Urchin and the Heartstone

by M. I. McAllister

  “Urchin!” said a voice from somewhere under the logs, and the sound of his name made his heart leap. Firewood spilled out. There was a gleam of dark red fur; Urchin found it impossible to believe his eyes.

  “Juniper?” he whispered.

  Juniper’s head bobbed up from the basket. He shook sawdust from his ears. “Found you!” he said as he climbed out.

  Speechless, Urchin leaped forward and seized Juniper’s shoulders, astonished at the delighted smile and the bright, almost too-bright, eyes. But under his touch Juniper was shivering, and after the first great surge of joy at seeing a Mistmantle face, he felt desperately sad and sorry. Juniper had ended up in this wretched place, too.

  “How did you get here?” demanded Urchin. He kept his voice down to a whisper, and glanced warily at the door.

  “Followed you,” said Juniper.

  “But it was—”

  “I know,” said Juniper. “I’m all right with water, I grew up with otters. I wanted to rescue you. I’m sorry I didn’t. But I couldn’t leave you.”

  Urchin tried to say the right thing, didn’t know what it was, and hugged him. Juniper coughed, still trembling.

  “You’re ill,” said Urchin. The surprise had left him shaking almost as much as Juniper. “I’m amazed that journey didn’t kill you.” There was still wine and bread on the table. He put a drink into Juniper’s trembling paw and folded the claws around it. Urchin pulled a blanket from the bed to tuck tightly around Juniper’s shoulders, noticing that his paws were still wrinkled from the water. “Juniper, don’t you realize? We’re beyond the mists!”

  “I know,” said Juniper, and sipped the wine. “I knew I’d have to do that. I could have swum back. But you didn’t have anyone else.” He looked up into Urchin’s face. “You’re Urchin of the Riding Stars and you’re my friend. I wasn’t going to leave you.”

  Urchin’s heart clenched. Mistmantle had adopted him, Apple had raised him, Fir, Crispin, and Padra had protected and encouraged him, but never in all his life had anyone done anything like this for him. A few days earlier, he had thought of Juniper as a younger brother, perhaps the sort of little brother who had to be looked after and rescued. It left him ashamed now. He wondered if any of the heroes in the Mistmantle Threadings had done anything so noble.

  “Are you all right, Urchin?” asked Juniper.

  Urchin squeezed his shoulders. “I’m all right. I’m just amazed. And I’ll get you home somehow.”

  “I was thinking of doing that for you,” said Juniper. “I’ve found out a lot already. There are good animals here, who want to help you. To help both of us. They found me and looked after me when I was soaking wet and a stranger. They know about you. They got me in here.”

  Urchin looked anxiously into Juniper’s feverishly bright eyes. He gave him some dried fruit from the table, but Juniper coughed as he ate, and this time they both glanced nervously at the door. Juniper lowered his voice to a whisper.

  “Listen,” he said. “Are you listening? This is important. They told me all about the island, and you need to know it, too. King Silverbirch isn’t the real king at all. He was the last queen’s husband, and when she died, there was only her little niece, Larch, to become queen. Larch was just a child, so Silverbirch became Regent. He was only supposed to look after the island until she grew up, but gradually he took the power for himself. He has bouts of dangerous madness, and he’s getting worse. He’s so obsessed with silver that the island’s riddled with mine workings, and the dust makes the animals ill. When Silverbirch first took power he was mostly all right, and there were enough sensible creatures around him to keep him under control, but he takes sudden dislikes to animals. Lots of islanders left Whitewings. Some just disappeared and nobody was quite sure whether they’d fled the island, or he’d had them killed.”

  “Did he have Larch killed, too?” asked Urchin.

  “No,” said Juniper with a twitch of a smile. “Everyone thinks she left the island in secret, but she’s still here. One day she’ll be the real queen again, when they’re strong enough to overthrow the king.” He glanced at the door again and whispered even more quietly, “It was Larch who found me. Her supporters are the Larchlings. I think all the islanders would support her, but they’re terrified of the king’s archers, and a sorcerer called Smokewreath.”

  “I know about Smokewreath,” said Urchin. “Was there no good priest on the island?”

  “There was,” said Juniper. “There was a wonderful young priest, Brother Candle, but he was found dead at the foot of a cliff, though by that time he’d already trained another priest, Brother Flame. It was as if Candle knew that Silverbirch would have him killed and was training Flame to take over. Then Brother Flame disappeared, too. Everyone who opposed Silverbirch and Smokewreath disappeared, or were accused of some terrible crime and shot by the archers. But Brother Flame survived. He’s in hiding with Larch.” Juniper smothered a coughing fit, sipped the wine, and swayed.

  “You really are ill!” whispered Urchin, catching him.

  “Then I’ll tell you the important things now,” said Juniper. “Pretend you can find silver. If the king thinks you can do that, he won’t let Smokewreath kill you. And don’t try to escape. Cedar has plans for you.”

  “Who’s Cedar?”

  Juniper’s eyes were puzzled and half closing. “But you’ve met her!” he said. “She’s the…” And he slumped to the floor in silence.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  OH…OOH…OOH!” SAID NEEDLE, standing on her hind paws with her mouth open, unable to say another word.

  They had reached Sepia’s song cave, high and arching, shining with spindling waterfalls and the bright stones that glittered in the walls. A hole in the hillside above them let in a little daylight, and the rays of late afternoon sun brought flashes of gold.

  They had explored all the other caves, nearer to the shore and the waterfall, and Fingal had found any number of flat stones for skimming. There were some very beautiful translucent pebbles that Sepia liked, and Hope had put the nicest ones in a satchel to take home. If Needle tried to remind them that they were supposed to be looking for the Heartstone, Fingal would say cheerfully, “Yes, in a minute,” and Sepia would calmly say, “Don’t worry, Needle, I am looking for the Heartstone.” Needle was mildly surprised that they hadn’t had a row, but Fingal and Sepia weren’t the sort of animals you could have a row with. Fingal was too easygoing, Sepia was too calm, and you couldn’t have a row in front of Hope.

  Needle wished Urchin had been there. She and Urchin always made a good team. Fingal had been a bit disappointed because the rowing boat wasn’t there, and he’d meant to row them around the bay. Needle had muttered that he’d have to find another way to show off, and then wished she hadn’t said it, but Fingal had only laughed and turned somersaults. Hope was trying very industriously to find the Heartstone, but being shortsighted didn’t help.

  “I’ve found lots of stones that could be the Heartstone, but when I look more carefully they’re never the right one,” complained Needle, sitting down wearily. “They always stay in my paw. I don’t think we’ll find it in here.”

  “There are stones in the walls,” said Sepia. Needle sprang up again.

  “That could be it!” she cried. “Run up the walls, Sepia!” There was a splash behind her. “Fingal, now what have you found?”

  “Water, of course!” said Fingal. “A slide!”

  Near the cave entrance, he had found a spring that gushed down a sloping section of the wall to make a waterfall, ran down into a channel, and disappeared under the ground. Fingal swam straight into it, vanished, and bobbed up again.

  “There’s a river under there!” he said, beaming. “It’s snaky at first, then it whooshes down and there’s a lake. It must be the one that joins up with the tunnel network.”

  “Can I come too?” piped up Hope.

  “Certainly not,” said Needle quickly.

  “It might be a bit dangerous for somebody yo
ur size,” admitted Fingal. “I’m a natural swimmer, so I’m always falling into rivers.”

  “I’m always falling into everything,” said Hope.

  “All the same, it’s different for hedgehogs,” said Fingal, sounding almost grown up, for once. “We don’t want you to slip into deep waters. You can go down the slide, and I’ll stand here and catch you so you won’t go underground.”

  He sprawled in the channel while Hope clambered up the rock, sniffed the air, and launched himself down the slide on his back with all four paws outstretched. With a cry of “Oof!” he landed in Fingal’s paws, scrambled out, and ran to do it again.

  “Have a go, Needle!” he cried. “Sepia! You have to try it!”

  Needle decided that the Heartstone could wait. There was a lot of splashing and shrieking before she and Sepia shook themselves dry and reminded each other that they should be searching.

  “Just a bit more?” said Hope.

  “Go on, then,” said Fingal. “Shout when you’re ready, and I’ll catch you.”

  For a while there was nothing to be heard but the clink of pebbles and the scrabbling of paws, and the occasional cry of, “Ready, Fingal?” followed by a splash and a giggle. Outside, the sky clouded and the light dimmed, but Needle had brought flints and lanterns, and they searched on until Sepia climbed down the walls, stretched, rubbed her eyes in tiredness, took a deep breath, and sang.

  She sang so that the notes rang and danced from the sparkling walls and hung in the air. Her song made Needle imagine springtime and the breath of primroses on the air, and Fingal thought of enchanted kingdoms under the sea, and Hope…

  …nobody knew what Hope thought. Whether he forgot to call for Fingal, or whether he did and Fingal didn’t hear him, never became clear. There was a sudden splash, and when they looked around, he wasn’t there.

  “Whoops!” said Fingal, and dived under water. There was a muffled cry of “Don’t worry!” then nothing.

  Needle and Sepia dashed to peer down into the darkness, soaking their fur and whiskers. Over the swishing of the water, they strained to listen. They could hear a few squeaks from Hope, then Fingal’s voice—“Got you…hold tight…not that tight…”—then his voice carried farther away until they could hear nothing but the waterfall. They sat and looked at each other, realizing suddenly how dark it had become.

  “They’ll be all right, won’t they?” said Sepia anxiously. “I mean, Fingal did have Hope when we last heard him,” said Sepia.

  “Fingal seemed pretty certain that the lake linked with the tunnels,” said Needle. “Oh, but Hope can’t swim much!”

  “He can ride on Fingal’s shoulders,” suggested Sepia. “All the otters give rides to small animals.”

  “Then Fingal will probably carry him to a tunnel and look for the nearest way out,” said Needle. “It would be easier than climbing back up a waterfall with a hedgehog on his back.”

  “Yes,” said Sepia, but she still felt uneasy.

  “I know,” said Needle. “I’m not happy about this either. But I suppose there’s nothing to be worried about.” She curled up. It was getting colder. “Where would the tunnels take them? D’you think they could get back up here?”

  “I’ve no idea,” said Sepia. “I don’t do tunnels much. But I suppose they must be linked with the caves.”

  “I thought you knew these caves,” said Needle, trying not to sound grumpy.

  “Not under water,” said Sepia reproachfully. “But they can’t be far from dry ground, and when they find a tunnel, somebody will meet them. There are always moles about. We’ll try shouting again.”

  They leaned as close to the gap as they could, and called Fingal and Hope’s names into the darkness.

  “Ouch!” said Needle. “You yelled right down my ear.”

  “Sorry,” said Sepia. “I’ll try not to this time.”

  Their cries hung and echoed, clear and loud in the cave. There was no answer.

  “They’re sure to be all right,” said Needle. “But I think I should go to the tower. I should let them know what’s happening.”

  “I’ll go,” said Sepia. “I’m quicker.”

  “No, I’ll go because I’m slower,” said Needle. “They’re almost certain to get back here soon, and then you can run and catch me up and tell me, if you can. Mind, I know all the shortcuts. If I meet anyone around while I’m still near here, I’ll ask if they’ve seen an otter and a small hedgehog. I’m sure they’d look out for them.”

  “And if anyone else comes to the caves, I’ll get them to search,” said Sepia. “It should be all right. Animals are always splashing around and exploring caves, and they always come back in one piece.”

  “Will you be all right here on your own?” asked Needle.

  “Oh, yes,” said Sepia. “I’ve stayed here alone for hours.”

  She didn’t add that she’d never stayed there alone at night. It was harder to feel confident without Needle. She went on with a halfhearted search for the Heartstone, not expecting to find it, and the lamp was low. Now and again she called for Fingal and Hope, but there was no reply. She began to wish she’d insisted on going instead of Needle. She told herself not to worry, and worried all the same. In the deepening dark she sang to pass the time and keep her spirits up, and when the lamp became only a pale flicker and then nothing at all, she made herself a nest out of her cloak. If only Hope had a cloak. Finally, she said a prayer for them all and for Urchin, and settled down to sleep.

  She tried very hard to fall asleep. If she lay awake, she would imagine all the worst possible things that could happen to Fingal and Hope, and Hope was so little; but after a long time wriggling in the nest, she stopped even trying to sleep. At times like this, her mother used to tell her to “think of something lovely,” because it may not send you to sleep, but it would give you something worth staying awake for. So what was the loveliest thing that could happen? She imagined King Crispin being crowned in the Gathering Chamber with all the animals around him, and Brother Fir in a neat new tunic limping down to the throne to offer him the Heartstone and put the crown on his head. Urchin would be there, groomed and carrying a sword, in a deep-red cloak to match his ears and tail tip, and Fingal and Hope would be with them. Hope would sit at the front so he could see. Her parents would be there, and they’d hear her singing and playing with the musicians, and there’d be a party. She might play there, too, or even dance with the king. A banquet…new Threadings…perhaps, perhaps even a night of riding stars…she slipped into a dream. Stars above her, stars around her, stars at her paws, stars to dance on, she was dancing with stars in the mist….

  Something had woken her. Something was moving. She opened her eyes and sat up, shivering, wrapping herself in the cloak and trying to ask who was there, but found she was too frightened to do more than squeak. By the time she could falter a few words, all was silent again. She sat, wide awake, telling herself not to be silly. Hadn’t she been hoping Fingal and Hope would come back, shaking their wet fur and gabbling about all their adventures? She whispered their names in a voice that sounded strangely thin. There was no answer. She lay down in a tight, unhappy huddle, still listening.

  Sunlight falling through the hole in the cliffside woke her, and she jumped up and shook herself. Were they back? But the cave was reproachfully silent. Fingal and Hope had not come back. They might have found another way out. They were probably playing by the shore already. They might have emerged into the cave and gone home, not knowing that she was asleep in the corner.

  Look for paw prints. She followed the scuffed trails from the previous day, and at the sight of fresh ones her heart lifted with joy, then fell again. She could see hedgehog prints, but these were too big for Hope. That explained what she heard last night. Hedgehogs must have been sheltering in here.

  No Fingal, no Hope. I should never had stayed here. I should have gone straight to the tower. They could have drowned, they could be lost underground, they’ll be cold, they’ll be starving, t
hey could be trapped, they could be hurt, they might have become separated. If anything happens to Fingal, little Hope will be all alone in a strange place, he might be crying…

  Furious with herself, she left her cloak and sprang through the caves until the sound of the waterfall grew louder. She swung herself onto an ash tree growing out of the rock, and was about to scramble up the rocks, when she saw Sluggen and Crammen of the Hedgehog Host on the shore below.

  “Can you come up here, please?” she called down, and waited impatiently while they looked past her and from side to side before catching sight of her. “Will you look out for an otter and a hedgehog? I’ll explain later. Thanks.” Sluggen shouted something about the caves not being a safe place for youngsters, but Sepia was already leaping away.

  With weary paws, Needle watched dawn spread through the sky. It should have looked beautiful, touching the wave tips with pink, shedding a soft gray light on the boats as they waited patiently by the mists, their lights pale and steady in the dawning. But Needle was too agitated to care about anything but Hope and Fingal. She had expected Sepia to have caught up with her by now to tell her that they were safe, but it hadn’t happened and, running through the wood alone at night, she had imagined the worst. Drowning, an injury underground…Oh, please, please, Heart keep them, please, and I’m sorry for all the times I’ve been snappy with Fingal, oh, please keep them safe, please look after them…

  Would Crispin be awake yet? Clambering onto a rock by the spring that ran down from the castle to the shore, she remembered too late that Padra lived at the Spring Gate. Just as she was thinking of him, Padra glided through the water, saw her, and scrambled up.

  “Needle! How’s the treasure hunt going?” And when she hunched her back and turned her face away, he asked in concern, “What’s the matter, Needle?”

  She tried to find the right words, but there weren’t any. Finally, she managed a hoarse whisper. “Please, Captain Padra, sir, you’re going to be very angry.”

  “I doubt it,” he said, and leaned over to see her face. “Angry with you?”