Aware of something above him, he looked up, and to his great relief saw a faint glow of warm yellow light far above him. He was right, then. They were directly under the Chamber of Candles. He held the candle as close to the ground as he could, to see what lay there. When his hind paw touched something hard and cold, he flinched as if it burned.
It was nothing. Only a bit of old metal. He held the candle to it.
In the pale light, he could recognize the tip of a sword blade. He knelt, holding the candle to follow the line of the sword from the tip of the tarnished blade, the elegant and dented hilt, and the empty socket where a jewel had fallen out. Beyond the sword hilt lay the fine skeleton of a paw that had finally lost its hold. The claws curled as if they beckoned.
He raised the candle higher. Delicate white bones gleamed. There was a paw, the long bones of an arm where shreds of fabric still clung, and a few gold threads. He stood up and walked around it, stepping carefully around the dull and twisted circlet that had rolled from the shattered and splintered skull. The teeth remained bared, as if crying out. He walked on around the other outflung arm, the fragmented ribs and collarbone, the legs and spine, all broken in the fall. Something that looked like grit seemed to gleam gently and might have been precious stones, as if the hem of the dusty, tattered robe had been jeweled. There was little of it left now. Tiny creatures must have nibbled it away.
He looked up to meet Urchin’s eyes. The two squirrels stood on either side of Husk’s skeleton, each holding up a light.
“I’ve found him,” said Juniper.
Urchin came to stand beside him, looking down on the circlet, the sword, and the robe that he had last seen when he had seemed to have been much younger, when the gleam of that circlet and the magnificence of that robe had drawn the whole island to Husk’s power, when murder had always been in the air. So here was the end of Husk’s story. Shreds of nibbled cloth, dulled jewels fallen from a battered circlet, a tarnished old sword blade, and shattered bones.
“I wish none of it had happened,” whispered Juniper. “All the things he did and what he became. But it did, and we can’t change the past. We can only make a difference now.” From the scene of old death, he looked up to the reassuring glow from the Chamber of Candles above them. “Now,” he added quietly, because he didn’t want Needle to hear this, “nobody can ever see me in a dim light, from far away, and think they’ve seen my father.”
Urchin stared at him. He was about to say that Juniper didn’t look a bit like Husk, but, now that he came to think of it, there was something, just now and again, in the turn of his head—seen from a distance, in a poor light, he would look a bit like Husk.
“I climbed to the top of the dead tree this morning,” said Juniper.
“I know,” said Urchin. “In the trees. Crispin and I were just coming out of the burrow.”
There was a little gasp from Needle, and they turned sharply to run back to her. She lay on the ground, her mouth tight with pain.
“I tried to walk,” she said, “I think I’ve done something to the hind paw on that side, too. I’m a bit bruised down one side. I’ll be all right in a minute.”
“Try taking deep breaths,” advised Juniper.
“I did,” she said, “but it hurts.”
“We need to get her out quickly,” said Urchin to Juniper. “We can’t get her up there without help.”
“Excuse me, I’m still here,” said Needle with all the indignation she could manage.
“Sorry,” said Urchin, “we need to get you out, and we need help. We need a team with a rope or a sling, or a basket or something, to fetch you. None of us had the sense to bring a rope. Needle, it’s best if Juniper stays with you because he’s the one who knows about injuries. I’ll tell Crispin what we’ve found and get a rescue team down here.”
“Fast as you can, Urchin,” said juniper. Suddenly hungry for warmth, he realized that Needle would be cold, too. He took off his cloak and wrapped it around her as she flattened her spines.
Urchin stood back to take a long look at the way they had come, weighing up the angle of the slope, the steps, the ledge, and the sheer cliff. Making a good, fast run up the loose stones and gravel would be difficult, but without that he hadn’t a hope of getting up the cliff. Even with a good launch, it would be hard. He couldn’t remember running up anything so smooth and so high. He ran up the scree, took a deep breath, and gathered all his powers for the spring.
It was a strong, stretching leap that took him far up the cliff, but the height still above him was daunting, and he felt himself slipping as he scrabbled for a claw hold and slithered helplessly back to the ground. Angry at himself, both for failing and for failing in front of his friends when Needle needed help, he took a few deep breaths and with all his strength and skill launched himself at the cliff, scrabbled, and fell again.
He had done all he could, he had used all he had to give, and it had not been enough. The strength he needed was beyond anything he knew. Deep in his heart he prayed, and felt that Juniper was praying, too.
Heart who brought me through stars and sea and over the clouds, give me your strength. Heart who brought me through the earthquake, help me. Be the strength of my strength. Be the Heart in my heart.
He thought of woods in spring, with young squirrels racing and chasing from tree to tree, faster and higher. He thought of flying, with a flicker of joy. He sprang.
Think higher, think higher, he told himself, stretching out his claws into the air. Fly!
He landed not far from the cliff top, but still not close enough, and felt himself slipping. This time, he didn’t scrabble to stay up. Fly! he thought, and pushing his paws against the cliff, he sprang once more, stretching out his claws for the cliff top and heaving himself over the edge.
“Well done, Urchin,” yelled Juniper. “Heart speed you!” Then Urchin was running back the way they had come, sniffing the air, feeling in the dark for Juniper’s marker leaves as he ran for Crispin.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
INTY, WITH CATKIN IN HER ARMS, pressed herself against the back of the cave and gave thanks. It had been hard, dragging the supplies here through tunnels and cave ways, and, of course, with every trip she had to carry Catkin, who seemed heavier every time. But she was ready now. She had only to load the boat, and conditions at sea were perfect. The tide had brought in the fog, and soon it would be twilight. No such chance would come again.
“We’re going in a boat, my little Dais—Catkin—my little one, my baby,” she whispered softly, rocking Catkin. “The tide will carry us away from here, and evil Husk will never get you, and we’ll never come back here, we’ll find a lovely place to live, and your mother and father…” She hesitated, twitching uneasily. “I’m your mother now. I’m your real mother. It’s me that’s looked after you. You’re my little baby.”
“How’s the forepaw?” Juniper asked Needle. He held her tightly in the cloak, both for her warmth and his own.
“It’s better since you bandaged it up,” she said.
“And the hind paw?”
“So’s that. And the bruising isn’t so bad as long as I keep still. Aren’t you cold?”
“Not me,” said Juniper. “I don’t feel it.” He reached into his satchel as carefully as he could, not wishing to move her. “Have another drink.”
She drank from the bottle of cordial. “Was it worth it?” she said drowsily. “Coming all that way to see him?”
“It was for me,” said Juniper. “But I’m sorry this has happened to you.”
“Oh, I’ll be all right,” she whispered. It had been worth it for her, too. She’d learned to like Juniper. If she had to be lying injured at the bottom of a dark pit, Juniper was a good animal to have with her. It was almost as good as having Urchin there—better, really, because Juniper knew more about injuries than Urchin did. They were part of each other’s lives now, all three of them.
In Seathrift Meadow, King Crispin sat on a rock and looked down at the young
animals. He didn’t look like a king rallying the island, more like an uncle telling stories.
“When I was a very small squirrel,” he said, “my parents would sometimes take me to tea at the cave of an elderly otter, on winter nights. It was meant to be a treat—and it was, she made a wonderful tea. But I feared those outings. I feared them because of a stone that stood by the cave entrance. It was almost black, and strangely veined. In daylight, it was a stone. But as the shadows grew, I felt that stone behind me. If I turned to look at it, I knew that those veins would look like a hideous face that would follow me home. Not looking at it was worse, because I knew it was watching me. It became a horror.”
He looked down at the young animals gazing upward. “Do you have things like that? Things that frighten you?” Wide-eyed, they nodded. Each one could think of a twisted tree root or strange shadows in the firelight.
“I’ll tell you what I did about it,” he said. “I told myself it was only a stone, and there was no point in spoiling a good tea by being afraid of it. I asked the otter-wife what it was for, and she said she had rolled it over a place that had let the draft in. So I went up to it in broad daylight, had a good look at it, and kicked it. It hurt my toes, and I limped all the way home, but it was worth it.”
The little ones laughed shyly. Crispin went on, “I’m sure you all have something like that, something you’re afraid of,” he said. “When your parents and grandparents were little, they were scared, too. Scared of a twisted tree, a pattern in the cliffs, or an animal they were shy of. We all have fears like that, and we all have to learn that it’s nothing to be ashamed of.” He raised his head, looking out at the crowd. “Isn’t that true? Weren’t you all afraid of something when you were young?” Then he sprang to his paws, and his voice rang from the rocks. “So you’re afraid of Husk! You’re worried that he could be alive and among us. Maybe he is! Heart help us, he’s only a squirrel! Paws, ears, and a tail, like the rest of us! He only took over the island before because we let him! He has no power over us unless we give it to him!”
“And we’re not going to!” piped up Hope, then curled up as everyone laughed.
“Well said, Hope,” said Crispin. “We won’t! For myself, I have enough to do with fouldrought, landslides, floods, and Catkin missing, without one troublesome squirrel who doesn’t know how to stay dead!”
Thripple gasped. Lugg grinned.
“Good at this, isn’t he?” he said.
“What are your fears?” demanded Crispin. “Be honest with yourselves! What do you fear? Do you fear a ghost? Do you fear the unknown? Because the queen comes from a place strange to you, are you afraid of what she might do? Are you afraid of what you see in nightmares or hear in rumors? Are you afraid that I won’t govern you well, that Cedar and I and the captains will let you down?”
He stepped forward. All eyes gazed at him.
“Good creatures,” he said more slowly, “I know what the island’s greatest enemy is, and it moves among us. It has been among us all this time, setting paw against paw, mind against mind, heart against the Heart, as Brother Fir warned. It is the child of ignorance. Its name…”
He paused. The silence was tight with waiting.
“Its name is fear,” he said. “Fear! I don’t mean the healthy fear that makes you careful, but the overwhelming fear that cripples you! Dearest animals, don’t plot and whisper about each other. Fill your lives with the enemies of fear! Take love, take hope, take friendship, take music, take laughter, support one another. The Heart has no room for fear!”
There was a brief pause, then the younger animals decided they should applaud, and did, and everyone did, more and more, in a wave of cheering, clapping, and stamping. A breath of wind drifted across the rock, and it was as if that light wind lifted the gloom, the discontent, and the spoken name of fear, and swept it away to sea. The air felt clean.
Crispin held up his paw for silence.
“Now,” he said. “If you have questions to ask, come and ask me, or one of the captains. Presently, food will be brought from the tower kitchens so nobody goes home hungry.” He turned, scanning the small group of animals behind him. “Where’s Juniper?”
“He asked permission to be absent, Your Majesty,” said Padra.
“Then I’ll give the blessing myself,” said Crispin, and raised a paw. “The Heart bless and keep each one of you as you go, as you lie down tonight, and as you rise in the morning.”
Some of the animals who lived nearby were wrapping themselves in their cloaks and going home, but most stayed for the warm drinks and food being carried down in carts from the tower. They drifted into little knots and sat down together, chatting and eating and reassuring each other that of course the king was right, or at least, they hoped he was, and how could anybody be unkind about the queen, poor dear? Padra, watching for anyone who wanted to approach the king but might be too shy or uncertain, decided it was time to have a word with Crispin about Juniper, Urchin, and Needle, when a loud, urgent cry of, “Your Majesty!” made all the animals on the high rock turn and be silent. The crowd, too, picked up the silence, put down their bread and beakers and turned to look.
Running from the tower, breathless and dirty, came Urchin. Dust and soil clung to his fur, cobwebs hung from his ears, and blood was on his paws, but in his eyes there was a strength and depth that Crispin had not seen there before. Paws reached out to haul him onto the rock.
“Your Majesty,” he gasped, “Needle needs help, and Juniper is with her. And, Your Majesty, nobody need ever question again whether Husk is alive. Juniper has found him. He lies where he fell, broken, with his sword and circlet. I have seen him, Your Majesty. I have been there.”
It took very little time for Urchin to explain the situation to Crispin and the captains and for them to assemble a rescue party and send for ropes, slings, and lanterns. While they were doing that, Arran raised the question as to whether other animals should be allowed to go down.
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Lugg. “There’s plenty would be glad of the chance to make sure he’s good and proper dead. If they’ve got the guts to go down there, that is.”
“Yes,” said Crispin, “but we don’t want animals going down just out of curiosity, to have a good look. He’s not something to gawp at for entertainment.”
“I think the prospect of going down to the bottom of the pit will be enough to put most of them off,” said Padra. “But some of them should go. It’s not enough for the captains to go down there and say, yes, we’ve seen him dead. The doubters and worriers should see for themselves.”
“Then I’ll get the species to choose a representative each,” said Crispin. “They can go down in the morning, but they have to be chosen tonight and set to guard the entrances to the place. That way, nobody can claim that the evidence has been tampered with. Two of each would be best. Docken, Russet, Heath, sort them out, please. Now, are we ready? Has anyone found Needle’s parents? Urchin, lead the way.”
“Well done, Crispin!” said Padra. “That was the work of a real king.”
“If you say so,” murmured Crispin. “It’s marvelous what we can do together—stop landslides, fight off plague, quell rebellion—those three have even found Husk. But between us we can’t even find one wild-witted squirrel and my daughter.” He lifted his head and raised his voice. “Ready, everyone? Forward!”
When the rescue party had gone, Sepia and Scatter sat on their paws on a landing in the tower. There was nothing they could do to help with the rescue of Needle and Juniper, nothing but wait until they were brought out, and they had decided to do that here, in the quietness of the tower as twilight grew. It was good to be away at last from the bustle of animals scurrying about outside, and Sepia felt she needed time to be quiet and think about Damson. So she sat on the stairs watching the sky behind the window turn dim with twilight, holding Urchin, Juniper, and Needle before the Heart, because sometimes her friends seemed too heavy for her own heart to carry. They had been away for such
a long time, or perhaps it just seemed like that. Then Scatter, who was getting bored but didn’t like to say so, said, “Shall we go and see if Brother Fir is all right?”
“Oh, yes,” said Sepia. “We ought to see if he needs anything.” They pattered up the stairs to the turret, tapped at the door, and waited to be called in—but when they stepped into the chamber they both curtsied, because the queen, thinner than ever, sat at Brother Fir’s side.
“Your Majesty!” they said.
“Well, what excellent company,” said Fir, and though his voice was frail he seemed to Sepia to be more like his old self. His deep eyes twinkled. “Three of the finest young animals on the island, all at once. I must be a dangerous old scoundrel, you know, if it takes three of you to keep me out of mischief.”
“We came to see if you needed anything, Brother Fir,” said Scatter.
“That was most kind of you,” said Brother Fir. “As you see, I am finally out of bed, and the queen herself made up cordials for me. But I shall go back to bed soon. Sepia, Scatter, my dears, would you be most kind and close my window?”
Glad to have something to do, Sepia scurried across the floor to fasten the window. In spite of the gray fingers of fog coming in with the tide, it was turning into a beautiful evening. The sky was gray-violet now, with a few stars and a track of moonlight reflected across the rippling sea.
Something was moving on the water. It must be a boat from the other side of the island or one of the otter patrol. But, as she narrowed her eyes, she could see it wasn’t an otter rowing it…it could be…
“Please, Your Majesty,” she said, “come and look at this.”
Then Cedar, Scatter, and Sepia were leaping down the stairs, calling for the guards, the messengers, and Crispin.
At the top of the underground cliff, Crispin, Padra, Lugg, and the other chosen animals stood surrounded by lanterns and candles. It seemed so much safer to Urchin, now that all the others were there, and there was more light. With a long rope tied to Docken’s waist, and the strongest of the animals lined up in front of him all holding firmly on to it, a sling was lowered over the edge of the cliff. There were a few muffled squeaks and a clanking of buckles, then Juniper’s voice came echoing from far beneath them.
The Heir of Mistmantle Page 19