The Heir of Mistmantle (15 page)

A lamp burned dimly in a burrow where cloaks lay in a straggly heap on the floor, a jug of water balanced on a lopsided stool, and a sprinkling of pennyjohn and rosemary covered everything. The air was sour and stale. In an untidy nest lay Yarrow, thirsty and aching, with his eyes closed because the effort to keep them open was too great. There were whispers of conversation at the entrance, but he was too ill to care what they said, until they came closer.

“The healer’s arrived,” said Hammily, his wife. With an immense effort he rolled over and opened one eye a little. Then, in a lower voice, she said, “It’s really very good of you, Your Majesty, and you with all your sorrow, too.”

Yarrow tried to sit up and failed. “Not
her!”
he argued hoarsely, though speech felt like a sharp knife through his throat. “I don’t want
her!”

“Yarrow!” cried his wife. “I’m very sorry, Your Majesty.”

“Don’t worry, Mistress Hammily,” said Cedar, and raised her voice so that Yarrow could hear her clearly. “Yarrow, if you don’t want me to help you, I won’t. But all the other healers on the island are busy, and we all have long lists of animals to visit. So it’s me or nobody, I’m afraid.”

Yarrow looked up through aching eyes. Everyone said the queen was mad.

“Just leave medicine,” he croaked.

“Yarrow!”
said his wife.

“Not until I’ve examined you and know what’s best to give you,” said Cedar.

With a great effort, Yarrow raised his head from the nest.

“I’m getting better,” he whispered.

“Yarrow!” said Hammily again. She was a tall, gaunt squirrel with a stern look about her. “You are not!”

“If he doesn’t want to see me, I can’t insist,” said Cedar. “There are more animals who need me, and they may be near death. Send for me if he changes his mind.”

“His friend Hobb hasn’t been too well, please, Your Majesty,” said Hammily timidly.

The queen rubbed her eyes, which were aching with tiredness and tears, and stifled a yawn. “I’ll go to see him,” she said.

Urchin and Needle, with rain soaking through fur and spines, had gone on searching for Linty’s hiding place long after the rain began to fall. Only the failing light made them turn back to the tower, and Sepia was already darting through the trees.

“I’ve just been to see Damson,” she gasped. “She’s very ill. Really very ill, and I’m worried. She wants Juniper
and
Brother Fir, but the way things are, she’ll have to settle for one or the other.”

“Brother Fir’s too ill to get out of bed,” said Urchin, “but I can go ahead and tell Juniper.”

“Oh, please!” said Sepia. “You’re faster than I am.”

Urchin, suddenly realizing how weary he was, gathered himself together and leaped away toward the tower. Sepia, adjusting to the poor light, peered down from the treetops at Needle.

“What’s that stuck on your spines?” she asked. “A flower or something?”

Needle twisted to look. Something pink had impaled itself on the spines near her left hind paw.

“It looks like a—yes, it is,” said Sepia curiously. “It’s a rose petal. It’s wet now, but it’s still pink—it must have dried out in the sun.” Gently, she pulled it free. “I’ve seen one like this somewhere—oh!”

In the same moment, they both remembered where they had seen petals like these before. A few days before, though it seemed a lifetime, hundreds of them had cascaded around the Gathering Chamber.

In tunnels and under tree roots, there were squeaks of excitement from small moles and hedgehogs, each holding tightly to the paw of a grown-up, or a nearly grown-up, as they pattered down to the old Mole Palace. There were blankets to be carried down, satchels over shoulders, and lanterns in paws as little ones gabbled out their questions, and parents tried to explain that it wasn’t really a palace any more, and yes, they would sleep there tonight, and no, they didn’t know when it would be time to come home. Some were shy and fearful, some were eagerly pulling on their mothers’ paws, and some wanted to know where their squirrel and otter friends were. Parents, leaving their children in the nursery, glanced anxiously over their shoulders, reluctant to leave—but, as Mother Huggen had explained, there wasn’t room for all the young and their parents as well. The parents whispered to each other that of course they understood, but all the same, you didn’t like to take your eyes off them, did you, not while Princess Catkin’s missing and—they lowered their voices—
Husk might be about.
A few remarked that Hobb the mole and his friends had some good ideas about running the island, if they lived long enough to tell us, poor things.

“Otters are staying on the shores, where they like to be,” said Captain Lugg, marching ahead with a lantern. “And the squirrels are coming later. It’s us moles and hedgehogs that are at home in tunnels. Can’t expect squirrels to go first.”

Linty scrabbled earth into place over her new hiding place, then pulled, pushed, and wove the tree roots into place. It hadn’t been easy getting here. She had wanted to take the baby over ground and had crawled through the undergrowth with Catkin wrapped up in her arms, but there had been animals about, and she had retreated into the nearest tunnel. Even in the tunnel there had been voices close by—why couldn’t they leave her alone?—and she had needed to dig out a new route to her refuge. At least Catkin had been aboveground long enough to get a little fresh air into her lungs.

Now they were here; this was a better hiding place. She had managed to bring the piece of muslin she had found on a cairn in the Tangletwigs. It would be so useful for lining nests and for straining the pips out of berries for Catkin. When Catkin was settled into her cradle and was sitting up looking about at her new surroundings, Linty lay with her ear to the ground. She heard hurrying little paws and the chatter of young voices, more and more of them. Why were all the little ones moving? What did this mean? Not more danger, oh, please, no, not more danger. It was so hard to know which way to turn. She held Daisy—
no, Catkin, this one is Catkin
—very tightly.

Rain slashed against the windows of the dimly lit turret where Brother Fir lay in bed, propped up on pillows. Juniper, kneeling with paws outstretched to the fire as steam rose from his fur, reflected that this must be the best place on the whole island tonight. It was worth getting wet and cold to come back here. All day he had tramped in and out of caves, burrows, and tree homes, administering drinks and medicines, soothing the sick, calming distressed families, caring for the dying. Whenever he had felt exhausted he had thought of the queen, who seemed to work twice as hard as anyone else. Finally he had staggered home through the rain, stumbling with tiredness, until he reached this haven in the sky. Here he was safe from the storm slashing against the windows, safe where the firelight warmed him through, the saucepan of hot cordial sat on the hearth, and candles glowed softly. Perhaps he should turn his mind to the prophecy, but he was too tired to think, and gratefully, he soaked up the warmth. Brother Fir’s eyes were closed, so that Juniper wasn’t sure if he were awake or not.

He picked up the saucepan carefully, poured cordial into two mugs, and carried one to the bed. “Brother Fir?” he said softly.

Brother Fir’s eyes opened. “I wasn’t asleep, you know,” he said in a voice that was still low with weakness. “Only resting. I feel very rested. Cordial! Hm! Thank you so much, young Juniper.”

He tried to sit up a little further, but Juniper could see what a huge effort it was. He put an arm round Fir to help him up and pushed the pillows into place around him.

“I shall be well soon,” said Fir. “However, I’m sure the island runs very well without me.” He sipped the cordial. “Very good, Juniper. You are an excellent novice, and the king and queen surpass all our hopes. If I must be ill, this isn’t such a bad time for it.”

Juniper nearly told him to be quiet, knowing that talking hurt his throat, but it seemed disrespectful to speak like that to the priest. He returned to the hearth, aware that the smell of herbs and vinegar lingered about him. It was the smell of all the healers now, but it was a smell that reminded him of sickness and death, and he longed to wash it off.

“Fingal and his friends have cleansed the waters,” said Fir. “So it will soon be over.”

“Don’t hurt yourself speaking, please, Brother Fir,” said Juniper.

“Hm,” said Fir. When he had finished his drink and seemed to be drifting into sleep, Juniper pulled the blankets over him. He could go down to the kitchens to help make yet more infusions, but he didn’t like to leave Brother Fir alone. It was so good just to be here and rest at last.
Prophecy.
Could “the fatherless” mean a young animal orphaned by fouldrought? And what was this about a pathway in the sea? Was that the jetty? He had put another branch on the fire when a sharp knocking at the door made him drag himself resentfully from the hearth.

“Don’t wake Brother Fir!” he whispered, then saw who it was. “Urchin!”

Urchin’s pale fur looked darker and coarse with rain, and he was shivering. Juniper pulled him to the fireside. “Do you have a headache?” he demanded. “Or a cough? Do you feel…”

“I’m all right,” said Urchin quickly. “I’m only wet.” Taking in the gentle warmth and peace of the turret room, the fire and the half-finished drink on the hearth, he saw that Juniper hadn’t been back for long. Now he had to send him out again, and he hated himself for it.

“Have you heard?” said Juniper, fetching another mug. “They’ve found the source!”

“Yes, I heard all about that,” said Urchin. “Listen, Juniper. Sepia came to meet me with a message for you. It’s Damson.”

Juniper stopped scurrying about with drinks. He stood completely still, ready for what Urchin would say next.

“She’s very ill,” said Urchin. Brother Fir’s eyes had opened. “She says she wants you and a priest, but…”

“I’ll do for both,” said Juniper, and reached for a cloak.

“I must…” croaked Brother Fir, and took a wheezy breath, “I must go. You…” He tried to climb out of bed, but as he put both hind paws on the floor, he swayed, and Urchin caught him.

“You have to stay here, Brother Fir,” said Juniper. “You’ll end up worse if you try to go out.”