The Heir of Mistmantle (29 page)

Under another blow, the wood wrenched and tore. A few more ax blows from Juniper made a hole big enough for them to throw the tools through first and scramble in after them. Needle’s spines and Juniper’s satchel caught on the splintered edges, but with a lot of tugging and a paw from Urchin, they had broken through into complete darkness. Apart from the draft from the broken door, they could feel no air currents at all. It was a shut-in place.

“We’ve made a terrible mess of that door,” remarked Needle.

“I don’t suppose anyone will mind,” said Urchin. “That wasn’t too difficult.”

As soon as he had said it, he realized that it was going to get a lot harder. Things always did. Juniper was holding the candle high, turning slowly, and Needle was licking a deep scratch on the back of her paw.

“We’re in another chamber,” said Juniper. “Earth walls. I’d hoped it would be a tunnel or a stair.”

“Let’s have a good look,” said Urchin. “It was too much to hope we’d only have to get through one door. But that last one was only locked, not sealed, so it could have been used not long ago. And as it leads to this chamber, somebody could have been here recently, too. The moles might already have started work on a way through.”

They shone the light around the chamber. Urchin drew his sword, ran the point around the walls, and nearly overbalanced when it suddenly slipped into a soft patch of earth.

“That’s it!” he said.

“There are scuff marks on the ground,” said Needle, peering at the earth. “Mole prints. Lugg and his teams might have been here. This must be one of those doors that’s been partly unblocked already.”

“Stand back,” said Urchin. “Juniper, you’re best with the ax.” After some chopping, barging, and scrabbling they had made a hole big enough to squeeze through with Juniper going first, carrying the candle, Urchin following with one paw on his sword hilt, and Needle close behind, peering over Urchin’s shoulder. Juniper stopped suddenly.

“What have you found?” whispered Needle.

“Nothing,” he said, reaching with his free paw into his satchel. “I’m putting down a leaf. Try not to get it stuck to your paws, it has to stay where it is.”

“Laying a trail,” said Urchin, “so we can find our way back.” Needle was about to say that she thought Juniper was supposed to know where he was going, but decided that it wouldn’t help. Still, it was just as well she was here to take care of Urchin if he had to go running after Juniper on some silly dangerous quest that would probably get them nowhere. And when the king might need them, too. How were they to answer to Crispin?

The path twisted and turned so much that Needle soon lost all sense of where they were. Juniper paused now and again to put down a leaf, once stopping so suddenly that Needle, who was trying to work out where they were, walked into Urchin’s back.

“Sorry!” she said. “I wish you wouldn’t do that.” She sniffed the air. “There’s a branch of this tunnel going off to the right.”

“I know,” said Juniper. “There are lots of them. But this is the right way.”

“How do you know?” she asked.

“I can tell,” said Juniper. He was paying absolute attention to every signal in the walls, the drafts, and the changes from cool to cold. He listened, too, to the drawing of his own heart that compelled him to the place and, at the same time, made him afraid of what he would find.

“Don’t worry,” said Urchin. “He understands things that the rest of us don’t.”

Squirrels!
thought Needle. Sometimes, they were more trouble than they were worth. But now Juniper was holding the candle high and saying something about steps.

“A spiral stair,” he said, shuffling to one side. “Stay close.”

Even by staying as close to him as possible, it was hard for Urchin and Needle to see the candle as Juniper turned and turned with the curling of the stair which seemed to go on forever. How far had they been doing this, and how far down were they? The cold and damp of the air was enough to tell that they were far, far underground.

It must stop somewhere, thought Needle, plodding on down the stairs. Adventures can get really boring sometimes. Then she realized that Urchin had stopped, the light had stopped, and they stood together on a landing with a dead end before them. Juniper held the candle high.

“It’s another blocked entrance,” he said. Needle’s heart sank. “If you look carefully, you can see the outline of the doorway. There may still be a wooden door behind it when we break through.”

“Let me through,” said Needle. If they had to break through yet another sealed entrance, she may as well find out how difficult this one would be. She raised her nose to the earth wall. “I can smell wood somewhere,” she said, and pulled a face. “And decay. Definitely a smell of decay.”

Urchin sniffed at it, and that smell of decay carried such terrible memories that he found he was shuddering. It was as if this was the door to the greatest fear of his past, and he could feel again the raw terror of running through corridors of darkness with unseen things scurrying about him, cobwebs catching on his face, nameless things under his paws, Husk, the smell of evil, death, and decay….

“Urchin, are you all right?” asked Juniper.

He nodded. Brother Fir had cleansed that terrible dungeon and had made it a place of blessing. But the place they were looking for now, the bottom of the pit where Husk’s body lay, was deeper and darker than anywhere he had ever been.

“I know what you think,” said Juniper. “But I don’t sense evil on the other side of this. Only sorrow.”

“Are you sure this is the way?” asked Needle.

“Oh yes,” said Juniper. “We have to get through that door.”

Knowing that they were getting good at this, they threw all their energies into hacking, stabbing, and scrabbling the earth away. This wall seemed far thicker than the others, and they worked on with loose earth falling into their fur and ears, irritating their eyes, and blackening their paws. Urchin longed to give himself a good shake, but as he couldn’t do that without spraying more soil over the others, it was better not to think about it, just as it was better not to think of what lay on the other side of this. Perhaps Juniper was wrong, and after all this they’d find themselves in the wrong place.

It took a lot of hard work and grazed paws. The earth wall was so deep that when at last they had made a hole big enough for all three of them to crawl into, they were still not through to the other side.

“But it’s thinner,” said Needle. “Take care, we don’t want this lot to fall on top of us.”

“We should dig out the next bit one at a time,” said Urchin. “Two of us can watch the one who’s digging and get them out if it looks as if anything might cave in.”

There was no point in asking who would go first. Juniper scrabbled furiously until he had to stop to rub the thick layer of soil from his paw, and Needle said, “Here, let me have a go.”

“Yes, get your breath back, Juniper,” said Urchin.

Needle clambered into the hole. Juniper had reached a long way.

“We’re nearly through to the wood,” she called back, her voice so muffled by the surrounding earth that they strained to hear her. “There might be a soft bit somewhere. I think—yes—I think I’ve—oh! Ow!”

There was a scuffle, a sound of falling stones, and a scream. Urchin and Juniper crammed themselves into the space, but the scream had already died away.

“Needle!” they yelled. By the light of the outstretched candle they could see something that looked like broken steps and a rocky slope that disappeared into blackness.

“Needle!” they yelled again.

A faint whimper of pain came from somewhere far below. Juniper lunged forward, but Urchin held him back.

“Steady,” he said, putting his sword back into its sheath. “Whatever’s happened to Needle, we don’t want it happening to you too.” He called out again. “Needle! Can you hear me?”

A faint voice reached them. It seemed to come from impossibly far below them, and he had to twitch his ears and strain his hearing.

“It’s rocky…and very steep…a cliff…don’t fall…ouch!” gasped Needle.

“I’m coming, Needle,” he said. “Juniper, shall I take the light?”

With Urchin holding the candle, they crept forward. There were a few broken steps, then Urchin jerked backward. His paws tingled. The drop beneath was a sheer cliff. At its foot was a ledge, then two more steps, and a rough slope cluttered with broken stone, too long for him to see where it ended.

Urchin was used to running down walls. At the tower, he did it all the time. But he wasn’t used to coming upon them as suddenly as this, threatening to catch him by surprise and break his neck. He put out a paw to warn Juniper.

“It’s a vicious drop,” he said. “We could jump it, but I think it’s safer to run. Shall I go first?”

He handed the light to Juniper and leaned over the edge. “We’re on our way, Needle!” he called, and twisted to look over his shoulder at Juniper. “I’ll get as far as the ledge and wait there for you. It should be easy after that.” Then he tipped himself over the cliff and ran, slipping and scrabbling.

Juniper tried to breathe deeply, remembering at last to open his heart to the Heart and receive the strength he needed. Some time, far in the past, before all his other memories, there had been darkness, Husk, a scream, and a cliff. Now, in this terrible place with darkness behind and before him, he was coming to the end of this particular journey. There was still this plunge into the unknown before he could complete it. He had to do this, before he could start on the next stage of his life.

Urchin was waiting for him, Needle was injured, and there was no time to think. He tipped himself over the edge.

The smoothness of the rock took his breath away. There was nothing to grip, nothing to balance on. He was slithering, faster, falling on the ledge, rolling onto the slope—and Urchin had caught him. Side by side they dashed over the slope, dislodging pebbles, stumbling and scrabbling on loose scree, twisting and somersaulting to get their balance.

“Look out, Needle!” yelled Urchin as pebbles slipped from under his paws and left him sprawling on his back. The candle fell from his paw and went out. “Curl up!”

“I
am
curled up!” came a cross, muffled voice. She sounded like herself now.

Urchin reached the bottom of the slope and dusted himself down while he became accustomed to the cold and darkness. “Where are you?” he called.

“Here,” said a voice to his left, and if he strained his eyes he could see a ball of prickles. He knelt beside her.

“Are you badly hurt, Needle?” he asked.

Juniper was scrabbling in his satchel for flints and more candles. He struck a spark and placed a light beside Urchin and Needle, holding another in his paw.

Urchin began to take in where he was. The air felt empty, as if nobody who left this place would ever return. The far-remembered smell of decay and fustiness hung about, and he was glad he couldn’t see much. It had the coldness of a place that had never been lived in and never known sunlight.

“Can you stand up?” he asked Needle.

Taking his paw in her left forepaw, she pulled herself up. When he tried to take her right forepaw, she flinched away.

“I’ve done something to that paw,” she said, and held it to the circle of light from the candle. “I heard something crack.”

The paw had already swollen from elbow to wrist. “Can you wiggle your claws?” asked Urchin.

“Not much,” she said.

“Juniper’s got his satchel,” he said. “He should be able to bind it for you.” He turned to see where Juniper had gone and saw him walking away from them into the deeper darkness, with one small candle in his paws.

Juniper walked on into unknown shadows, cold and sorrow, and the end of his journey. It was not fear that filled this place, or a sense of danger, but a sadness heavier than anything he had ever known. Old white bones littered the ground. This was a place of grief and desolation.

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.