The bitter smell of singeing fur was in his nose and filled his mouth as he staggered backward, beating at his fur with paws and tail, grabbing at his whiskers—he couldn’t feel burning, but only a terrible stinging. With smoldering fur, he flung himself on the ground, rolling, thrashing, and beating furiously at himself to quench the fire. Then small, cool paws were beating out the sparks, dragging and rolling him farther from the fire. He tried to speak, but the smoke in his throat made him cough till his eyes streamed.
He sat up at last, rubbing sore eyes with sore paws, coughing and confused, wondering where the burning was coming from, and who was hitting him, and why. His eyes and his mind cleared slowly. It was Scatter, her face set and determined, as she beat on his fur. She stepped back, coughing hoarsely, and walked all around him, inspecting him for any more signs of smoke.
“You’re all right now,” she croaked. “It’s a good thing I stayed to look after you. Shall we go now?”
Fingal tried to answer, but his voice was rough in his throat. “We should stay till the fire"—he tried to take a breath, and coughed violently—"burns down. Can’t use that water to put it out. Wouldn’t be safe to leave it. You all right?”
Scatter looked down at her paws, noticing for the first time that they hurt. Of course, she couldn’t have put out Fingal’s fur without getting burns herself. She licked at her paws to take out the heat, but she felt proud of those burns.
“Of course I’m all right,” she said. “What about you? You were the one who was on fire.”
Now that the shock was over, Fingal’s burns were becoming painful. He grinned down at her.
“Nothing that I can’t put right with a soak in the sea,” he said. He put an arm around her, and they both winced. “I might have been as dead as a smoked herring, you know, if not for you.”
Scatter only smiled with happiness, though the hug hurt her. She took a deep breath of satisfaction. She hadn’t saved the baby. She hadn’t found the source of the bad water, either. Fingal could have done it all without her. But she’d done something. She’d saved Fingal. That felt so good.
When the fire was nothing but hot ash, they piled damp earth on it and left.
“All that fuss for a bit of bad fish,” said Fingal, and suddenly looked up. “It’s raining!”
“Clean water, and rain!” said Scatter in delight. They lifted their faces to it gladly as they began the long journey downhill in the fading light, catching raindrops on their tongues, holding out burned paws to the soothing coolness. Scatter longed to run ahead to her friends, but instead she slowed down. It was hard for Fingal to keep up when he was hurting so much, and he was trying not to limp.
CHAPTER NINE
AIN!” PADRA AND ARRAN LAUGHED and hugged each other, raising their heads to catch the rainfall on their faces.
“Rain!” cried Apple, as she ran for cover. “Oh, Heart be thanked!”
“Rain!” whispered Crispin on a hilltop, and closed his eyes. It felt as if a great weight was washing away from him.
Rain hammered on rocks and bounced from leaves, waking scents of wet grass, wet moors, wet trees, wet rock. It filled the rivers, churned the waterfall, and cleansed the streams as Fingal and Scatter stumbled down the hill. On a hillside, Urchin and Needle hugged each other and held out their paws to the rain. Juniper, on the rocks by the tower, threw back his head and gave thanks. Hobb the mole waddled, shivering, to the shelter of a burrow with a damp huddle of muttering hedgehogs and moles hurrying after him. He was coughing violently, but at last he found a voice.
“Haven’t we got enough?” he spat out bitterly. “The queen’s off her whiskers and can’t look after her own littl’ ‘un, we’re riddled with disease…”
“…queen’s fault,” put in someone.
“…said that, didn’t I?” he growled with a glare. “First the waters are poisoned, and now it’s blooming pouring. We’ll get floods now. And Husk’s about to strike. If he’s waiting to take his revenge, this is just the sort of opportunity he’ll take. Chaos. Chaos! There’s a lot of that under this king.”
“He made a lot of trouble coming back,” said Gleaner’s mother, shaking water from her ears. “A lot of trouble. He should have left Lord Husk alone.” She sighed dramatically. “At least that sweet Lady Aspen would still be alive.”
“Do you really think that Husk might still be here?” asked Quill. He couldn’t help glancing warily over his shoulder as if he feared Husk might be creeping along a tunnel as they spoke. When a squirrel leaped into the burrow, he had to stifle a squeal.
“Hello, our Gleaner!” said Gleaner’s mother, but Gleaner, wild-eyed and gasping for breath, ignored her.
“He’s back! He’s back!” she panted, and struggled to get her breath back. “The things I put on Lady Aspen’s grave have gone!”
“That doesn’t mean…” began a hedgehog, but Gleaner glared at him with fury.
“Who else would take them?” she demanded.
Hobb coughed noisily. Gleaner retreated a few steps, as did Quill. “Nobody ever saw him dead, did they?” He shivered, and hugged him self. “Can’t even get a decent warm burrow these days.”
“You’re not well,” said Quill, and took another step back. “I’ll get a healer.”
“Don’t you go anywhere,” wheezed Hobb. “If I’m ill, it’s the fault of the queen bringing her Whitewings pestilence here. Crispin should have turned her around and sent her back through the mists, not married her. Poor chap was mistaken in her. We should all help to rule this island by telling him how to do it.” He sounded less sure of himself and added, “Or something.”
“Excuse me!” said a hedgehog from farther back in the burrow. “How can you talk like that? Can you remember what life was like before Crispin was king.”
“But he wasn’t brought up to be a king,” insisted Hobb, and coughed harshly. “He needs sensible animals like us to tell him what—to advise him.” He coughed again, and animals began to retreat. “Where are you all going? I might be really ill. I might die. So it’s important that you hear what I’ve got to say. We need some new ideas about how this island is run.”
Gleaner and Quill hurried out of the burrow and scurried home against the rain. Quill reported to his parents that Master Hobb was coughing and shivering and perhaps they should find a healer, and by the way, Master Hobb said that Husk was back and he’d take over the island any time now, and we should all help the king rule the island by doing it for him, or something like that.
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.”
“I’ll go with Juniper,” said Urchin. “And I’ll ask Whittle to stay with you, Brother Fir.”
As Urchin found someone to fetch Whittle, Juniper checked the contents of his satchel and added more feverfew, rosemary, and pennyjohn. He knelt for Fir’s blessing, then side by side, Juniper and Urchin pattered down the turret stair, not speaking, hearing the beat of rain as they passed the window. As they reached the workroom landing a small mole was running up the stairs toward them, a bit out of breath.
“The king and queen want Urchin in the Throne Room at once,” he gabbled earnestly.
“You have to go to them, I have to go to Damson,” said Juniper as Urchin hesitated. “It’s that simple.”
The Heir of Mistmantle Page 9
