The Heir of Mistmantle (21 page)

Urchin perched in the tree with his shoulders huddled against the rain and his gaze on the waterlogged ground, watching for approaching animals and also for any sign of trembling in the earth. Now and again a movement would catch his eye and alarm him, but it was always a mole or a hedgehog popping to the surface to call “All’s well,” or “The roof looks poor to me.” As the darkness grew, lanterns were lit and flickered in the storm, and more lights moved and swayed in procession far off, as little animals from the Mole Palace were led over the hills to safety. He hoped not many of them were making the long journey to the tower and Falls Cliffs, not in this driving rain, not in this wind that rocked the tree where he stood.

A squelch of wet paws behind him made him dart around to warn whoever it was to stay back, but the pawsteps had already stopped. Twirling his tail for balance, squinting against the rain, he saw that Fingal had spread-eagled himself on the ground with his paws outstretched and his head raised.

“I can’t come near,” called Fingal, “and I have to lie like this to spread my weight. Padra’s upstream. There are streams bursting their banks and rain making the mud waterlogged, and mud and rocks and all that stuff, they’re all coming down. Padra’s leading a team to build a dam to stop the water and a channel to divert it so it’ll go over the, you know, that whatsitswhiskers. The rocky bit that won’t collapse. The ridge.”

“Do they want me up there?” Urchin called back.

“No,” yelled Fingal. “There’s a danger of rockfalls from below the dam. We have to look out for them.” He suddenly gave some sort of a nod, turning his face to the side to keep out of the mud, and Urchin turned to see Crispin behind him with Captain Lugg, Longpaw the messenger, and a young squirrel at his side. Rain streamed from Lugg’s blue cloak and sparkled in lantern lights on Crispin’s tail and whiskers. Fingal, still sprawled on the boggy ground, took a deep breath and repeated all that he’d just told Urchin.

“Then I’ll get you some help, and you can go to the channel and keep it clear of rocks, Fingal,” said Crispin. “Longpaw, we need three or four young otters to help him.” Longpaw dashed away toward the shore, and Crispin guided the young squirrel forward. “Urchin, Dunnock is here to take over from you.”

“Can I have Urchin to help evacuate the animals from the burrows around here, Your Majesty?” asked Lugg. “He’s fast and light, and he’s been in so many tight places I know he can cope with another one.”

“It’s too risky, and he’s done enough,” said Crispin. “He needs a break.”

“I’m volunteering for it, Your Majesty,” said Urchin hopefully. Cold and wet as he was, the challenge was irresistible, and it would be good to be at the heart of the action by Captain Lugg’s side again. “If not me, somebody has to do it.”

“He’d only get swept away in a mudslide if he stayed here, Your Majesty,” called Fingal, raising his dirty face from a tree root.

“They’re brave lads, these,” remarked Lugg.

“Please, Your Majesty?” pleaded Urchin, and Fingal said something that sounded as if he had a mouth full of mud.

“Go on, then,” said Crispin. “Fingal, get out of there. Backward, very slowly. And Urchin,” he went on as Urchin ran down the tree trunk, “the first sign of a shaky tunnel and never mind being a hero, just get yourself out, understood?”

“Yes, sir,” said Urchin, stepping as lightly as he could to Lugg’s side.

“Keep an eye on him, Lugg,” said Crispin. “If anything happens to Urchin, one of us will have to answer to Apple, and sooner you than me.”

Juniper could not move. He could only wait, kneeling on the hearth in the dim turret, trapped in his nightmare, as the door opened. What could he say? He didn’t know. His mind, like his body, failed him.

The sight of Sepia, sweet-faced, wet, and worried, trailing a soaked cloak behind her, flooded him with relief. He had been caught out, but by one of the few animals who might possibly understand.

Sepia took in the gentle light of the chamber, the sleeping figure of the priest, the warmth from the fire—not as warm as she would have liked, but far better than outside—and Juniper crouching on the hearth with alarm and fear on his face. Or was it guilt?

She had been so worried about him. She had hunted for him through the lashing rain, growing more breathless and anxious as the light faded, guessing that he might go to Urchin, but where would Urchin be? Darting through treetops rocked with storms, calling to every animal she met, she had heard that Urchin was with the king and Captain Padra, and they were moving the little ones away from their hiding place and trying to hold off a landslide, and it all looked very dangerous. But was Juniper with him? Please,
please,
had anyone seen Brother Juniper?

Nobody had seen him at the landslide site, but somebody had seen a squirrel who looked like Juniper—at least it might have been Juniper, hard to tell in this light and in this weather, you can hardly look up—hurrying to the tower. Limped like Juniper, come to think. She had sent a message to tell her family she would not be back tonight and had struggled on to the tower as the wind whipped the branches under her paws. Drenched, tired, and anxious, she had reached the turret at last—and here was Juniper, kneeling on the floor with a box before him.

She slipped nearer to the bed to see if Fir was sleeping and was relieved to find that he was. She huddled on the hearth beside Juniper.

The firelight showed clearly the pale pink box and the stone nestling at its center. Sepia gasped. When she managed to speak, her words were barely a whisper.

“What are you doing? That’s the Heartstone!”

“Yes,” said Juniper harshly. “Watch this.”

“Don’t touch it!” whispered Sepia in horror. “Juniper,
please
don’t, you mustn’t!” She put out a paw to stop him, but he jerked away from her, held his right paw in his left in a failed attempt to stop it from shaking, and scooped up the peach-pink pebble. It rolled softly onto the floor.

“Put it
away!”
urged Sepia with a glance toward the bed.

Juniper swept the Heartstone back into the box. “I had to do it,” he said, and the wretchedness in his voice made her hurt for him. “I had to prove it to myself. I’m not a real priest.”

“You’re a novice!” she said. “It just means that you’re not a real priest
yet,
and you knew that!”

“But I told Damson I was, and I heard her confession,” said Juniper. “And I wish I hadn’t. And I wouldn’t have heard it, if I hadn’t pretended I was the priest. I should never have done it.”

“But you didn’t do it just to hear her confession,” said Sepia. “You did it so she could die in peace, and she did. Think what it would have been like for her if you hadn’t!”

Juniper stared into the deep orange glow and white ashes, wrapped in his own misery. He knew Sepia was right, but he was wrung out with grief and guilt and the weight of his secret. Into the silence came a single sound, soft with weakness, but so familiar.

“Hm!”

“Brother Fir!” gasped Sepia.

“Plagues, lice, and fire,” grumbled Captain Lugg, shoving his head and shoulders into a tunnel. “Get out, you lot, quick about it, and be light on your paws.”

“I’ve not been very well,” moaned a voice from inside. “I can’t hurry.”

“That’s Hobb, is it?” said Lugg. “Well, you’ll be worse if the tunnel comes down. Is Yarrow the squirrel down here anywhere? Yes, I know you’ve been ill, you’re not the only one. Get out. Plague and lice! Urchin, tell 'em not to move anyone out of the burrow below this one yet. Let’s get this one clear first. Don’t want too much coming and going at once. We need more pit props.”

Urchin leaped lightly forward through the tunnel, scampered up the next layer of burrows, and called for pit props. He looked up to the hillside, where storm-tossed lanterns rocked in a wild dance as otters and hedgehogs worked furiously, building dams and channels. Wild clouds whipped across the sky. Crispin, with a few Circle animals, stood up to his knees in water, stopping the dislodged stones that rolled down the hillside. Urchin ducked into a burrow.

“Be ready to leave when Captain Lugg calls for you,” he ordered. “Till then, don’t move unless you absolutely have to.”

Above him, a tree root shook. Rough and ready props for holding up tunnel roofs had been made from whatever timber Twigg and the other carpenters could supply and from branches wrenched away by the storm. Urchin darted out of the burrow to find one. Lightning flashed, followed by a rumble that he hoped was only thunder.

“That’s all we need,” muttered Lugg, pushing Yarrow into the open. “And you needn’t think I can’t hear you muttering about Husk, because I can. Can’t see how he could make it thunder. Watch out, young Urchin. It’s getting worse.”

“Dearest Juniper,” said Fir, when Juniper and Sepia had told their story. “You hate yourself now because you heard Damson’s confession. If you had not done it, you would hate yourself for that instead.”

Juniper found that his despair was not quite as heavy as it had been. Miserably, with the gales battering the dark windows and the lamp casting a steady light on Fir’s calm, wise face, he had poured out his story to Brother Fir, and Damson’s story, too—"She meant you to hear it, sir,” he said. Sepia had plumped up the pillows for Fir, built up the fire, and heated cordials. The firelight cast a warm light on her face and flickered on the walls. Juniper was aware of peace around him, even if he wasn’t at peace himself.

“It had never occurred to me,” said Fir, “that Husk might be your father. I remember Spindrift. We thought she had left the island with someone from one of the ships. A quiet, shy little squirrel with a gentle nature. She must have loved you very dearly. So, Juniper, now you know. May the Heart rest her, and dear Damson, too.”

“She was the only parent I ever had,” said Juniper. “I wish I had her here. I’d rather have Damson alive than know the truth about my father.”

“I know, I know,” said Brother Fir sadly, “but that’s not the way it is. The Heart brings good from all things, all things, however impossible that may seem. Bring your wretchedness, your anger, and your unwelcome knowledge to the Heart.”

“I can’t, sir,” said Juniper.

“You can’t yet,” said Fir, “but you will. Life consists of doing the impossible. Thank you, Miss Sepia,” he added, putting down his empty wooden mug. “I feel much better for that cordial. What else is happening on this wild night?”