The Heir of Mistmantle (3 page)

Brother Fir had called him “Juniper of the Journeyings,” and he knew it wasn’t just because of his journey to the Isle of Whitewings. On Whitewings, Urchin had discovered who his parents were. That was what Juniper wanted for himself, too.

A star twirled down, so fast and bright that the flash of it made Juniper turn and squeeze his eyes shut. Suddenly he shuddered, swallowed hard, and pressed a paw against his stomach to keep himself from feeling sick.

“Are you all right?” asked Urchin.

“I don’t know,” he whispered.

Behind his closed eyes, with the imprint of the star still before him, he had seen with intense clarity. For a split second he had seen claws: very white, outstretched claws. There had been something blue, something that he felt he should have recognized—then the silver flash of a knife.

“I’m fine,” he said to Urchin. There was no claw anymore, no flash of blue, no knife. But he had seen them.

Nobody noticed the gull that flew over the island that night with a fish in its beak. It meant to land and gobble it down; but the fish was diseased and foul-tasting, so the gull dropped it and flew on, beyond the mists, without anyone seeing it at all.

CHAPTER TWO

FTER DAYS OF SWEATING IN THE SUN
, the animals were glad of a cool breeze on the morning of Catkin’s naming. It was really still too warm to wear cloaks and hats, but many of the animals—especially the older ones—felt that you shouldn’t go to a tower celebration without them, so there was a great flapping of cloaks and holding on of hats as squirrels, hedgehogs, moles, and otters struggled against the wind to Mistmantle Tower. Urchin’s foster mother, Apple, a well-rounded squirrel, lumbered to the doorway at the top of the tower stairs where she dusted a few stray leaves from her cloak, identified the ones that belonged on her hat, and shoved them back into place. Seeing her friend Damson, Juniper’s foster mother, puffing and plodding her way up the stairs, she waited.

“Well, what a day!” exclaimed Apple as Damson reached her and paused for breath. “What a day for a naming, a right proper do and all, and there they’ll all be, all up at the front, your Juniper and my Urchin, up there beside the Circle and the captains and all, won’t we be proud!”

“And Needle will be at the front, too!” squeaked a very small hedgehog from somewhere near her hind paws.

“Oh!” said Apple, peering down. “It’s little Scufflen. Yes, Scufflen, your big sister Needle, she’ll be there too, mind you always did find those two in the same place, Urchin and Needle, where you found one, you found the other, ever since they were little. Now, little Scufflen, you make sure you get to the front row, you get a good view, if I were you, pet, I’d just stick them spines out, except you shouldn’t, 'cos it’s naughty….”

But by now Scufflen had found his sister Needle and had moved out of earshot. Apple and Damson joined the throng of animals swarming to the Gathering Chamber.

The bay window in the Gathering Chamber reached nearly to the floor and looked out onto a breezy sea of dancing white wave tips. Threadings made the walls bright with color. Sills and ledges were decorated with gold and yellow autumn leaves, late flowers in deep, dark red and orange, clustered seed heads, and shells and pebbles from the beach. The Circle was taking their places around the dais, where a scallop shell lay by a silver bowl of water. Whittle had placed leaves in an arc, each one scratched with the clawmark of a Circle animal, to make it clear who was to stand where. Rather nervously, he announced each one as they processed in.

“Docken the hedgehog…Mother Huggen the hedgehog…Russet the squirrel…Heath the squirrel…” He mustn’t forget Captain Lugg’s youngest daughter, who was in the Circle now…and that other new Circle mole, whose name was something to do with digging…oh, yes…

“Moth the mole…Spade the mole…” Just in time he remembered not to announce the captains yet, nor Mistress Tay and Brother Fir, who would arrive later. In the anteroom adjoining the chamber, the Captains of Mistmantle—Padra, Arran, and Lugg—were putting on their robes. Urchin had been helping Padra to robe ever since he first became his page, and lifted the turquoise-and-silver otter mantle from the sandalwood-smelling chest as he had so many times before.

“You don’t still have to do all that,” said Padra. “In no time you’ll be a member of the Circle yourself, not a page anymore.”

“But I want to do it, sir,” said Urchin. “And this will probably be the last time.”

“You could even stop calling me sir,” said Padra.

“I don’t think I can, sir,” said Urchin, lifting the heavy robe onto Padra’s shoulders. When he himself became a member of the Circle, a whole stage of his life would be behind him. A pity, in a way.

“Don’t look like that, Urchin,” said Arran, adjusting her circlet. “You won’t have to be all dignified all of a sudden. Even the king still runs up the tower walls if he feels like it. Hello, Needle!”

Needle, having found good seats for her parents and Scufflen, had a message to deliver to the anteroom. She usually wore a blue hat in autumn, but had replaced it with an elegant gold cap for this occasion.

“The royal party is ready,” she said. “We can begin as soon as they’re all in. The queen says the baby’s in a lovely mood, so we need to get on with things before she gets hungry or falls asleep.”

“Absolutely,” agreed Captain Arran firmly, as Padra adjusted her circlet for her. “We’re all ready. Tell the squirrel trumpeters to play the fanfare.”

“Tail tip, Urchin,” advised Padra quietly, and Urchin smoothed down his tail tip. A high and commanding call of silver trumpets silenced the chattering of the excited animals crammed into the Gathering Chamber. They stretched their necks, the animals at the back standing on clawtips to see over the heads of the others.

“Off you go, then,” whispered Padra to Urchin and Needle. Side by side, heads high, they stepped through the Gathering Chamber, not looking from side to side as heads turned to watch them, and took their places at either side of the main door.

Mistress Tay the otter came first, the island’s lawyer and historian, her dark whiskers set in a grim straight line. It was said that nobody had ever seen her laugh. She looked, thought Urchin, as if she’d trample down any animal who got under her paws. Whittle followed her in the procession, looking solemn, as he was concentrating so hard on getting everything absolutely right that he even counted his steps. He wouldn’t dare to annoy Mistress Tay.

Brother Fir came next, and the very sight of the priest lifted Urchin’s heart, but Fir’s limp seemed worse this morning. As always, his dark eyes had a depth of joy that Urchin had never seen in anyone else, but there was a furrow on his brow as if he might be in pain, and the gap between Fir and Whittle seemed to widen, as if Fir couldn’t quite keep up.

Then Juniper, slight and dark in his priest’s tunic, stepped to Fir’s side and slipped the priest’s paw through his arm, and Urchin smiled. Through the dangers they had faced together, he and Juniper had become like brothers. Steadily, patiently, Juniper helped Brother Fir to his seat.

Padra, Arran, and Lugg had taken their places behind the two high-backed carved chairs on the dais, but nobody was watching them. Ears and whiskers twitched, eyes were bright, parents held up their children to see, and little gasps of admiration rose from the crowd as King Crispin and Queen Cedar in their gold-and-green court robes appeared in the doorway. There were cheers, there was applause, and some of the very young ones jumped up and down in excitement and had to be calmed down as the tide of joy surged through the chamber.

Crispin and Cedar took their places on the dais. A real king and queen to be proud of, thought Urchin. Then, as the king and queen looked toward the door and their faces lit up with happiness, everyone turned to watch the entrance of Princess Catkin in the arms of Thripple the squirrel.

Thripple had a hunched back and a strangely squashed, lopsided look that should have been ugly, but the kindness in her eyes made her beautiful. Holding the baby very carefully against her shoulder, because it wouldn’t do to prickle the princess, she walked to the dais.

Princess Catkin was, as the queen had said, in a lovely mood. Watching wide-eyed over Thripple’s shoulder, she seemed fascinated by all those faces—or perhaps, thought Urchin, it was the hats. Thripple placed the baby in the queen’s arms, the singing began, and Catkin giggled. Prayers of praise and thanks were offered to the Heart. Autumn garlands, trailing with deep scarlet leaves and berries, were carried to the king and queen. Otters brought nets of pebbles and seashells to lay before the princess, and from the workrooms came two hedgehogs and two squirrels carrying, spread out between them, the baby’s naming shawl.

The workmanship of the shawl was so intricate and so beautiful that a long, low whisper of “oooh!” rose from the chamber. Star-shaped and as fine as a spiderweb, it was threaded through with gold, blue, purple, and green, and shimmered with color as they wrapped it around the princess. Touching all four paws and her face with water from the silver bowl, Fir pronounced the blessing over her in a voice that sounded just a little thin and croaky.

“Child of Crispin, child of Cedar,
May your heart beat as one with the Heart that made you.
May you walk and dance
pray and speak
laugh and weep
with the beating of the Heart.
May the love of the Heart and of all creatures fill you.
May you find love in all seasons,
all places,
all creatures.
Grow strong, grow kind.
Be a star in darkness,
Be warmth in winter,
Be the sea breeze in summer,
Be the breath of spring,
Be Catkin of Mistmantle.”

Sepia of the Songs, the sweetest voice on the island, sang. The choir joined her, their voices blending so skillfully that it seemed they couldn’t be animal voices at all, but something entrancing from far beyond or above the mists. Then Urchin noticed a nod of the head from a Circle squirrel toward the gallery, where a mole pulled on a cord.

Autumn leaves and rose petals tumbled from the ceiling, twirling softly, landing on hats, on ears, on cloaks, on shoulders as animals looked up and laughed with delight. Petals fell on Mistress Tay’s whiskers, and she twitched them away in irritation. Oak leaves settled gently on the king’s shoulders. A rose petal landed on Catkin’s nose and made her laugh. They drifted onto her soft fur. At last, to applause and more music, the royal family left the chamber and made its way through the corridors of Threadings to their own apartments with Urchin and Needle attending them. Needle was so intent on making the baby laugh that she tripped on a step, and if Urchin hadn’t caught her she would have disappeared from sight. She had recovered her dignity by the time they entered the royal chambers.

“Excuse me, Your Majesties,” said Needle, removing a rose petal which had impaled itself on her spines, “when we have the party tonight, it’s a shame if the nursery maids miss it. I don’t mind taking a turn at looking after Catkin.”