of grief, I just know she will.”

  “You’re fond of your mistress,” Hal said, refilling his pipe. “Aren’t you?”

  “Oh, yes, sir,” Addy said, her eyes big. “She’s so kind to me—and never said a word of blame when Master Albert started taking poorly. She’s a good mistress—no matter what Mrs. Forsythe says.”

  Hal lit his pipe and stuck it back between his teeth. “And what does Mrs. Forsythe say?”

  A moan sounded once more from upstairs, and Addy looked away from him. “Oh, I’d better go back up. It’s only Mrs. Forsythe with her now, and she can’t hardly stand the sight of her.”

  She fled up the stairs, disappearing into the darkness, and Hal and I went up to our rooms. The ache had eased, but it had left in its place a bone-deep weariness. I lay back on the bed, closing my eyes.

  “The spirit said nothing else to you?” Hal’s voice brought me out of drowsiness.

  I opened my eyes, blinking at him. “No. Only that—‘three there are, and you are not one of them.’”

  “Hm,” he said, leaning back and folding his arms over his chest. He blew a puff of smoke at the ceiling. “Three there are—which three?”

  I ran a hand over my face, groaning. “Can’t we do this tomorrow? I just want to sleep.”

  Hal frowned at me. “Perhaps I ought to have Mrs. Forsythe make you some tea.”

  “I don’t want tea,” I said. “Just sleep.”

  He frowned at me a moment longer, but finally he stood and went into his own room. I made ready for bed, and was asleep the moment my head hit the pillow, despite the moans from the floor below.

  I woke in the morning just as the sun was poking through the blinds, and made my way downstairs for breakfast. Hal was alone at table—there was a plate of toast in front of him, but it was untouched. He had his arms folded over his chest, and he was puffing at his pipe with his eyes closed.

  He opened his eyes as I took my seat. “Ah, there you are,” he said. “Feeling better?”

  I took a slice of toast and began slathering butter on it. “I suppose,” I said. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “We’ve been summoned,” he said, frowning dyspeptically. “His Lordship wishes to see us in his study post-haste.”

  “Why?” I swallowed a mouthful of toast. “Did he find something?”

  “I’ve no idea,” he said. “I have merely been told that we are to report.”

  I swallowed the last of my toast, and we went into the study, where we found Lord Ransom at his desk. He looked very poorly—his hair was disheveled, his face pale, and he was still dressed in the clothes he had worn the night before. He had the stone figure in his hands, turning it over and over.

  We took our seats before the desk, and he set the figure down, running a hand over his face. “You’ll have guessed that we found nothing,” he said. “Not so much as a trace of my son.”

  “I am not surprised,” Hal said, leaning back with his arms folded over his chest. “I told you as much.”

  “I know you did.” Lord Ransom rubbed his forehead. “But you said you would help with the search—and yet you were not with us. Where did you go?”

  “I will tell you where I went,” Hal said. “But first I should like to know where you went.”

  Lord Ransom gave him an odd look. “Why, to the mire, of course.”

  “Hm.” Hal began tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair. “And why there?”

&nbs
p; “It seemed logical,” Lord Ransom said, picking up the stone figure again and frowning at it. “People have—people have disappeared in it before, you know.”

  “Yes, but why assume that the spirit had taken Albert there?” Hal drummed his fingers more rapidly. “Why should it go there at all?”

  “I don’t—it just seemed like the place to look, that’s all.” Lord Ransom set the figure down on the desk. “It—I suppose I wasn’t thinking about what the spirit would do. I just—I only wanted to find my son.”

  He looked away from us as he said this, deep weariness settling over his features. It seemed as though he had aged twenty years in the day that we had been at Foxfire. He ran a hand over his face once more, and gave a sharp ring of the bell on his desk. A moment later, the door opened and Mrs. Forsythe appeared in the doorway, her features sharper than ever in her pale and weary face. Lord Ransom directed her to fetch some tea and she vanished from the doorway.

  “Well, never mind what I was doing,” he said, when the door closed behind her. “What were you doing? I didn’t see you on the mire—nor did Forsythe.”

  “I was not on the mire,” Hal said. “I went up to the tor.”

  “The tor?” Lord Ransom’s eyebrows went up. “Whatever for?”

  “I had a theory,” Hal said. He dug into his pockets and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. “And it bore fruit.”

  He smoothed the paper out over the desk; it was the copy of the summoning circle that he had drawn the night before. He pushed it across to Lord Ransom, who took picked it up and peered at it, his brows knitting together.

  “A spell circle?” he said, looking up. “But it’s very odd—I don’t see the name of the spirit at all . . .”

  “It is not the sort of spell you would be familiar with,” Hal said. “Not an elemental spell at all—it is to summon one of the Fair Folk. Done in rather a crude fashion, I must say.”

  “The Fair Folk?” Lord Ransom’s face lost what little color it had. “But—who would give Albert over to one of those creatures? He’s—he’s only a baby.”