Urchin could feel Trail’s eyes on him as if he were to blame for all this. He wanted to squirm.
“This was bad enough,” said Lord Treeth. “When some of them were caught stealing from our stores we put them in prison cells for a time, to teach them that we would not tolerate thieving. When they were released, they stirred up their companions to wreak mayhem on our island. They live as outlaws, waging war upon us.” He turned to look gravely at Urchin. In fact, in the pause that followed, all of the visitors seemed to be looking at him.
“I’m very sorry to hear it, sir,” he said, wondering what it had to do with him.
“By this time,” said Lord Treeth, “we had realized that these animals were exiles from Mistmantle, following the downfall of Captain Husk. The exiles had brought us violence and unrest, but they also brought something most precious. They brought hope. They brought us the most important news there is.”
He paused again. In the power of the moment, Urchin stayed silent.
“We have a prophecy on our island,” said Lord Treeth, “so old that nobody knows how long ago it was spoken, but it has been passed on through generations. Far, far away in the past, it was said that a time would come when the creatures of Whitewings would be in great need. A squirrel would come to our help, and be the island’s deliverer. This deliverer would be…”
He paused again, as if he wanted to be sure of everybody’s perfect attention. Urchin’s fur bristled. He felt he knew what was coming.
“…a Marked Squirrel,” said Lord Treeth. “By that, we mean a very rare type of squirrel, hardly ever seen on these islands.”
Urchin already knew what Lord Treeth would say. Heat burned in his face.
“A squirrel pale as honey,” Lord Treeth went on, “a squirrel, Urchin, like yourself. When the Mistmantle animals told us of such a squirrel on their island—a Marked Squirrel who had already crossed the sea to bring King Crispin home—we felt hope. The Mistmantle exiles had brought us chaos, but they had also shown us where we could find deliverance.”
He was no longer looking at Urchin. He was looking past him toward Crispin, as if this must be settled between king and ambassador.
“And so,” finished Lord Treeth, his deep voice resonating through the throne room, “King Silverbirch beseeches the help of King Crispin. We know you are an honorable king. We have heard of your courage and nobility. We implore you to send a small band, only a small band, of warriors to our aid. But also, because our need is so great, and only one creature can help us, we ask that the Marked Squirrel may come with them. King Silverbirch has sent you tokens of his great esteem.”
He waved a paw to Trail and Bronze, who opened the gray satchels. The boxes they took out were painted in purple and silver, and as they lifted the lids, something sparkled. Urchin almost gasped at the beauty of the gifts. There were silver and gold nets filled with hazelnuts and tiny apples, a green sword belt embroidered with crimson, and bracelets woven of the finest strands of twisted silver. Finally, from a nest of crimson velvet folds, Lord Treeth lifted a shining sword and held it high across both paws.
Urchin’s eyes widened. The hilt of the sword was so intricately worked that it could have been made from threads or grasses, but every twist and every fiber was a strand of pale silver. Lord Treeth turned to him and, to Urchin’s wide-eyed astonishment, held out the sword.
“A gift for the Marked Squirrel,” he said. “May you use it in the service of your own king and ours.”
It was so beautiful that Urchin could hardly look away from it, but though he wanted it with all his heart, he couldn’t extend even a claw toward it. It can’t be for me. I’m not meant to accept. Padra’s paw was on his arm.
“Captain Padra, please take Urchin’s sword for him,” said Crispin. “Lord Treeth, I am confident that Urchin will never use a sword dishonorably.”
“Thank you, Lord Treeth,” said Urchin, and with effort, he looked away from the sword. Something in Crispin’s face warned him to say no more.
“The moles will escort you to your chambers,” said Crispin, making it clear that the discussion was over. “You will want to rest after your journey, and you will eat with me here this evening. Needle, my Companion, call Gorsen in, please.”
Gorsen marched in so smartly that Needle had to dodge out of his way. He bowed impressively.
“Gorsen, make sure our guests have all they need,” said Crispin. “And send me Docken.”
With great courtesy, Gorsen ushered the visitors from the room. The small squirrel, Scatter, still didn’t look well, and Urchin felt sorry for her.
Presently, Docken arrived. He was a bit disheveled, but he always looked like that. Mistress Thripple could do wonderful things with every sort of thread and fabric, but not even she could make her husband look well groomed.
“Take over guard duty, please, Docken,” said Padra. “Absolutely nobody is to be admitted.”
“Understood, sir,” said Docken, and took his place outside the door. Padra closed the door after him and leaned against it, looking across the room into Crispin’s eyes.
“Yes, that’s what I thought,” said Crispin. “But let’s hear from all of you. Brother Fir?”
CHAPTER FOUR
T THE SHORE, THE YOUNGER ANIMALS still hung about the ship, waiting to see if the moles would find anything exciting. They passed the time by playing with pebbles, skimming stones, jumping off the jetty, or playing coronation and taking turns to be Crispin. Occasionally there would be chants of “Find the king, find the queen, find the Heir of Mistmantle,” which was an old Mistmantle game in which three animals were sent away to hide while the others covered their faces and repeated the chant ten times before running off to find them. As the animals being looked for had great fun distracting attention from each other, and the squirrels climbed up anything that didn’t run away, there was a lot of chasing and shrieking. Needle was holding the paw of her little brother, Scufflen, as he paddled in the waves with little squeals of excitement. Sepia the squirrel, whose beautiful singing voice had captivated the whole island at the Spring Festival, hung back a little, sometimes watching them, sometimes gazing past them.
In these past months, life had astonished Sepia. She had grown up in a birchwood, the youngest member of a family that was always very busy and very organized: always gathering nuts and storing them neatly, making cordials and medicines, running messages—her brother Longpaw was one of the fastest messengers on the island, and carried messages for the king. Sepia had always felt she was the smallest and least important member of her own family and the colony. She wasn’t all that good at any of the things that mattered, like gathering and storing, and she could never quite keep up with the other squirrels. Everyone else had such a lot to talk about, that Sepia, who had a quiet spirit to begin with, became used to the fact that nobody listened to her very much. So she had made a world of her own, making up songs in her head, dancing when nobody was looking, and, when she could be alone, running down to the caves behind the waterfall. She had a favorite place there, where the damp walls gleamed and her voice echoed and sang back to her, and there was nobody there to tell her to stop singing and do something useful.
Then, on a spring day, she had been visited by Arran the otter. Sepia was used to otters—there were always a few of them near the waterfall—but she had never before met Arran, who was a member of the Circle and a very important otter. Arran had brought her a message from an even more important otter, Captain Padra. The captain had heard her singing, and wanted her to sing for King Brushen at the Spring Festival.
At the Spring Festival, she had been so nervous that, by the time she had to sing, her mouth was dry, and if her legs hadn’t trembled so much she might have run away. But when it was time for her to step forward, Arran had whispered to her, “It’s all right. Just sing the way you sing in your cave,” and Captain Padra himself had given her such a kind smile of reassurance that she had fixed her eyes on him and sung just for him, because he gave her co
nfidence. Later she had become caught up in the battle for Mistmantle, and had helped to save Padra, Arran, and the whole island. Suddenly, she mattered.
Suddenly, too, she had new friends. Fingal, Crackle the squirrel, and Needle the hedgehog were all her friends. Urchin, too, though she was a little in awe of Urchin, who had crossed the sea and brought Crispin home. But the animals who had shared in that vital day stayed together. Never mind that Fingal never took anything seriously; that Crackle was so afraid of being unpopular she’d be friends with anyone; that Needle could be bossy. They were her friends. If she wanted to escape into a dream world, or be very quiet by herself for a while, none of them minded. But now that she was at the tower every day, learning to be a real musician, she didn’t need to dream quite so much.
Fingal swam in and out of the wharves, popping up now and again and playing hide-and-seek with a little she-otter called Skye, who was just learning to swim. When Captain Lugg finally marched from the ship with a troop of moles and hedgehogs behind him, the animals instantly stopped playing and rushed to press round him. Apple jumped onto the jetty, which creaked. Skye darted back to her mother.
“Found anything, Captain Lugg?” asked Apple.
“Spies and swords?” asked Fingal hopefully, and the little ones clamored to know if there was any exciting cargo, and what was it like in there, and could they go on board and have a go at the wheel.
“Certainly not!” said Lugg. “It’s a king’s state vessel. No weapons. No warriors hiding. Crew unarmed, and not many. I’m reporting to the tower. But she has a ship’s boat,” he went on, winking at Needle. “A little lifeboat. Surprised they haven’t needed it. The crew has permission to lower it, just in case any littl’ uns might like to play in it.”
There were cheers and shrieks of delight, and presently the ship’s boat was lowered jerkily over the side. As the smaller animals swarmed into it, Apple sat down heavily.
“It’s a big disappointment,” she pronounced, and sighed. “I couldn’t help wondering if they’d brought a nice young princess along. Or a few to choose from. Mind you, she wouldn’t have to be a princess, it’s more important that she’s a nice—”
Fingal, who had been admiring the boat, bobbed up from the water.
“You’re not trying to marry Crispin off, are you?” he said.
“Well, and why not, and it’s King Crispin to you,” said Apple defensively. “It’s a hard lonely business being king, he needs somebody beside him, a better squirrel than Crispin never set paw to a branch, and besides it’s a waste, a nice squirrel like him not having a wife. There must be somebody on the island, though I don’t know that he’s got his eye on anyone.” She shook her head and sighed again. “If I were younger or he were older, I’d have a go myself.”
Fingal disappeared underwater. A giggle of bubbles rose to the surface.
“But, Mistress Apple,” said Sepia gently, “it’s not long since Whisper died. He must still be grieving for her.”
“Who’s Whisper?” asked a small hedgehog.
Sepia lifted the hedgehog carefully onto her lap. “Was, not is,” she said. “When Crispin had to go away, he lived on an island with swans and squirrels. He married a squirrel called Whisper. Urchin met her and he said she was kind and lovely, and Crispin adored her. But she died, and Crispin can’t want to marry anyone else yet.”
“All the same, there should be a family,” said Apple firmly. “And the sooner the better. A proper family in the tower, little squirrels all running and climbing about, an heir, that’s what we want.”
Fingal surfaced and tried to answer, but he was still laughing too much. He rolled over and slapped his tail against the wharf.
“I see what you mean,” said Sepia thoughtfully. “Otters are water creatures, and I’m sure Padra won’t want to be king.”
“Our Padra?” said Fingal, and abruptly stopped laughing. “Hail and plague, he’d have to be, wouldn’t he?”
“Haven’t you never worked that out?” demanded Apple. “If there’s no family, it’s the next senior captain gets kinged, or queened, or whatever. And I’m sure your Padra would be a very good king, but otters don’t like being away from water, just like moles would rather keep away underground.”
“I can’t see Arran in a crown, either,” said Fingal. “She can’t even keep her circlet on.”
“There you are, then, it’s like I told you,” said Apple. “We have to get the king married, and in the meantime, take good care of him and make sure he doesn’t get ill nor hurt nor nothing. Have you got any big sisters, Sepia?”
In the Throne Room, Urchin watched the solemn faces of Padra, Crispin, and Fir. His paws tingled. It was exciting to know that, sooner or later, Crispin would ask for his opinion. He just hoped he wouldn’t say anything silly. Padra and Fir had spoken already.
“So,” said Crispin, “three of us are agreed that we must help Whitewings, as it’s the animals we sent into exile who are causing their troubles. But putting Urchin at risk is another matter. Now, Urchin.”
Urchin’s ears twitched nervously. Crispin smiled and leaned forward casually on the throne, folding his paws as if he and Urchin were chatting in Anemone Wood, not having a solemn meeting in the Throne Room.
“I haven’t let you say a word up to now,” he said, “because I was pretty certain that you’d say, ‘Yes, Your Majesty, send me. I’ll go.’ You might not want to go, you’d rather be here with the rest of us, you might be terrified, but you’d do it.”
“I was going to ask if it could wait until after the coronation,” admitted Urchin.
“Everything can wait until after the coronation,” said Crispin firmly. “You may be the Marked Squirrel who’s going to deliver the island. It’s just as likely that you’re not—or at least, not yet.”
Urchin looked down at his claws. There should be something exciting about the idea of being the Marked Squirrel of a prophecy. But he didn’t know anything about Whitewings, or how he was supposed to deliver the island, or even where it was, or whether they’d let him keep the sword if he didn’t.
“How can I tell if the prophecy means me?” he asked.
Crispin turned to Fir. “How can he tell?”
“He can’t,” said Fir simply. “Prophecies are all very useful in their way, but they must be handled with care. They can cause all sorts of wrong guesses.”
“Is there such a prophecy, Brother Fir?” asked Padra.
“Oh, yes. Hm. Yes,” said Fir. “A Marked Squirrel will deliver Whitewings in its time of need. Squirrels of your color are most rare, but I believe Whitewings is one of the places where they are, occasionally, seen. Or so they say.”
“Are they?” said Urchin. “Are they?” And a shiver ran through him with a hope and excitement he had never known. Fir’s words had stirred something so deeply hidden inside him that he hadn’t recognized it before.
“Please, Brother Fir,” he said, and found he was stammering. “Please, if there are squirrels like me on Whitewings, might that be where I come from?”
“Occasionally, Urchin,” said Fir, and Urchin’s hopes darkened; “very occasionally, there is a squirrel like yourself on Whitewings. But they are very rare. I think your mother must have belonged somewhere farther away. You’re very special, you know, Urchin, wherever you come from.”
“Thank you, Brother Fir,” said Urchin quickly, and bent his head to hide his disappointment. Sometimes, when he caught sight of his reflection, he would wonder what it would be like if the other squirrel in the water or the window could be real, a squirrel like himself, so he wouldn’t be the only one with pale fur. Mostly, nobody noticed the difference anymore. He himself forgot that he stood out in a crowd. But it had been so good, for a moment, to think that he might find out where he came from, and know who he was. When he had thought he came from Whitewings, his heart had urged him to go there. He swallowed hard, and curled his claws.
“You don’t have to go,” said Crispin firmly. “They offered you a swo
rd, and Padra intervened. If you’d accepted it, it would have been as good as agreeing to fight their battles for them.”
“Oh!” said Urchin. “I didn’t know that.”
“Exactly,” said Padra drily. “I hope they weren’t trying to trick you, offering something so hard to refuse. You must bear that in mind, Urchin. They really shouldn’t have offered it.”
Urchin gave a little nod to show he understood. He’d been right about that sword. It really was too good to be true.
“But, please,” he said, looking from Crispin to Padra and back, “just for a moment, just now, when I thought it might be the place I come from, I really wanted to go there. I wanted it for my own sake. So I suppose I should be ready to go for theirs. I don’t know if I’m the squirrel in the prophecy, or what I’m supposed to do when I get there, but if I don’t go, Your Majesty, I’ll always wonder what would have happened if I had. So I’m willing to go, if you want me to—or as willing as I can be, when I don’t know what I’m letting myself in for.”
“Well done, Urchin,” said Padra, and knowing that he was impressed made Urchin feel better about everything.
Crispin nodded. “Wait outside, please, Urchin, while we talk further,” he said. “And you, too, Needle—unless there’s anything you want to say?”
Needle had stayed silently by the fireplace all this time. Urchin saw the way her sharp spines bristled, and the tight little scowl on her face.
“It’s nothing to do with me,” she said brusquely. “But since you’ve asked, Your Majesty, I think Lord Treeth’s looking down his nose at us, the same goes for that Trail squirrel, and Bronze looks like a claw thug. If I were Urchin I wouldn’t want to go with them, but if he must, I’ll go too.”
“That’s very noble of you, Needle,” said Crispin. “But if Urchin goes he’ll have guards and warriors to protect him. He mustn’t be in danger from Mistmantle exiles, or from the mercenaries who fought for Husk.”
“Yes, Your Majesty, but I think I should be there all the same,” she said. She bowed with a tight little pursing of her mouth, and left the chamber side by side with Urchin. They found Docken still on duty outside, his spines sticking out in various directions. The empty stone corridor was pleasantly cooler than the Throne Room, and they scurried straight to the open window. Three hedgehogs were struggling up the beach, carrying a dark wooden sea chest between them.
Urchin and the Heartstone Page 3