by Michael Tod
Bluebell raced up the grey shingles, her claws biting into the soft cedarwood. She ran over the ridge, jumped across a gap in a tree and scrambled along a branch in the direction of Deepend. She felt dizzy, unused now to climbing and running and, badly out of condition, missed a hold and fell. The Greys behind her were catching up, calling to others on the ground to head her off. Deepend seemed full of Greys, but maybe she could make it around Beachend. She must warn Juniper, her Juniper, she must, she must. The Greys ran too. Stronger, bigger, fitter, they cornered her on the shore below the Man-dreys.
‘Sneaks and eavesdroppers don’t deserve to die quickly,’ said Quartz. ‘Death by nipping, I think. Me first.’
Bluebell closed her eyes as she felt his sharp teeth pierce the skin of her left thigh. Then her tail – excruciatingly painful – her ears, forepaws, her nose, her tail again, her back. Her head swam with the pain, the colour faded out of the sky, her legs no longer supported her and she slumped to the ground, kicked spasmodically and then was still. Blood oozed from her nose and dripped on to the sand of the narrow beach.
‘That’s one for a start,’ said Quartz as the Greys trooped excitedly up the bank. ‘More will join her by tonight.’
Juniper had watched all this from the opposite side of the pool. He knew that the Red he had seen being chased and attacked must be Bluebell and that it was her limp body on the shore.
They had killed her, killed his Bluebell and just left her there. He burned with anger. Who were these squirrels who could do this just so as they could take over the area for themselves? He set off around the head of the pool, through Deepend, to get to Bluebell. The woods there were teeming with Greys, so he tried to go round by way of Beachend. More Greys; he turned back again along the shore below Steepbank.
Looking to where Bluebell lay in the sun across the pool, he stopped and listed.
‘Juniper, Juniper.’
A faint voice was calling, some freak of nature carrying the sound along the surface of the water. ‘Juniper.’
Bluebell wasn’t dead; she was calling him. His Bluebell – still alive and needing him.
He was frantic. He ran up and down the shoreline. There was no way he could get to her. No way.
But there was a way, he realised, and it terrified him. He would have to swim.
‘Juniper, Juniper.’ Bluebell’s voice came again.
Juniper looked at the expanse of water between him and the tiny body. He dared not swim. Memories of being in the water when he had been chased by the Greys overwhelmed him, and he cowered on the beach shivering with fear,
The calls came again: ‘Juniper, Juniper.’
He stood up, shook himself, waded into the pool, cold in the shadow of the Steepbank trees, and set off to swim across. He felt the change in the temperature as he swam from the shade into the sunlight, finding it easier in the warmer water. He kept on, guided by Bluebell’s calls. ‘Juniper, Juniper, come to me.’ His bedraggled tail, as thin as a rat’s, acted as a rudder, steering him towards her voice.
Then, feeling the coarse sand below his feet, he crawled out, shook off some of the water, waved his tail in an attempt to fluff it and went to where Bluebell lay. Flies rose lazily from her wounds as he approached.
Juniper licked her face and she opened her eyes.
‘You came,’ she said and the lids dropped again.
Juniper waved his tail over her, the sun drying his fur rapidly. He was not sure what to do next. At least he could keep the flies off.
Bluebell opened her eyes again. ‘The Greys are going to attack Steepbank. This evening. You must warn the…’
The sentence was never finished. Her tail twitched convulsively. Bluebell the Scavenger had gone Sunwards.
‘Well, look at this, then, here’s another one. Where did he come from? He must have crept through the pickets.’ A Grey was looking down from the top of the small bank. ‘Come on, we’ll give him the treatment. Down here. Come on.’
Juniper turned back to Bluebell but knew it was useless. She was Sun-gone now for sure. He put his paw on her shoulder, looked upwards and said the Farewell Kernel.
Sun, take this squirrel
Into the peace of your earth
To nourish a tree.
The Greys were streaming down the bank. Quickly, without thinking, he entered the water again.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Rowan and Marguerite returned from the Clay-Pan to find the community in a state of alarm. Juniper’s news had spread rapidly and all the squirrels were converging on the Council Tree for an emergency meeting. Oak and Burdock were trying to calm them, but it was apparent to all that the period of Indecision must now be over.
When they were all assembled, Oak addressed them.
‘My friends, we have lived here together under the Sun for longer than even Old Burdock can remember, and I had hoped to spend the whole of my life in this most beautiful of places, and be able to pass on our traditions to generations yet to be given life. Now, though, the Silver Tide has come, and threatens our very existence. Bluebell Who Sold…’ He paused. ‘Bluebell is Sun-gone after an assault by these savage creatures but not before warning us, through Juniper, that they intend to attack us all this evening. None of us knows how to fight and the Greys are bigger and stronger than we are, they also have the Stone force and we have no counter to that.
‘It is clear that we must, however reluctantly, give up our Guardianship here and move away to a safer place, if only for the sake of our youngsters.’
The squirrels nodded in agreement, but said nothing.
‘So,’ Oak continued, ‘we must now decide just where. Does anyone have any idea where we might go?’
Again there was silence, each looking at the others for inspiration.
Eventually Chestnut said, ‘I don’t suppose anywhere is safer. Anywhere we can go, the Greys can follow, bur since they came from the east, clearly we must go westwards.’
Rowan said, ‘If we go west there is a pool with an Eyeland in it. If we could get to that we would be safe.’
‘What’s an Eyeland? Asked Larch, who had missed hearing Rowan telling of his climbabout adventures.
He described the Eyeland; the perfect proportions of the trees and the pink and white water-flowers, making it all sound so attractive that several wanted to start out for it at once.
‘Wait, steady everyone,’ said Oak. ‘How big is this Eyeland, Rowan?
Rowan told him.
‘It’s a fine idea, but there are ‘lots’ of us, far too many to live on an Eyeland of that size, even if we could get across the water to it.’ He looked around forlornly, reluctant to let the idea go. ‘Does any squirrel know of a bigger Eyeland?’
‘Yes,’ said Heather Treetops, and the other squirrels turned to look at her, for she seldom spoke at meetings.
‘Sometimes, when I wanted to be alone, and before the Greys came, I would go up to the top of a private Look-out Tree on the other side of our Deepend Guardianship. From there, far away to the east, I could see a huge pool with these ‘Eyeland’ things in it. Big ones,’ she added.
‘You never told me,’ said her life-mate, Chestnut.
‘Didn’t I?’ Heather responded innocently.
‘How far away? Asked Oak.
‘Must be several days’ journeying,’ said Heather, remembering her time on climbabout a few years before.
‘Were there trees on the Eyelands?’ asked Larch the Curious.
‘Covered in them, lots!’ said Heather.
‘That’s the place to go then,’ said Oak, thankful for a positive suggestion, then, thinking of the difficulties, added, ‘assuming we can get there, that is.’
They discussed the practicalities. First they would have to go through an area probably now held by Greys, then find a way to cross the water to reach safety on one of the Eyelands.
They all agreed to risk the first danger but no squirrel had a suggestion for the crossing. Finally Old Burdock quoted a Kernel which had
not been called on for many generations in their community.
Exiles in danger
Trust in the Sun. Help will come
When least expected.
‘We must trust in the Sun.’ she said, and plans were made to hide from the Greys near the Little Pool that evening and leave the area finally at first light.
The Burdock said, ‘Before we go to prepare, I have another subject to discuss. Juniper, will you leave us please?’
Juniper looked up. A squirrel was only asked to leave a Council Meeting by the Tagger when a tag change was being discussed. Surely he hadn’t done anything wrong now? Tail low, he left and waited out of ear-twitch of the Council.
Burdock then said, ‘I know it is not a custom to give new tags to squirrels after they are Sun-gone but in the case of Bluebell, she gave her life trying to warn us. This was a ‘noble’ act.’ Burdock realised that she had used an archaic word from the days when Leaders were born to the job and not ‘selected’ as now, but on glancing round could see that every squirrel understood her meaning. Even Heather Treetops was nodding agreement.
‘I don’t think we should remember her as Bluebell Who Sold Herself for Peanuts. I am proposing a new tag – Bluebell Who Gave All to Save Us. Any objections?’ Burdock looked around. There were no objections, just a murmur of approval.
‘Now, Juniper – the Scavenger. For some time this tag has been inappropriate and I have been watching for some action on which to base a new, truer tag. Today, as we know, it happened. Juniper swam the pool to get to Bluebell and then swam back to warn us. Both of these were worthy deeds and I propose that he is now tagged – the Swimmer. To a stranger this may not mean much, but to those of us who recognise his good qualities it will mean a great deal. Any objections?’ Once again there were none.
When Juniper was called back and told of his new tag, he was delighted and his tail rose for the first time in moons, mitigating to some extent his sorrow over the loss of Bluebell.
The Reds busied themselves with preparations to leave, before they all assembled near the Little Pool. Old Burdock suggested to Oak that a whole series of confusing scent-trails be laid and squirrels ran from tree to tree and off along the paths in various directions.
Guards were posted to watch for any Greys, but all the mature squirrels were aware that they had no real plans for defence, and waited apprehensively as the light faded.
Marguerite, observing the preparation of what were clearly inadequate defence plans, thought that it was important to know exactly how many squirrels there were. She counted, reached eight and then stopped. ‘Lots’ came next and that was much too vague. She tried again and still reached ‘lots’.
She counted each family separately. There was her own, consisting of Old Burdock, her grandmother; Oak and Fern, her parents; Rowan, her elder brother and herself. That was five.
Then the Deependers, Heather and Chestnut with the two youngsters, one of whom, Tamarisk, was growing out of the dreyling stage, but was very immature in the way he behaved.
She looked round for the Beachenders and saw them in the next tree. Clover was with her Daughter Tansy, and her son. She could not see Larch the Curious, he must be one of the guards. Marguerite counted these on her claws-four more.
Then there was Juniper, he must be on guard duty too. She tried to work out how many that made altogether. Five and four and four and one. It was ‘lots’ once again!
Tom, the caretaker, was on his rounds with the litter-bag. He was much later than usual; the sun had been so hot earlier that he had slept most of the afternoon and now had to make up for the time he had lost. He walked along, pausing occasionally to transfer the sweet papers and cigarette packets from the end of his spiked stick to his bag, grumbling to himself and cursing the thoughtlessness of people who just threw their rubbish down anywhere.
Seeing the body of a red squirrel on the beach near the steps, he picked it up by the tail, wrinkled his nose as the flies rose in a cloud, put it in a rabbit-scrape at the foot of a pine tree, covered it over with soil and pressed it down with his foot.
Don’t want to upset visitors, he thought.
At the deep end of the pool he surprised a large party of grey squirrels hopping along the path towards the steep banked side. There was a kind of menace in the way they were moving. He waved his stick at them and shouted, ‘Get off with you, you nasty little beggars!’
The squirrels scattered and ran back past the Man-dreys.
With dusk closing in, he was collecting the last few pieces of paper on the path above the beach when he saw again the phalanx of Greys heading for the steep-banked side and chased and scattered them once more.
‘What in hell are you lot up to?’ he shouted.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The Reds had spent a sleepless night in the trees near the Little Pool waiting for an attack that never came. Now, they were ready to move off even before the sun was over the horizon. They were tense and chattered nervously among themselves in small family groups.
Oak, though, was calmer now. Although unhappy about abandoning the Guardianship which had meant so much to him, sad at leaving the lovely pool and concerned about the hazards of the journey ahead, a decision had been made and he could at last lead them in some action.
Indecision kills.
Act positively and lead.
Action is the Key.
‘Right,’ he said clearly. ‘If the Greys are planning to attack us and find we have gone, they will expect us to head west and follow. So we will start off by going that way and when we pass the Clay-Pan we will turn south, then go east and across the Great Heath towards the Huge Pool and safety on the Eyelands. No turning back, eyes forward. We leave now.’
He leapt into the next tree, the others following in an undignified scramble which disentangled after a few trees were passed, until there was an orderly column of squirrels running and leaping in single file through the branches. Fern, preoccupied with grooming her sail, was the last to leave.
Old Burdock leapt with the others but her joints ached and she soon fell back to the last position, behind even Fern, to be joined there by Clover the Carer, who asked if she was all right.
‘You may have to leave me behind, Clover-Friend, she panted. ‘I’ll catch up with you later.’
Clover ran after the leaders, passing squirrel after squirrel until she was just behind Oak. ‘Slow down!’ she called. ‘Some of us can’t keep up at this pace.’
Oak stopped and waited until all the squirrels were together again, then, aware of the differences in ages and fitness within the group, he led off more slowly, looking back frequently for signs of pursuit. Their speed was slowed by Old Burdock who often had to stop for breath and insisted each time that hey leave her behind, ‘to catch up later’.
Oak would hear none of this and, by the time they reached the Clay-Pan, the sun was high in the sky and the heat was getting unbearable. All was quiet behind them, and as Old Burdock looked worn out, Oak ordered a halt. They all climbed into the shady branches of the ancient fir overhanging the Clay-Pan to rest, each busy with their thoughts.
Chestnut was having doubts about the wisdom of leaving the area they knew for the unknown. ‘Are we doing the right thing?’ he asked Heather.
‘We had no choice,’ she reminded him. ‘I hate the idea of just clearing out and leaving my ancestral home to the Greys, but we can survive – and prosper. We’ll get to one of those Eyelands and we’ll all be safe there. We can start a new life for the youngsters then.’
‘I hope you’re right. I must admit I have my doubts.’
Larch, further down the sloping trunk with Clover and their youngster Tansy, was more cheerful. ‘This is like being on climbabout again, only with company. I’m dying to know what those Eyelands are like. Do you think they will have any pools on them?’
Clover’s mind was on other things. She was watching Old Burdock who was dozing fitfully near her.
Larch said, ‘Do you?’
‘Hush, Larch-Pa,’ said Tansy, indicating Old Burdock with her paw. Larch nodded and shut his eyes.
Oak was worried. The responsibility for the group’s safety lay heavy on his shoulders. If they were to survive and reach the Eyelands it was going to be up to him to lead them through unknown country and he had never even been on climbabout. Was he really fit to be Leader? He shook himself.
When the cones are down,
Even if you doubt yourself,
Hide all your concerns.
That was a Kernel the Tagger taught to newly elected Leaders. It was important not to let fear show. Make decisions – Lead! Even if the decision should subsequently be proved wrong, action could then be taken to correct and recover. Action was the Key.
Should he doing something positive now? More doubts assailed him, but he only had to look at Old Burdock slumped across the branch below to know that if he wanted her wisdom for the journey and on the Eyeland, they must wait until she was fit to travel again.
Fern was unconcernedly grooming herself on a nearby branch.
Marguerite and Rowan were together, looking down at her numbers, still visible where she had scratched them in the clay surface the day before. ‘There’s the eight that you drew.’ She pointed it out to him.
A pair of lizards ran across the hot dry clay. Rowan wanted to chase them.
Juniper had climbed to the very highest part of the tree and was looking back at where he knew the Blue Pool lay sparkling in the sun. Farewell, Bluebell-Mate, he was thinking, I wish I had been able to bury you under a tree, but at least you are free of the grey monsters now. He came down slowly and settled on the trunk where there was a patch of shade. He yawned and closed his eyes. Oak would wake him when it was time to go.
