The Heir of Mistmantle

by M. I. McAllister

  “We can’t stop and sit about,” protested Juniper. “There’s Catkin to find, and I have to—well, pick herbs and things. Or go to Brother Fir, or…”

  “You’re no use to Brother Fir or anybody else when you’re like this,” said Urchin. “Can’t you tell me?” And when Juniper didn’t answer, but didn’t walk away either, he went on, “I’ve been nearly shipwrecked, abducted, put in prison, and spent half my life falling off things and out of things, so whatever’s the matter, I won’t be surprised. And you were there to help me when I needed it, so it’s my turn.”

  “And there were prophecies about you,” said Juniper thoughtfully.

  “Well, yes, but…”

  “I wasn’t going to tell you this.” Juniper straightened his back and lifted his chin as if he were gathering himself up to a great effort. “All right, if you want to listen, listen, and don’t interrupt at all, because if I stop I might not be able to get going again. It’s a prophecy.”

  Urchin’s eyes lit up. He nearly spoke, but remembered in time that he mustn’t.

  “Do you think that’s wonderful and exciting?” demanded Juniper. “Well, it isn’t. I hoped and hoped that it wasn’t the real thing, but I’m sure now that it is. It was just a few pictures at first, so quick that I could hardly see them—outstretched claws. Something blue.” His voice faltered. “A knife. And then the words came.”

  He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. For the first time, slowly and reluctantly he pronounced the words of his prophecy.

  “The fatherless will find a father

  The hills will fall into earth

  The dead paw will stretch out to the living

  There will be a pathway in the sea,

  Then the Heir of Mistmantle will come home.”

  With a sigh, he slumped back in the window seat. His eyes closed.

  “Do you understand it?” asked Urchin.

  “I hope not,” said Juniper miserably. “The fatherless finds a father, the hills fall to earth—a path in the sea! Don’t you see what that could mean? It could mean that it’s impossible! That she’ll never come home! How am I supposed to tell them that?”

  Urchin put a paw on his shoulder, but he said nothing, because there was nothing to be said. Nothing that would help, anyway.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  INGAL SPLASHED ABOUT in the shallows with Tide and Swanfeather while Scatter watched anxiously from the shore. She wasn’t at all convinced that Fingal knew anything about looking after little children, and felt that she ought to stand guard. Fingal’s boat, finished at last and freshly painted in red with its border of orange and green leaves, lay upside down on the shore to dry.

  “She’s been underwater for a long time!” called Scatter.

  “She’s an otter!” shrugged Fingal as Swanfeather bobbed to the surface. “And it’s not enough!”

  “Not long enough?” asked Scatter in horror.

  “No, I mean this isn’t enough,” said Fingal. “I’m looking after Padra’s children while he does the dangerous things. Any otter could do the baby-minding. You and Needle are always telling me how to do it, and you’re not even otters.” He looked past them at a young squirrel hurrying down from the tower, wearing the pale blue-and- white apron of a pastry cook. “Here’s Crackle,” he said. “She’s always good for a biscuit or something at this time in the morning.”

  Crackle looked flustered and anxious as she joined them at the shore. “We’ve had orders about asking permission to go in and out,” she said. “We mustn’t risk catching anything. But I’m allowed to come down here.”

  “Biscuits don’t catch diseases,” said Fingal hopefully. Crackle fished in her apron pocket for broken biscuits, and they sat down on the jetty to eat. From the waves, two small otter heads bobbed up beside Fingal, and he slipped bits of biscuit to them.

  “It’s all a bit difficult, really,” said Crackle. “All the captains and the Circle are busy, and we don’t know how many to cook for.” She lowered her voice. “The poor queen hardly eats a thing these days. Fingal, are you all right?”

  “Don’t I look all right?” asked Fingal in surprise. “Oh, you mean, ‘have I caught anything nasty?’ Otters don’t get it, and anyway, I’m indestructible. Padra says he doesn’t know how I’ve survived this long.” He bent to heave Tide onto the jetty and nudged Swanfeather to the shallows. “Isn’t that right, little Swanfeather? I’m indestructible.”

  “But you’re not,” said Crackle unhappily. “None of us are. Any of us could catch fouldrought, or…” she didn’t finish. The thought of being caught by Lord Husk, or his ghost, was too horrible to put into words.

  Another squirrel was bustling toward them, and, shading her eyes against the sun, Crackle saw that it was Gleaner. Gleaner, who seemed to blame everyone for the death of Lady Aspen, was always in a bad temper.

  “Have you got nothing to do all day?” demanded Gleaner. “In case you hadn’t noticed, the rest of us are very busy. Haven’t you been listening to orders? We need thyme, sage, and rosemary; angelica, borage, and…and all that sort of thing. Mother Huggen says the queen needs them for stopping diseases. You’re not going to find them in the sea.”

  Glad to be useful, Scatter and Crackle sprang away. Gleaner was pleasantly surprised. Animals didn’t usually obey her this quickly. But this disease was going to make far too much work for her, and it wasn’t fair.

  She only hoped the queen knew what she was doing, letting Scatter help. She didn’t know much about Scatter’s past, but from what she’d heard it wasn’t at all ladylike. Scatter and the queen were both foreigners from the same island, and not a very nice one, from all she could gather. There you are, then. The foreigners are sticking together.

  Swanfeather lolloped happily from the water, shut her eyes tightly, and gave herself a thorough shaking before Gleaner got out of the way. Gleaner seethed with annoyance. Fingal was teaching that child bad habits already.

  Dusk fell with a pleasant twilight, the sky turning to violet and gray as the first stars appeared, but Juniper was too tired to care and too anxious to enjoy it. He yawned enormously. Usually, he had to slow down to keep Brother Fir company. Tonight, Brother Fir was slower than ever, and Juniper was glad to keep pace with him. He felt he wouldn’t care if Lord Husk really did appear. He wouldn’t have the energy to run away. It was marvelous that Brother Fir was still able to walk, but he limped on ahead, sometimes leaning on Juniper’s paw, sometimes on Whittle’s or Cedar’s. Whittle and Juniper had been told to help each other memorize the symptoms of disease and the treatments, but there was no need anymore. They both knew them all by heart. They had spent all day observing them.

  That was the thing that had worn Juniper out, more than the long day climbing all over the island to visit the sick. With muslin masks tied over their noses and mouths to protect them, the four of them had entered dimly lit burrows, climbed into neat dry tree nests, and crept into cool sandy caves to care for the sick, though Fir and Cedar had done most of the caring while Juniper and Whittle watched and learned. At least it helped him to forget the prophecy for a little while, until the sight of the hills or a flicker of something blue brought it back to mind.

  Juniper had watched a young mole whimpering and shivering until his teeth chattered. He was his parents’ eldest child, just learning the skills of tunneling and trying to impress his family when he first became ill. He had heard a hedgehog crying out in pain and delirium, and had known that this was an old hedgehog, already suffering from aching limbs, who had always been kind to the young and who had fought valiantly in the battle against Husk. The constant watching of animals in fever, distress, and pain, and the anxiety of their families, had drained him. But it made him desperate to stop the suffering and eager to learn.

  He had learned which infusions Cedar used to bring down fever, to fight infections, and to cleanse and sweeten the burrows and bedding. He had borne with the smell of vomit and had cleaned it up. He had washed his paws repeatedly, beca
use Cedar said it was important not to carry disease from sick animals to healthy ones. He knew, too, that there were more infusions to make tonight before they went to bed. The queen never seemed to want to go to bed at all. There were stretches of the northeast of the island they had hardly visited at all, and the thought of doing all this again tomorrow made him almost too exhausted to walk.

  “Look,” said Whittle. In the half-light, squirrels and hedgehogs were scurrying from all directions toward the far-off tower, Crackle and Scatter among them, their arms full of flowers, leaves, and branches. “They’re bringing in the plants we need for the medicines.”

  More work, thought Juniper, but he felt he shouldn’t say so. The queen had worked harder than anyone today, and she’d probably supervise all the making of medicines herself. His breathing was beginning to hurt as they trudged uphill, and he was so tired he almost walked into the back of Brother Fir, not realizing that he and the queen had stopped.

  “Take a little rest,” said Fir, and Juniper flopped gratefully onto the heather even though he knew how hard it would be to get up and go on afterward. Cedar spread herself facedown on the ground, singing softly into the earth.

  It didn’t seem respectful to watch her. Juniper looked past her to the sea as it went on swishing softly to the shore and back, forward and back, not knowing anything of what was happening on the island, just being the sea. It was calming. A figure wrapped in shawls was hobbling slowly toward him—it looked like Damson, and he had risen to meet her when the sweetest sound met him and made him turn to look where it came from, wide-eyed at the beauty of it.

  That sweet, true voice could only be Sepia. Somewhere, she was singing, and it was as if the air around her turned to silver. Other voices wove with hers, blending and harmonizing, and the song wafted like fragrance. Fir’s ears twitched toward it.

  Lanterns nodded and waved in an unsteady line. The choir, cloaked and carrying lights, were climbing the hill as they sang.

  “Peace in your breathing,

  Sleep as the stars keep you, deep as the sea and its quiet…”

  It was almost unbearably beautiful. The animals carrying herbs to the tower stopped to listen. The queen sat up and brushed her eyes with both paws. Damson, weary and alone, put down her basket and knelt in the heather to listen.

  The singing stopped, hanging in the air, and the silence that followed was holy. Nobody wanted to move. But the choir turned and wound its way downhill, and all the animals began to scramble to their paws and stretch and shake their limbs as they realized it was growing cold. And Juniper did what his heart told him to do, and hurried to help Damson to her feet.

  “Have you been out searching for Catkin all day?” he asked. “You’re so far from home, and it’s late!”

  “There’s nothing more important to be done,” said Damson. Her voice was low and weary. “And I’m old enough to look after myself. No sign of the princess yet, but we’ll find her. We’ll get her back.” She hobbled stiffly to the queen and laid a wrinkled paw on her shoulder. “We’ll find her, Your Majesty. Don’t you ever lose hope.”

  Cedar pressed her paw and couldn’t speak. Juniper reached for Damson’s basket.

  “I’ll take you home,” he said.

  Damson’s paw tightened on the basket as she straightened up. “I can take myself home,” she said. “You’ve got your duties to attend to. You’re nearly a proper priest now, and we need priests at a time like this. Poor old Fir, he can’t do everything himself.”

  “Juniper,” called Whittle, “are you coming?”

  “Off you go, and don’t keep them waiting,” said Damson.

  “I’ll come after you,” called Juniper to Whittle. He pulled Damson’s shawl more closely around her and tucked her paw firmly into the crook of his arm. “I’m not leaving you, Damson.”

  Damson frowned. “Disobedient young whippersnapper,” she muttered. “Now you’re a tower squirrel, there’s no telling you anything.” But she let him carry the basket, and seemed glad of his arm as they began the long walk to the waterfall.

  “If you won’t do as you’re told, then I’ll make the most of your company,” she said. “You’ll be that busy helping Brother Fir. I’ve some thyme hanging up, I’ll let you have some to take back, for the queen will be wanting it.”

  They talked about remedies, and Damson told him of plagues she had lived through, and the ways of treating them, and the time it took to recover, and how to prevent them spreading. She told him again the stories she had often told him about the years when she kept him hidden behind the waterfall, and Juniper let her talk and didn’t tell her that he had heard these stories many times, and that the story he really wanted to know was the one she had never told him. Finally, as they heard the murmur of the waterfall, slow in the hot weather, she said, “I’m proud of you, you being a priest. Maybe I’ve no right to be, for all I did was look after you, I didn’t make you a priest. But I am, Juniper, I’m proud of you.”

  Juniper pressed her paw. “I’m not a priest yet,” he said. “I’m only a novice.”

  “Nearly a priest, and you will be a priest,” she said. “Never thought, when I found you…” She stopped, and looked up at the sky. “Not a bad night tonight, all things considered.”

  They talked about the hunt for Catkin and told each other that she’d be found safely. At last they reached the ancient tree roots where Damson had her nest, and she filled his arms with bunches of fragrant thyme.

  In spite of everything, peace filled Juniper. Catkin was still missing, disease and unrest troubled the island, but in this time and place he found he could not be worried, even if he tried. Even his prophecy could not dismay him. There was only the warm night, the scent of thyme, and Damson.

  “Now, you take care,” she said firmly. “Don’t get sick. Use plenty of rosemary to keep the fever away, and keep washing.” She placed her paws over his. “Don’t know what I would have done all these years without you,” she said. “You’ve been my son, even more than you could have been if I’d birthed you myself.”

  “You take care too, Mum,” said Juniper. Something in his heart swelled and overcame him, and he hugged her tightly. “Thanks for everything.”

  It was so good just to hug her and be hugged. At last he stepped back and said, “Good night, Mum. Heart bless you.” And it struck him as strange, because mostly he didn’t call her “Mum,” only “Damson.”

  “Heart bless you,” she muttered back, and she watched until he blended into the night. Then she wiped her eyes, stifled a cough, and ducked into her home. She had important sewing to finish.

  Before the queen and Fir went out the next morning, Padra arrived at the gathering of the Circle with news of the first deaths from disease. Urchin, standing with Juniper and Whittle at the Throne Room door, wondered how much worse it could get. Catkin was still missing; the island was riddled with fouldrought and rumor. The heat was still sticky and oppressive. Perhaps that shouldn’t seem important, but it did. At this time of year everything should smell of wood smoke and cinnamon. Today, he could only smell sweat and vinegar.

  “We need to have the old Mole Palace ready for use as a nursery again,” Crispin was saying. “If this goes on we’ll have to move the very young in there, to keep them safe from disease. Mother Huggen will be in charge.”

  “And we must use water only from underground springs,” said the queen. “All animals should be warned to use the springs, not streams.”

  “Is there something the matter with the streams?” asked Arran.

  “Maybe not,” said Cedar, “but I’ve seen something like this before, on Whitewings. It was a hot summer and we found there was something rotting in a slow stream. So until we’ve found the source of the infection, we should only use water we know to be pure, and keep everything very clean. Meanwhile, we’ll be investigating the streams and rivers.”

  “Otters can do that, Your Majesty,” said Padra.

  “But they’ll have to keep out of the waterw
ays while they do,” Cedar pointed out. “It may be that the reason we haven’t had any sick otters is because they mostly use the springs for their fresh water.”

  “In that case, Padra,” said Crispin, “take some good sniffers with you when you go to search the streams. Animals who can pick up a bad smell at a great distance.”

  It occurred to Urchin that there were more than enough bad smells on the island in this weather, but it wasn’t his place to say so. Fingal probably would have done.

  “And pray, everyone,” said Crispin. “Now.”

  They prayed silently, then went on their ways. Fir was the last to leave, walking very slowly. His lame leg seemed to be troubling him these days.

  “Shall I take you back to the turret, sir?” asked Whittle anxiously.

  “It’s been hard,” admitted Brother Fir in a voice so weak with exhaustion that Urchin was alarmed. “I’m not a young squirrel. You young ones can manage without me, if I’ve taught you anything worth knowing. Hm.”

  He took the arm Whittle offered, and stood in silence with his head down, breathing deeply, seeming too tired even to move. Urchin and Crispin had both darted forward to bring him a chair when he raised his head, lowered his shoulders, and in a suddenly commanding voice, said, “Juniper!”

  Juniper drew himself up, hopped to the priest, and, without any order, knelt before him.

  “Much will be demanded of you, Juniper,” said Fir. “I think I am to be put to one side for a short while. Juniper, attend the dying. Give them your blessing. Take my place until I am well. Urchin, support him, help him.” He raised a paw, prayed a blessing over Juniper, then, gathering all his strength, went on, “The island faces the greatest enemy it can ever face, and you must find out for yourselves what it is. This enemy will turn paw against paw, mind against mind, heart against Heart. Now, Juniper.”

  Juniper felt the warmth of the priest’s paw on his head. He felt as if the presence before him was wise, strong, and all-surrounding, all-protecting. But when he looked up it was only Brother Fir, trembling with weakness, his wise, kind eyes heavily weary, and so physically drained that he needed both Urchin and Juniper to escort him back to the turret. Urchin waited as Juniper helped the old priest to bed, and Whittle hurried after them.