“Have yourselves a good wash,” said the hedgehog. “I’ve never seen squirrels in such a mess. Might have to change the water a few times. How’s it going at the digging?”
“Everyone’s out of the burrows, and the worst seems to be over,” said Urchin.
“Thank the Heart for that!” said the hedgehog, and trotted away to spread the news and find Arran. Urchin and Juniper were left alone.
Urchin reached to unbuckle his sword, then realized he’d left it at the diggings. He plunged his paws into a tub of hot water and felt the heat seeping through to his bones so wonderfully that the only thing to do was to tip himself headfirst into the tub and scrub hot water into his fur, over his head and ears, between his claws, and into his tail tip until the mud and sand had floated away, and he felt as clean as a freshly washed sponge. Then he scrambled out, perched on the edge of the tub, and leaped onto the towel, rolling himself in it.
“It’s wonderful!” he said to Juniper. “Try it!”
Juniper had curled up tightly, hugging his knees. He could never be part of Urchin’s world again. It was as if he carried something worse than fouldrought.
Alarmed, Urchin knelt in front of him. “Juniper!” he said. He put a paw on Juniper’s head, but Juniper didn’t move. He must be in shock, Urchin thought. He’s just lost Damson, then nearly died in collapsing burrows.
“You’ll be all right now, Juniper,” he said. “We’ll get you through this. You’ll feel much better after a soak in the hot water. You should try it.” Then he leaped back, startled, as Juniper sprang up.
“What do you know about it?” he cried. “Do you think you know it all? Do you think you understand everything, and it can all be put right with a hot bath and a fire? You have no idea!”
“I’m sorry!” gasped Urchin.
“You don’t know anything!” yelled Juniper bitterly. “Don’t you understand? I went in to save you, and you ended up saving me, because you always have to be the hero!”
“Juniper, what…” began Urchin, but Juniper wasn’t listening.
“So what if I’d died saving you!” cried Juniper. “I wanted to! I would have done one noble, worthwhile thing, and then it would have all been over, and I wouldn’t have to live with this!” The rage in his eyes turned to terrible pain. “You don’t know who I am!”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
HE DOOR OPENED. Tall and commanding with her no-nonsense air, Arran marched into the chamber.
“Scream louder,” she commanded. “They might not have heard you on Whitewings. What’s going on here?”
Neither of them spoke. Neither had any idea where to start.
“Have a wash, Juniper,” she said briskly. Subdued by her presence, Juniper climbed into a tub, washed, and was drying himself off when Padra and Crispin, smiling and filthy with mud, strode into the chamber. To Urchin, everything immediately looked more hopeful. With Crispin and Padra, he always felt everything would be all right.
“Well done, you two,” said Crispin.
“Excellently done, the pair of you,” said Padra. They threw their swords and cloaks into a corner, and Urchin’s sword, too, and leaped with two splashes into the washtubs. As they wallowed about washing themselves, Urchin hopped to Juniper.
“This isn’t just about Damson, is it?” he whispered. “What did you mean about knowing who you are?” As Juniper didn’t answer, he went on earnestly, “Whatever it is, tell Crispin. It’s important.”
Juniper felt the firelight seeping into him, and the presence of Crispin and Padra was reassuring. He should tell Crispin. The king had a right to know, and so did Padra, as senior captain. He probably wouldn’t be allowed to be a priest now, and they’d have to know why not. This way he’d only have to tell it once, and get it over—but he couldn’t, not when Padra and Crispin were splashing about in the water and looked as if they were having fun for a change. They must have enjoyed the challenge and struggle of the landslide. For a short time, it had taken their minds from Catkin.
“Juniper,” whispered Urchin, “you said I don’t know who you are. Well I do. I told you on Whitewings, we’re brothers.”
“I won’t hold you to that,” said Juniper.
It became quiet. Crispin and Padra had dried themselves and had noticed the urgent whispering between the two young squirrels. Arran placed another log carefully on the fire, and sparks fluttered upward.
“Is something the matter?” she asked.
“Go on!” whispered Urchin.
“Juniper?” inquired Crispin gently.
Juniper shrugged and glared at Urchin. “There isn’t time,” he muttered.
“Whatever it is, you’d find it a lot harder later on,” said Crispin kindly. “Padra, would you make sure nobody interrupts us?”
While Padra was out, Crispin ushered Juniper and Urchin to a place by the fire and asked them whether they’d been hurt in the rescue at the burrows. They had a few scratches that they hadn’t noticed at first and Urchin’s shoulders ached, but none of it seemed important. Then Padra swished into the burrow with jugs of cordial and warm spiced wine, and a pawful of mugs, which he set beside the fire.
“I’ve given orders that we mustn’t be disturbed except for the most urgent of needs,” he said, pouring out dark and spicy drinks that steamed in the firelight. “Get that inside you, Juniper. Whatever you have to tell us, it’s probably not so bad as it seems.”
The cordial was rich and sizzling hot, and Juniper felt better for tasting it. Then he set his mug on the hearth. Sometimes looking at the fire, sometimes at his paws, and sometimes into their faces, he told them everything. He told them of his decision to hear Damson’s confession. Finally, keeping his voice as steady as he could, struggling to look Crispin in the face, with every word growing heavy and reluctant, he told them about his mother’s murder.
“And because she stayed out of the way, it was years before Damson saw him again, and heard him, and realized who he was,” he said. “It was…Your Majesty, it’s the worst person it could be.”
He took a deep breath. One short syllable, and it was out forever.
“Husk,” he said.
He was aware of Padra and Arran both shutting their eyes tightly as if they’d been hurt, but Crispin continued to look at him without flinching. Juniper felt he should repeat it, in case Crispin hadn’t understood.
“Do you understand, Your Majesty? I’m Husk’s son, and he murdered my mother.”
“It was brave of you to tell us,” said Crispin softly, and took Juniper by the shoulders. “Well done. You can’t help who your father was.”
“I’ll never be happy again, sir,” said Juniper, his head down, not looking Crispin in the eyes. “When I heard about what Urchin was doing at the landslide I went because I wanted to take over from him, do something worthwhile, and get killed.”
“Oh, Juniper!” cried Arran.
“I’m very glad you didn’t succeed,” said Crispin. “It would have been a great loss to all of us. The whole island would be a poorer place without you.”
“But I’m something to do with him,” said Juniper. “I could turn out like him.”
He hunched up with his head on his knees. Urchin offered him a beaker, and for Urchin’s sake he drank.
“Why should you turn out like him?” asked Crispin. “You haven’t up to now. I knew Husk, and you’re nothing like him.”
“I’m not that good, either,” said Juniper.
“Good enough for us,” said Crispin. “Brother Fir thinks so, and so do I. If there’s anything very bad about you, you must be hiding it well.”
“Husk made people think he was good, sir,” he said, and wished Urchin hadn’t been there. He could only hope their friendship would pass the test.
“Brother Fir says that Husk was jealous of you, Your Majesty, when you were young tower squirrels, and that was one of the things that brought out the worst in him,” he said. “And I get jealous. I don’t mean to, but I can’t help it.”
&nb
sp; “Jealous of anybody in particular, Juniper?” asked Crispin.
It was the question that had to come. Looking at his paws again, he said, “Urchin.” He glanced sideways. “Sorry, Urchin. I can’t help it.”
“But we’ve always been friends,” said Urchin, who was finding this difficult to understand.
“Oh, yes,” said Juniper. “But I’m jealous of you, all the same.”
“I should think lots of animals are,” remarked Crispin.
“But you risked your life to save mine!” said Urchin. “Twice!”
“Because it was worth saving,” explained Juniper “and because you’re my friend and my brother, but I’m still jealous of you. I can’t help it. You helped to save the island. You get to do the exciting things, you even rode on a swan. And when you learned the truth about your parents, you found out that they were heroes.”
“Juniper, you’re a hero yourself!” said Padra. He left Arran’s side, knelt before Juniper, and took his paws. “Look at me, Juniper. After Spindrift died, the only parent you had was Damson, and she was rightly proud of you. Husk chose evil. He wanted power and glory for himself, and he’d do anything to get it. You haven’t chosen that way, you’ve chosen love and loyalty. Look what you did, going to Whitewings! You’re loyal to Urchin, even though you’re jealous of him. You have excellent qualities. Fir chose you. Your father’s blood isn’t what makes you who you are. You chose the Heart that loves you, and the Heart keeps you. You are free from your past.”
“More than that,” said Crispin. “You’re something good that came from Husk’s life, in spite of all he did.”
“And you’re my brother,” said Urchin.
“Please, Your Majesty,” Juniper asked, “do other people have to know?”
“I don’t see why,” said Crispin, “and certainly not yet. Don’t try to make decisions yet, when you’ve only just learned this. Sleep on it. That’s something we all need to do. None of us got much sleep last night. Padra, Arran, wouldn’t you rather go home to Tide and Swanfeather?”
“Oh, yes, please,” said Arran. “We’ve had to leave them with Mother Huggen and Apple so much lately, I’m afraid they’ll forget who I am, and I…” She stopped suddenly, and finished, “I do want to be with them.” Urchin guessed that she had nearly said something about worrying that they’d go missing and stopped herself just in time.
“Tell Cedar everyone’s safe,” said Crispin. “And tell the night watch guards I’ll sleep here tonight, so they can wake me if anything happens. But I don’t think it will.”
Urchin twitched his ears and gave himself a shake to try and stay awake. Suddenly, his eyes wanted to close. He tried to look wide awake and alert, but it was hard to do that while putting both paws to his mouth to stifle an enormous yawn. It was no good hoping that Crispin hadn’t noticed.
“Urchin, you’re exhausted,” he said. “I’ll send someone for blankets.”
Padra and Arran left to return to the tower, and bedding was brought for Urchin and Juniper, who rolled themselves in blankets before the fire. The excitement of the day and night meant that Urchin lay awake for a long time, looking into the fire. He slept at last, lightly and uneasily, dreaming of tunnels caving in, and floods, and dark tunnels opening to show the face of Captain Husk. He woke scared and sweating, staring into the dark.
I’m safe. I’m in a refuge burrow, with a fire burning and Juniper beside me. He sat up, hugging the blanket around himself, looking into the deep orange embers. There were voices outside, but it was Crispin and Lugg, speaking in low voices. They must be trying not to wake anyone.
“Floods and landslides, Your Majesty,” Lugg was saying softly, “I can deal with those. You can see what you’re doing with those—see it, hear it, feel it. I’m more worried about things that are being said on this island, Your Majesty, if you’ll pardon me raising the subject. There’s another bright spark hedgehog swears he saw Husk last night. Drunk enough and dense enough to say anything, if you ask me. No normal, sensible squirrel can go home in the dark without some busybody wailing that they’ve seen Husk.”
“And until they get it firmly into their heads that he can’t harm them, they’ll be afraid,” said Crispin. “One day, Lugg, this will be over. Disease will have died away, the island will be calm and safe, and Cedar and I will put Catkin to bed in her own cradle. We have to keep believing that. Now, where are the injured animals from the landslide?”
“Chambers at the end of this row, Your Majesty, and Heart be thanked, there’s nobody killed. But, Your Majesty, it’s not just Husk they’re talking about.”
“What now?” asked Crispin, and Urchin heard the weariness in his voice.
There was a moment’s pause then, so quietly that Urchin could barely hear it, Lugg said, “The queen,” and what followed was whispered so softly that he couldn’t hear anything at all.
“Get a few hours’rest, Lugg,” said Crispin at last. “That’s an order. I’ll look in on the injured.”
Urchin heard the soft padding of paws as they moved away. He was falling asleep again when another voice made him jolt with surprise.
“Urchin!”
“Juniper? Are you all right?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” said Juniper, propping himself up on his elbow. “I just heard Lugg and the king talking.”
“So did I,” said Urchin. “I suppose we shouldn’t have listened.”
“I’m glad I did,” said Juniper. “When the animals aren’t muttering about—you know, him—they’re saying the queen’s mad. Brother Fir says the most dangerous enemies are the ones you can’t see. You could see Husk, we could see King Silverbirch and Granite, and Smokewreath, and they were bad enough, but you can’t see rumors. We have to do something about them.”
“Such as what?” said Urchin.
“That’s what I’m trying to work out,” said Juniper.
He stared into the darkness, silently repeating his prophecy in his head. The impossible prophecy. But now the fatherless had found a father—or, at least, he knew who his father was and what had happened to him. The hills had fallen to earth. Perhaps there was hope, then, emerging from his own despair. Somewhere in the future lay an outstretched claw, a glimpse of blue—where had he seen that shade of blue?—and the flash of a knife.
“Urchin,” he said at last. “Are you still awake?”
“Not much,” muttered Urchin.
“I can’t sleep,” said Juniper. “I’m going back to the tower to be with Fir.”
“Now?” said Urchin.
“I can’t just lie here waiting for morning,” said Juniper.
With reluctance and a great effort, Urchin sat up. He hadn’t slept much, but at least he had been warm and resting. “I’ll come with you,” he said.
“No, don’t,” said Juniper. “The king might need you in the morning. If anyone asks, tell them where I’ve gone.”
Crispin sat alone by a dying fire. He could have called a guard, or woken someone, but it would be no good. He had to face the loneliness of being the king.
Landslides and disease, they were struggles, but struggles he could cope with. He had fought worse things. Lying awake night after night, he had asked himself if Husk might really be back, and whether he could have tricked Linty into bringing Catkin to him. He had wondered if he would ever see her again and even, when the nights were longest and darkest, whether there really was a curse on the Heir of Mistmantle. And after all that, he had to face what Lugg had told him. Cedar had been such joy, such warmth and strength for the island and for himself, and what was the latest silly gossip? The foreign queen comes from a land of sorcerers where they don’t know how to do things. Can’t even look after her own baby. It’s all her fault. Fouldrought, everything.
He could not remember feeling so coldly, bitterly angry since the day his first wife died. He could feel sorry for easily led animals who believed rumors about Husk. He could understand the frightened animals who hardly dared let their young out of their sig
ht. He could understand them criticizing him—he was the king, the island was his responsibility. But they had turned their gossip against Cedar, picking and clawing at what was dearer to him than his own heart. There was ignorance to fight on this island and a battle within himself. Before he could speak to the islanders, he must face his hurt and anger.
Brother Fir would have been able to help him, but Brother Fir was far away in the tower. From long years of experience, he must ask himself the questions Brother Fir would ask. He imagined the priest, sitting on the hearth with a beaker of cordial in his paws, saying, “Think, Crispin, think! Haven’t I taught you to think? I must be a poor sort of priest. Ask yourself questions. So some animals—only some animals—are being unpleasant about Her Majesty. Hm. Ask yourself the right questions.”
Crispin asked himself the questions Fir would have asked. Why? Why are they behaving like this? What have you just said to yourself? Question, question. What are the enemies we face? Ignorance, yes, weakness, yes, and? Come on, think!
Then he knew what the island’s greatest enemy was and realized that he had always known it. It was obvious. He lit a candle, and smiled at last.
There was no point in sitting here, doing nothing, waiting for morning. He went again to visit the injured animals, then climbed out to the fresh air, ran up to the best viewpoint, and, as the darkness lifted just a little, looked down over Mistmantle. He felt his heart grow with love for this island and its animals.
Why did anyone think that kingship was about ruling, ordering, and holding power? To him, it was simply looking after the island for his lifetime, nurturing it, being like a father to the island as he was to Catkin. Little Catkin. Heart protect you. We’re looking for you. I can’t bear this, I can’t bear not holding you.
The Heir of Mistmantle Page 15