The Heir of Mistmantle (11 page)

Crispin gave the slightest nod of his head, and Urchin saw that he understood. “You two may go,” he said.

Urchin and Juniper bowed and left the Throne Room together. That moment of shared understanding with Crispin the King, Crispin the hero of his childhood, lifted Urchin’s spirits. They both knew that there was something Juniper needed to tell, and Urchin might be the only one he could open his heart to. They walked a little way along the corridor, but at the first window seat, they sat down.

“We can’t stop and sit about,” protested Juniper. “There’s Catkin to find, and I have to—well, pick herbs and things. Or go to Brother Fir, or…”

“You’re no use to Brother Fir or anybody else when you’re like this,” said Urchin. “Can’t you tell me?” And when Juniper didn’t answer, but didn’t walk away either, he went on, “I’ve been nearly shipwrecked, abducted, put in prison, and spent half my life falling off things and out of things, so whatever’s the matter, I won’t be surprised. And you were there to help me when I needed it, so it’s my turn.”

“And there were prophecies about you,” said Juniper thoughtfully.

“Well, yes, but…”

“I wasn’t going to tell you this.” Juniper straightened his back and lifted his chin as if he were gathering himself up to a great effort. “All right, if you want to listen, listen, and don’t interrupt at all, because if I stop I might not be able to get going again. It’s a prophecy.”

Urchin’s eyes lit up. He nearly spoke, but remembered in time that he mustn’t.

“Do you think that’s wonderful and exciting?” demanded Juniper. “Well, it isn’t. I hoped and hoped that it wasn’t the real thing, but I’m sure now that it is. It was just a few pictures at first, so quick that I could hardly see them—outstretched claws. Something blue.” His voice faltered. “A knife. And then the words came.”

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. For the first time, slowly and reluctantly he pronounced the words of his prophecy.

“The fatherless will find a father
The hills will fall into earth
The dead paw will stretch out to the living
There will be a pathway in the sea,
Then the Heir of Mistmantle will come home.”

With a sigh, he slumped back in the window seat. His eyes closed.

“Do you understand it?” asked Urchin.

“I hope not,” said Juniper miserably. “The fatherless finds a father, the hills fall to earth—a path in the sea! Don’t you see what that could mean? It could mean that it’s impossible! That she’ll never come home! How am I supposed to tell them that?”

Urchin put a paw on his shoulder, but he said nothing, because there was nothing to be said. Nothing that would help, anyway.

CHAPTER SEVEN

INGAL SPLASHED ABOUT
in the shallows with Tide and Swanfeather while Scatter watched anxiously from the shore. She wasn’t at all convinced that Fingal knew anything about looking after little children, and felt that she ought to stand guard. Fingal’s boat, finished at last and freshly painted in red with its border of orange and green leaves, lay upside down on the shore to dry.

“She’s been underwater for a long time!” called Scatter.

“She’s an otter!” shrugged Fingal as Swanfeather bobbed to the surface. “And it’s not enough!”

“Not long enough?” asked Scatter in horror.

“No, I mean this isn’t enough,” said Fingal. “I’m looking after Padra’s children while he does the dangerous things. Any otter could do the baby-minding. You and Needle are always telling me how to do it, and you’re not even otters.” He looked past them at a young squirrel hurrying down from the tower, wearing the pale blue-and- white apron of a pastry cook. “Here’s Crackle,” he said. “She’s always good for a biscuit or something at this time in the morning.”

Crackle looked flustered and anxious as she joined them at the shore. “We’ve had orders about asking permission to go in and out,” she said. “We mustn’t risk catching anything. But I’m allowed to come down here.”

“Biscuits don’t catch diseases,” said Fingal hopefully. Crackle fished in her apron pocket for broken biscuits, and they sat down on the jetty to eat. From the waves, two small otter heads bobbed up beside Fingal, and he slipped bits of biscuit to them.

“It’s all a bit difficult, really,” said Crackle. “All the captains and the Circle are busy, and we don’t know how many to cook for.” She lowered her voice. “The poor queen hardly eats a thing these days. Fingal, are you all right?”

“Don’t I look all right?” asked Fingal in surprise. “Oh, you mean, ‘have I caught anything nasty?’ Otters don’t get it, and anyway, I’m indestructible. Padra says he doesn’t know how I’ve survived this long.” He bent to heave Tide onto the jetty and nudged Swanfeather to the shallows. “Isn’t that right, little Swanfeather? I’m indestructible.”

“But you’re not,” said Crackle unhappily. “None of us are. Any of us could catch fouldrought, or…” she didn’t finish. The thought of being caught by Lord Husk, or his ghost, was too horrible to put into words.

Another squirrel was bustling toward them, and, shading her eyes against the sun, Crackle saw that it was Gleaner. Gleaner, who seemed to blame everyone for the death of Lady Aspen, was always in a bad temper.

“Have you got nothing to do all day?” demanded Gleaner. “In case you hadn’t noticed, the rest of us are very busy. Haven’t you been listening to orders? We need thyme, sage, and rosemary; angelica, borage, and…and all that sort of thing. Mother Huggen says the queen needs them for stopping diseases. You’re not going to find them in the sea.”

Glad to be useful, Scatter and Crackle sprang away. Gleaner was pleasantly surprised. Animals didn’t usually obey her this quickly. But this disease was going to make far too much work for her, and it wasn’t fair.

She only hoped the queen knew what she was doing, letting Scatter help. She didn’t know much about Scatter’s past, but from what she’d heard it wasn’t at all ladylike. Scatter and the queen were both foreigners from the same island, and not a very nice one, from all she could gather. There you are, then. The foreigners are sticking together.

Swanfeather lolloped happily from the water, shut her eyes tightly, and gave herself a thorough shaking before Gleaner got out of the way. Gleaner seethed with annoyance. Fingal was teaching that child bad habits already.

Dusk fell with a pleasant twilight, the sky turning to violet and gray as the first stars appeared, but Juniper was too tired to care and too anxious to enjoy it. He yawned enormously. Usually, he had to slow down to keep Brother Fir company. Tonight, Brother Fir was slower than ever, and Juniper was glad to keep pace with him. He felt he wouldn’t care if Lord Husk really did appear. He wouldn’t have the energy to run away. It was marvelous that Brother Fir was still able to walk, but he limped on ahead, sometimes leaning on Juniper’s paw, sometimes on Whittle’s or Cedar’s. Whittle and Juniper had been told to help each other memorize the symptoms of disease and the treatments, but there was no need anymore. They both knew them all by heart. They had spent all day observing them.

That was the thing that had worn Juniper out, more than the long day climbing all over the island to visit the sick. With muslin masks tied over their noses and mouths to protect them, the four of them had entered dimly lit burrows, climbed into neat dry tree nests, and crept into cool sandy caves to care for the sick, though Fir and Cedar had done most of the caring while Juniper and Whittle watched and learned. At least it helped him to forget the prophecy for a little while, until the sight of the hills or a flicker of something blue brought it back to mind.

Juniper had watched a young mole whimpering and shivering until his teeth chattered. He was his parents’ eldest child, just learning the skills of tunneling and trying to impress his family when he first became ill. He had heard a hedgehog crying out in pain and delirium, and had known that this was an old hedgehog, already suffering from aching limbs, who had always been kind to the young and who had fought valiantly in the battle against Husk. The constant watching of animals in fever, distress, and pain, and the anxiety of their families, had drained him. But it made him desperate to stop the suffering and eager to learn.

He had learned which infusions Cedar used to bring down fever, to fight infections, and to cleanse and sweeten the burrows and bedding. He had borne with the smell of vomit and had cleaned it up. He had washed his paws repeatedly, because Cedar said it was important not to carry disease from sick animals to healthy ones. He knew, too, that there were more infusions to make tonight before they went to bed. The queen never seemed to want to go to bed at all. There were stretches of the northeast of the island they had hardly visited at all, and the thought of doing all this again tomorrow made him almost too exhausted to walk.

“Look,” said Whittle. In the half-light, squirrels and hedgehogs were scurrying from all directions toward the far-off tower, Crackle and Scatter among them, their arms full of flowers, leaves, and branches. “They’re bringing in the plants we need for the medicines.”

More work, thought Juniper, but he felt he shouldn’t say so. The queen had worked harder than anyone today, and she’d probably supervise all the making of medicines herself. His breathing was beginning to hurt as they trudged uphill, and he was so tired he almost walked into the back of Brother Fir, not realizing that he and the queen had stopped.

“Take a little rest,” said Fir, and Juniper flopped gratefully onto the heather even though he knew how hard it would be to get up and go on afterward. Cedar spread herself facedown on the ground, singing softly into the earth.

It didn’t seem respectful to watch her. Juniper looked past her to the sea as it went on swishing softly to the shore and back, forward and back, not knowing anything of what was happening on the island, just being the sea. It was calming. A figure wrapped in shawls was hobbling slowly toward him—it looked like Damson, and he had risen to meet her when the sweetest sound met him and made him turn to look where it came from, wide-eyed at the beauty of it.

That sweet, true voice could only be Sepia. Somewhere, she was singing, and it was as if the air around her turned to silver. Other voices wove with hers, blending and harmonizing, and the song wafted like fragrance. Fir’s ears twitched toward it.

Lanterns nodded and waved in an unsteady line. The choir, cloaked and carrying lights, were climbing the hill as they sang.

“Peace in your breathing,
Sleep as the stars keep you, deep as the sea and its quiet
…”

It was almost unbearably beautiful. The animals carrying herbs to the tower stopped to listen. The queen sat up and brushed her eyes with both paws. Damson, weary and alone, put down her basket and knelt in the heather to listen.

The singing stopped, hanging in the air, and the silence that followed was holy. Nobody wanted to move. But the choir turned and wound its way downhill, and all the animals began to scramble to their paws and stretch and shake their limbs as they realized it was growing cold. And Juniper did what his heart told him to do, and hurried to help Damson to her feet.