The Heir of Mistmantle (38 page)

When all were ready, the Throne Room mole hurried to the anteroom door. He took a deep breath and said the words he had been rehearsing.

“King Crispin and Queen Cedar, Captain Padra and Captain Arran, Brother Fir and Brother Juniper, and all the animals of the Circle await Master Urchin and Miss Needle.”

Urchin took a deep breath. Side by side, he and Needle walked to the dais—it felt like miles—and stood before the king. Urchin wondered if his fur was sticking up and whether his tail had got dusty in there, but it was too late to check. Crispin and Fir were already stepping forward.

“We have come to the Gathering Chamber,” announced Crispin, “because Urchin of the Riding Stars and Needle of the Threadings have been considered and found worthy to join the Circle. Young as they are, they have served the island bravely and faithfully and will uphold the values of our island. Urchin, Needle, kneel.”

They knelt. Urchin looked steadily up at Crispin’s face and forgot to be nervous.

“Urchin of the Riding Stars, Needle of the Threadings,” said Crispin. “Will you love, worship, and serve the Heart?”

“We will, Your Majesty,” they said together.

“Will you love, serve, and care for this island and all its animals?”

“We will, Your Majesty.”

“Will you live for justice and mercy?”

“We will, Your Majesty.”

“Urchin, Needle, be compassionate, be strong for what is right, fight against evil, protect the weak, care for the young and the old. Know how to give orders and how to take them. Be true, be generous of heart and paw, be kind.”

“Remember,” said Brother Fir, “that if your heart should break, the Heart that cares for us broke with love for us, but it still beats for us, keeps us, and loves us.” He raised a paw. “May the Heart enlighten you, enfold you, keep you.”

“Stand,” ordered Crispin.

Two otters came forward bearing embroidered cloaks across their paws. Urchin stood very still, Crispin’s words still in his ears, waiting for the touch of the cool velvet on his fur, surprised at how heavy the cloak was when it came. Fir’s paw, firm in blessing, pressed down on his head. Padra held a garland of rosemary and bay high, then lifted it over Urchin’s head and settled it on his shoulders. Then there was the paw-clasp of each member of the Circle in turn, and finally he was hugged and kissed on both cheeks by Crispin, Padra, and Arran, and he knew that the smell of bay, rosemary, and warm washed fur would stay with him forever. As Padra turned him to face the gathered crowds, he could still feel the press of Fir’s paw on his head.

He folded his paw over the bracelet on his wrist. Perhaps, somehow, his parents could see him. He hoped so.

When animals talked afterward about that moment, they talked of all the cheering and applause for Urchin and Needle. But Urchin himself didn’t remember that. He only recalled searching the crowd for Apple’s face before he remembered that she’d be in the gallery, and he met her eyes at last, and smiled as she waved both paws and blew kisses.

As the applause finally died away, Urchin realized he wasn’t sure what he was meant to do next. He glanced around at Padra and found him already moving forward to draw Urchin to stand at his side at the edge of the dais. Arran was doing the same for Needle, and it was clear that Crispin had something more to say.

“Good animals of Mistmantle,” he called, “we have more young heroes to honor today for their service to us all.”

Three moles stepped forward, each bearing an autumn garland on a cushion. One was woven with deep red hawthorn berries, one with yellow jasmine, and the third—Urchin’s heart leaped when he saw it—with darkly shining juniper berries. Crispin lifted the wreath of jasmine.

“Fingal,” he said—and Urchin saw Fingal, who’d been looking the other way, suddenly whisk his head around to pay attention so that Crispin’s mouth twitched with secret laughter, “you have given your all in saving Mismantle animals from the contaminated water and from the landslide, and you took part in the rescue of Princess Catkin. Receive our honors, our thanks, and our love, Fingal of the Floods.”

There was a moment when Fingal didn’t move, and Urchin saw his lips form the word, “Me?” But at a nudge from Sepia he stood up, came forward, bowed to Crispin, and stood still while the king placed the wreath about his neck. Crispin whispered something to him then turned him around to face the cheering animals, and the otters raised the cry of “Fingal of the Floods!” as they applauded, until Crispin had to hold up a paw for silence.

“Sepia,” he said, “you cared for the queen in her sorrow and for Mistress Damson at her death. You were gentle enough for Linty to listen to you and brave enough to cross the water to speak to her, though you knew you could be attacked or carried through the mists. You are the one who brought Catkin safely home. Receive our honors, our thanks, and our love, Sepia of the Songs.”

Sepia pattered up to the dais, and Urchin heard her say something quietly to Crispin about how she shouldn’t really have a garland because she’d only done what anyone would…but Crispin put a clawtip gently to her lips, lifted the hawthorn garland over her head, and turned her to face the animals. Amid the cheers were several loud voices calling her to sing.

“She won’t sing for you yet,” said Crispin, “but I hope you’ll hear her later in the day. Sepia, you may sit down.”

“Finally,” he said, “we honor a most exceptional young animal who had only just come out of hiding when he made the crossing of the sea for which he is now famous, to accompany Urchin to Whitewings. It was Juniper who found good friends to help them escape from the island, so that he, Urchin, and Lugg came safely home, bringing a queen for Mistmantle.”

There was a little laughter and a mischievous smile from Cedar.

“Since then,” he said, “he has become Brother Fir’s assistant and will soon be a priest. He, too, risked his life in the landslide. He has journeyed, not only over the sea, but under the earth to bring truth to you all, and I know he has made deeper and harder journeys within himself. Brother Juniper of the Journeyings, come forward. Receive the love and the honor of this island.”

“Yes!” thought Urchin, for this was the way it should be, with Juniper limping forward, calm and self-possessed, wearing a new tunic with its unfinished pattern, as Crispin settled the garland around his neck. And Urchin felt he was looking at Juniper the way Padra looked at Fingal. It really was like being brothers.

Crispin turned Juniper to face the islanders.

“When we gather here again,” he announced, “it will be to see Juniper ordained priest, when he, too, will become a member of the Circle.”

This time, there wasn’t applause. The murmur of approval and smiles meant far more to Juniper.

“And now,” said Crispin, “the rest of the day is celebration. There will be entertainment in the tower and on the rocks all day, and food will be served wherever our excellent tower animals find the space to lay a table. Evening prayer will be said at sundown.”

There was a thank-you to the kitchen staff, followed by so much applause that Crispin had to call for quiet again before Fir could give a blessing, but Fir said that Juniper should do it. Then the feasting began.

Wine and cordial were served from silver trays; otters carried platters of fish and seaweed to the tables; squirrels dashed up and down the back stairs to fetch and carry. Every table in the tower was set with nuts, berries, walnut and hazelnut bread, cones, and all sorts of things that moles and hedgehogs ate and Urchin didn’t like the look of at all. Then there were honey biscuits, raisins, and little fluffy creamy things which left white traces on fur and whiskers.

Acrobats leaped and balanced on the rocks, and music was played on the stairways. Choirs sang, small animals acted plays, there were jugglers, dancers, and singers on every landing, on rocks and turrets. Tightrope squirrels somersaulted from one turret to another so that animals stopped with biscuits halfway to their mouths and gasped. Dazzled with the day’s excitement, they met at last in the Gathering Chamber for evening prayer as the sun set in gold and pink across a clear sky and a quiet sea. Prayers were said and sung; silences were kept; babies snored softly in their mothers’ arms; Hope, smeared with cream and berry juice, fell asleep against Docken’s shoulder; and the two smallest squirrels in the choir cuddled wearily against Sepia. Moth rocked Princess Catkin, who had fallen asleep clutching her blanket. Needle held Scufflen in her lap, discreetly slipping him raisins to keep him quiet until the final blessing was said, and the animals made their way home.

“Sepia,” said the queen, “you can sleep in the nursery tonight if you like. I’ve moved Catkin’s cradle into our own chamber, I can’t bear to let her out of my sight.”

“The only difficulty is keeping her in the cradle,” said Crispin. “What are we going to do when she learns to climb out of windows?”

Sepia, yawning already, slipped to the nursery where she wrapped herself in a rug and curled up by the window, resting her chin on her paws. It was a beautiful night.

Urchin, leaving the Gathering Chamber, was about to go down to the Spring Gate to change when a furious pounding of paws up the stairs made him step aside just in time to avoid being knocked over by Fingal and Needle. Fingal dashed past him, turned around, seized him by the shoulders, and cried, “Come and see this!”

“It’s wonderful!” said Needle. “It’s…” Fingal clamped a paw over her mouth. “Ooboofoobooboo!” said Needle.

“Come and see!” said Fingal.

“I have to go down to the Spring Gate to change first,” said Urchin.

“Meet you down there in a minute, then!” said Fingal.

Urchin turned toward the Spring Gate, but at the bottom of the stairs he caught sight of a squirrel so dashing and so elegant that he had to stop and look again. Then he stood quite still in surprise, looking at the very pale squirrel, garlanded and in a velvet cloak.

He was looking in a mirror.

There were brisk pawsteps behind him and he turned away quickly, not wanting anyone to think he was admiring himself. But then he heard Padra’s voice, and Crispin’s, and presently they appeared, talking as they walked down the stairs together.

“All right, Urchin?” asked Padra. “It’s been a long day. Go to bed.”

“I will soon,” said Urchin, “but I have to go to the shore. Fingal wants me to see something.”

There was a quick exchange of smiles between Crispin and Padra.

“Typical,” said Padra. “As soon as you admit them to the Circle, they start disobeying orders.”

“Then I command you to go and see what Fingal is making such a fuss about,” said Crispin. “And get some fresh air into your lungs. Shall we put him on dawn patrol tomorrow, Padra?”

“Sir—Your Majesty—” said Urchin, knowing there were things he could say to Padra and Crispin that he’d never say to anyone else, “when I saw that mirror just now, I didn’t know it was me. I look grown up, like a proper member of the Circle. But I don’t feel any different inside.”

“I know,” said Padra gently, “that’s what it’s like, growing up. Off you go, and see what Fingal’s getting so excited about.”

Urchin laid his new cloak away carefully in a chest in the Spring Gate chamber and put on an old red one to go down to the shore. The fresh breeze was welcome after a day in the tower. In the darkness, the sea gently swished and hushed. There were lanterns at the jetty and an eager cry of “Over here, Urchin!” reached him as Fingal waved furiously with his free paw, holding up the lantern with the other. Needle and Juniper were there, too, with lanterns. More lights hung from a small boat with oars and and a furled sail, moored by the jetty. Even from a distance he could see how smooth and clean her lines were, and as he drew nearer he saw how her red and orange paint gleamed with its pattern of green leaves and the painting of a mole on the prow. He saw, too, the shining joy in Fingal’s eyes.

“My
boat
!” he said breathlessly. “My new
boat
! Everyone’s been helping to make it, Twigg’s been working in secret, and Padra and Crispin had something to do with it, and I didn’t know! Isn’t it…” There was a catch in his voice and Urchin thought that, for the first time in his life, he would see Fingal moved to tears, but Fingal suddenly laughed and said, “Isn’t it
wonderful
! Isn’t she a beauty! Do you want to try her out? You’ll all come, won’t you?”

“Has she got a name?” asked Urchin.

“Only one name she could have, even though she’s not a he,” said Fingal.
“Captain Lugg.”

“Juniper,” said Urchin, as Fingal untied the boat, “I’m really glad you were given a share of the honors. It was right.”

Juniper smiled and shrugged. “It was very nice,” he said, “But it wasn’t really what matters.”

“You’ll be saying ‘hm’ next,” observed Needle.

The boat rocked as they all stepped in. Smoothly, under a clear starry sky with a moon track on the water, Fingal rowed.

“What was the king saying to you when he gave you the garland?” asked Needle.

“Oh,” said Fingal. “Um…”

“It’s none of our business!” said Urchin.

“No, it’s all right,” said Fingal. “But he said he wouldn’t be surprised if I end up in the Circle myself one of these days. I’d have to go all sensible, wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t think there’s much danger of it,” said Needle.

They rowed silently after that, apart from Needle remarking that with all the recent goings on, it was surprising that they hadn’t had more riding stars, and Juniper replying that Fir hadn’t said anything on the subject. When they reached the bay on the other side of the tower, Urchin said, “Here, please. Can you take me to the shallows? I don’t mind getting my paws wet.”

Fingal rowed until the boat settled softly in shallow water. “Don’t wait for me,” called Urchin as he sprang over the side. He stood alone as they rowed back to the jetty. Waves swished over his paws as he looked out to sea and up to the stars, taking time to let the day and the night sink into him.

This was the spot where Fir and Crispin had found him, newborn. Folding a paw over his bracelet, he hoped again that his mother could see him and was proud of him. As he watched, a single silver star twirled slowly down toward the sea.