The Heir of Mistmantle

by M. I. McAllister

  “Top way, sharpish,” said Lugg. “Give 'em a shout, but don’t go up there if you can help it.”

  Urchin shouted, but he knew his voice would be whipped away in the wind. There was no choice but to scramble to the top of the bank, unbuckling his sword to make himself lighter.

  “Come out the top way!” he yelled. “Quickly, one at a time!”

  He heard Crispin shouting something, strained to hear the words, and turned with rain driving into in his eyes. Looking uphill he saw Crispin cupping his paws, shouting, and Padra, waving and pointing to a wave of mud and stone lurching furiously downhill.

  He sprang backward as mud, grass, and stone cascaded toward the burrows. Animals with lanterns were running in all directions as Crispin, Padra, and Lugg shouted orders—Stay back!—Over here!—Spread out! The churning mud gathered power and speed, hurling rocks ahead of it, huge and savage as a monster in a nightmare.

  The slope shallowed. The landslide slowed, spreading its weight, thinned to a trickle, slithered over Crispin’s paws, and finally stopped.

  There was a brief and total silence, then a cheer that was almost a sigh of relief, and a low whistle from Lugg.

  “Not bad for a practice run,” he remarked.

  Crispin climbed onto a mound of earth. He was so daubed with mud that the white patch on his chest was obscured, and his ears were the only clean part of him.

  “Anyone harmed?” he called. “Urchin, come farther back. That would have been a lot worse if not for the work the otters are doing at the top there. This lot was way below the dam already. Is anyone in those burrows?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty, and I can’t see them getting out in a hurry,” replied Lugg. “We were going to get them out the top way, but that lot will have blocked it solid. The only other way now is a twisty one that goes well under the hill, in and out and I don’t know what. Dead ends all over the place. They’ll need an escort to get them out. Permission to do it myself, please, Your Majesty. I don’t fancy asking anyone else to.”

  “You may, Lugg,” said Crispin. “And choose who you want to help you. No unnecessary risks.” He called a few hedgehogs to his side and squelched back up the hill. Urchin watched Lugg run along the bank, scrabble at an almost invisible entrance, and wriggle into the darkness. There were a few muffled words, and something about needing more props.

  The stack of pit props had been thrown in all directions by the mud slide. Urchin, seeing some sticking up through the mud at wild angles as if reaching out to be rescued, crawled to gather a few together.

  “Pit props, Lugg!” he called, and lowered them down, wriggling and angling them as they jammed against tree roots. From the calls of “Mind me snout!” he knew they were getting there.

  “Move, littl’ ’uns!” yelled Lugg. To a chorus of mutters and curses, two terrified young squirrels ran from the entrance, looking over their shoulders with wild, frightened eyes.

  “It’s caving in!” squealed one.

  “Get clear, then!” yelled Urchin, but they huddled beside him. They looked like brothers, and he remembered meeting them before. “It’ll cave in even faster if you stand on top of it,” he insisted. “Go…” He could see Docken guiding animals to safety. “You see that tall hedgehog? That’s Docken of the Circle. Go to him. Crawl, get farther up and onto the driest ground you can find.”

  The older squirrel retreated backward, leading the younger by the paw, but with a heartbroken wail of “Mummy!” the little one pulled with all his strength toward the entrance.

  “Sh, Pepper,” said the older one. “Master Urchin and Captain Lugg will get them out. Please, Master Urchin, sir, I’m Grain and he’s Pepper, and our mum and dad and Mistress Wheatear are still in there.”

  “And they’ll want you to be safe, so go to Master Docken,” insisted Urchin. “Captain Lugg will get them out, if anyone can.”

  “Do you need this, sir?” said Grain, heaving with his free paw at a log sticking out of the mud.

  “Thanks,” said Urchin, dragging it into place to give to Lugg. “Now, GO!”

  There was another length of timber almost buried in the mud, but when he heaved it out he saw it was too short to hold up a tunnel roof. “More props!” he yelled to anyone who could hear.

  “There’s no more!” yelled Docken, taking Grain and Pepper by the paws. “None big enough!”

  “Pass whatever there is, then!” Urchin shouted back. The timbers someone passed to him were too short to hold up a tunnel, but perhaps an animal could hold them up, or wedge them against a tree root…. From underground came a terrifying rumble.

  “PLAGUE!” bellowed Lugg. “Where’s the plaguing props? LIGHT!”

  “Someone bring a lantern!” yelled Urchin. Twigg slithered toward him, one arm wrapped around a bundle of timber and holding up a lantern in his other paw.

  “The wood might not be long enough, but it’s all I could get,” panted Twigg. “And here’s your lantern.”

  Urchin lowered the wood, but the lantern was too awkward a shape to ease into the tunnel. Hind paws first, holding the light above him, he clambered down into the tunnel and held it high. In its warm circle, he saw Lugg heaving pit props into place. Mounds of fallen earth, leaves, and mud lay on the ground around him. Three squirrel faces peered out from a dark corner.

  “Shall we make a run for it, Captain Lugg?” asked one.

  “Not yet!” grunted Lugg. “Urchin, what in plagues and fire are you doing here?”

  “Bringing your lantern,” said Urchin.

  “Good lad,” he muttered. “Got any props?”

  “Only these, and they won’t be long enough,” he said. “Will it help if I hold one up?”

  “If all else fails, I suppose so,” grunted Lugg. He winked at the squirrels and jerked his head at Urchin. “Just because our Urchin’s been through the mists and back, he thinks he’s indestructible. Find a stone to climb on, Urchin. The best thing to do with that bit of stick you’ve got is to ram it across the roof, then wedge it in amongst the tree roots to keep it in place.”

  A scatter of earth fell about Urchin as he stepped onto a stone. He stifled a cough and rubbed his eyes. The earth grumbled. He had heard that sound all night, but now that it was over his head, his fur prickled with fear. He tried not to imagine what it would be like if the tunnel caved in. Without him saying anything, Lugg understood.

  “Don’t even think about it, son,” said Lugg. “Concentrate on what you’re doing.”

  Ashamed of the trembling of his paws, Urchin placed the lantern gently on the ground. There must be no sudden movements. For a moment the squirrel hair bracelet on his wrist caught the glow of light, and it made him feel stronger.

  “Heart help us all,” he whispered, and climbed up to wedge the branch between the tree roots.

  Juniper sprang through treetops, raced across open ground, and heard the shouts of the animals long before the glow of storm-blown lanterns was in sight. His cloak, whipped about by the wind and snagged on branches, now hung limp, torn, soaked, and tangled. Bands of otters still struggled furiously, reinforcing the dam and digging out channels to divert the flooding streams, and below them he could just see animals and lanterns moving among banks of mud and stone. The landscape had changed so completely that he no longer recognized anything. Leaping downhill, he was stopped by Captain Arran and Russet of the Circle, carrying lengths of old, polished timber in their arms.

  “Stop!” cried Arran, and Russet leaped forward to put a restraining paw on his shoulder. “You’ll have the whole hillside down!”

  “I need to find Urchin,” gasped Juniper. “Is he safe?”

  “None of us is safe, if you come thundering around like that,” growled Russet. “Come with me the long way around. Still, you’re small and light, you might be useful. Do exactly as you’re told, and for everyone’s sake, be light on your paws.”

  “And take these for me,” said Arran, unloading the timbers into Juniper’s paws. “Then I can get back up the hill
.”

  With his arms full of planks, Juniper followed Russet to where Docken stood. Docken’s eyes brightened when he saw the wood. “Captain Lugg’s been yelling for those,” he said.

  “Where’s Urchin?” demanded Juniper.

  “In that lot.” Docken nodded toward the burrows. “You’re a priest, just say a prayer that he gets out in one piece.”

  “I’ll take these to him,” said Juniper. “Russet, give me your lot and I’ll take those too.”

  “I’ll do it,” said Russet.

  “I’m smaller and lighter,” said Juniper. He caught the look that passed between Russet and Docken and knew what it meant. Yes, it would help if Juniper could take the timber to Lugg, but we can’t send another young animal in there.

  He didn’t wait for an order. Here was something he could do to set against the harm his father had done. Tucking the longest and strongest lengths of timber under his arms, he crawled facedown through the mud, not looking around when he heard Docken’s sharp bark of “Juniper!” There was a low-voiced answer from Russet. “Let him try.” Raising his chin from the mud, he crawled on.

  Voices guided him to the burrow. He eased the pit props down the entrance first and scrambled down after them.

  “Well, look what the Heart sent us!” exclaimed Lugg.

  “Juniper!” cried Urchin. He was balanced on a twisted root, pressing the prop hard against the roof as sweat trickled down his neck. There was one second of delight at seeing Juniper’s face, then his heart twisted. Juniper was here. One more valuable life would be lost if the burrow collapsed.

  “Juniper, what are you doing?” he demanded. “What are you doing here?”

  “Getting you out,” said Juniper. “Here, let me hold that. Urchin, get out.”

  “Be quiet and give us those props,” said Lugg. “That long one, use it to hold up that side, there. That short one, hold it up over here, like Urchin’s doing. Here, by me. That’s it.”

  Juniper took his place, far from the burrow entrance. Urchin was much nearer to the way out than he was. Good. That was what he wanted.

  “Now,” said Lugg. “Ready to go, you lot. One at a time. You first, mistress.”

  A squirrel darted from the burrow, her ears flattened, her tail streaming behind her as she flew past Urchin. His shoulders burned with the strain of holding up the prop, but he must not move.

  “Next!” commanded Lugg. “Give us a paw, then, madam.” The next squirrel scurried as quickly as she could from the burrow. As Lugg helped her to get a claw-hold on the tree roots, trickles of earth fell on Urchin’s head. He blinked away dust.

  Get out, he thought, out, quickly. He mustn’t move, though his neck was cricked, searing pain flickered down his arms, and sweat trickled through his fur. There was still one more squirrel to get out.

  “Urchin and Juniper, when the last one’s out, get yourselves out,” ordered Lugg. “Sharpish. Captain’s orders. I’m not going till you’re out, and as I’d like to get out alive, you’d oblige me by looking nifty.”

  “Captain Lugg…” began Juniper.

  “Do as you’re lousy well told,” said Lugg.

  “Captain Lugg,” said the remaining squirrel. “If you think I’m going to stay here while there’s two young lads holding up the roof for me…”

  “Fair enough,” said Lugg. “Juniper, Urchin, scarper. Now. Captain’s order.”

  “I’m nearly a priest,” said Juniper, struggling for breath as he held the timber in place. “I should stay. If there’s nobody to hold up the roof…”

  “I’ll hold it up,” said Lugg. “You’re more trouble than all my daughters. And the grandsons too.”

  “Can’t we all go together?” asked the squirrel.

  “All those paws pounding along at once?” said Lugg. “You two young ‘uns, get out, spread yourselves on the ground, and be ready to give us a paw. Urchin, move over.”

  The squirrel slipped into place beside Urchin and stretched to hold up the beam just as the pain began to burn into Urchin’s elbows. Lugg took over from Juniper, and with last anxious glances over their shoulders, Juniper and Urchin sprang as lightly as they could to the tunnel, clambered one at a time through the entrance, and stretched themselves on the ground. From far below they heard Lugg bark a command, then there was a racing of quick light paws. They reached down into the burrow to haul the other squirrel to safety.

  “Run, you two,” he said. “I’ll wait here for Captain Lugg.”

  In the rain and darkness Urchin couldn’t see Juniper’s face clearly, but he didn’t have to. He knew he was about to argue.

  “Come on, Juniper,” he said, crawling backward. “We’re only increasing the weight by staying.”

  “Crawl away in different directions,” came Lugg’s muffled voice from belowground.

  “Over here!” called Docken from behind them. Cautiously, reluctantly, they began to crawl away. For a second or two, Urchin thought he heard mole steps underground, but the pounding rain made the vibrations confusing. Then, from far beneath them, came a rumble and a creak that grew louder.

  Urchin, glancing over his shoulder, saw that he was almost within reach of Docken’s outstretched paw. Then he looked back toward the burrow, and his skin prickled with horror.

  Juniper was flailing in the mud, stretching out his forepaws and struggling to crawl as he slipped farther and farther away. The mud was sliding, dragging Juniper down the bank toward the burrows, and there was still no sign of Lugg.

  Urchin sprang across the sliding bank, falling and staggering, dodging sideways and sideways again to avoid shifting, slithering mud, hearing voices shouting but neither knowing nor caring what they said. Something flew through the air past him, and he ducked, then saw what it was. It was a length of timber. Docken had thrown him a prop. He sprawled and stretched to reach it, and held it out to Juniper.

  “Grab that!” he yelled, but already Juniper was too far away. Claw by claw he crept forward, heaving across the mud, until at last Juniper’s paws had clutched at the wood.

  He pulled hard with both paws, gritted his teeth, and heaved again, but the weight of the wood and of Juniper sinking in the mud was too much. Though his muscles strained and burned, and he heaved with all his strength, it was as if Juniper and the wooden beam were both sealed in stone. His paws shook with effort.

  “Hold on!” he yelled, and then the thing he had dreaded most was happening. The earth beneath him, slowly, unstoppably, was moving, and he, too, was sliding out of control.

  Strong paws grasped his heels. Somebody was dragging him backward. Juniper too was sliding free from the mud. Russet and Heath had appeared and were hauling at the beam, pulling Juniper to safety—he heard Crispin’s voice.

  “You’re all right, Urchin. I’ve got you.”

  The ground was firmer now, and he could stand. Then Docken, Crispin, and the newly rescued squirrels and hedgehogs were around them, wrapping blankets around their soaked and muddied shoulders and patting them on the back.

  “Where…where’s Lugg?” stammered Urchin through chattering teeth. Nobody answered.

  “Lugg!” he cried. Without thinking he lunged toward the burrow, but Crispin caught him and held him back. Docken held on to Juniper. Below them the ground squelched, sighed, heaved like an enormous wet slug, and sank with a creaking of roots into the place where the burrow had been.

  Urchin stared. He wished he didn’t have to believe what he was watching.

  “Well, that’s sorted,” said a voice behind them.

  “Lugg!” cried Urchin again.

  Captain Lugg stood behind them, his claws in his belt. He bowed to Crispin.

  “Sorted, Your Majesty,” he said.

  “But you were…” began Juniper.

  “Ah, well, I reckon the earth’s on my side,” said Lugg. “Treat it with respect, and it’ll treat you the same way. When it shuts one tunnel, it usually opens another one. Tight squeeze, though. And I’d say we’ve had the worst of it now.”<
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  There was nothing but paw-shaking and hugging and congratulating each other for several minutes after that, with Lugg commenting that tunnels were getting tighter these days, Your Majesty. Then Crispin put his arms around Urchin and Juniper.

  “You’ve done well,” said Crispin. “Very well. Go and get yourselves washed, warm, and dry.”

  “Where do we go, sir?” asked Urchin. The thought of the long walk back to the tower was exhausting.

  “Mistress Apple won’t have 'em in the burrow in that state,” remarked Docken.

  “There’s a row of empty burrows halfway up the hill, above where the otters are working,” said Crispin. “We’ve had them prepared for casualties. Arran’s up there.”

  They trudged uphill, their paws sinking into the mud that made every step a struggle. Urchin was too tired to say much and supposed that Juniper’s silence was just because he, too, was tired. As they scrambled over a ridge they saw lanterns glowing at the entrance to the burrow, making Urchin feel warmer already.

  “Looks welcoming,” he said, and when Juniper didn’t answer, he added, “Are you all right?”

  “Damson died,” said Juniper. He’d have to tell Urchin that much sooner or later, and it gave him a good reason to be quiet.

  “I’m sorry,” said Urchin, and put a paw on Juniper’s shoulder, but Juniper didn’t seem to notice. In the darkness, Urchin glanced toward him, but Juniper was staring straight ahead of him, and it was hard to see his face. Urchin thought about how he’d feel if it were Apple who had died, and he hurt for his friend, but it was as if Juniper had retreated somewhere many miles away, beyond the mists, and Urchin could not reach him. At the entrance to the burrow he stood back to let Juniper go through first, then asked the guard hedgehog where Captain Lady Arran was.

  “I’ll send someone for her,” said the hedgehog. “Get yourselves inside. Captain Padra gave orders to be ready for you.”

  The burrow formed a neat row of chambers, each with a wooden door, some connecting to the next one. The hedgehog opened a door for Urchin and Juniper and showed them into a plain, clean, and wonderfully warm chamber, with a dry sandy floor and a fire burning in the grate with a steady, orange glow beneath it, welcoming them like a friend. Wooden tubs of hot water stood before it with steam rising into the firelit air and neatly folded towels beside them.