Urchin and the Heartstone

by M. I. McAllister

  He could feel Bronze watching him with that smirk on his face. Either Juniper had somehow escaped and they knew nothing about him, or they’d found him and taken him away, and were waiting to see Urchin’s reaction. Careful not to give anything away, trying not to limp, he walked to the leaves and flopped onto them.

  “Sleep well,” said Bronze with a bristle of spines. He was pulling the door shut when along the corridor came the marching of paws and the clang of weapons as animals stamped to attention. King Silverbirch was coming.

  Urchin was too tired to care and his eyes were already closing, but with a bark of, “Get up, Freak!” Bronze strode into the cell, dragged him to his paws, and gave him a push that lurched him out of the door. It was only by keeping his balance with his tail that he was saved from sprawling at King Silverbirch’s paws. The king sneered down at him.

  “Bow, Freak!” he ordered.

  I have had enough of your tantrums and your scenes, thought Urchin. You’re no sort of a king, and I don’t see why I should bow to you. A stinging blow from Granite’s sword against his shoulder sent him flat on his face, and amid the laughter that made him burn with humiliation, a guard stepped forward and hauled him to his paws.

  Her lips brushed his ear. “Don’t worry!” she whispered.

  It was so soft and quiet that he couldn’t even be sure he’d heard it, but he saw the gleam of Cedar’s red-gold fur. He didn’t dare risk looking up at her, so instead, as he found his balance, he glanced around the crowd. There, among the mailed and helmeted guards, he caught a glimpse of dark fur and a paw with a familiar twist to it.

  He’d know that fur and that paw anywhere. He didn’t dare look directly at Juniper, but he had to bite the inside of his lip hard to fight the smile.

  “Stand!” ordered Cedar, and took her place dutifully behind the king.

  “This time,” snarled Granite, “bow to the king.”

  Cedar was just behind the king. Urchin put his paw to his heart and bowed.

  “That’s better,” said the king. “We had begun to think that you’d sent us looking in the wrong place. We were minded to give you to Smokewreath already. I’m sure the snow will start soon. But they’ve found a seam of silver, Freak, at Beacon Top!” He turned to the guards and raised a clenched fist. “Do you hear? A seam of silver!”

  He waited for the cheers to die down, then turned to Urchin. “Smokewreath says it was his magic that found it, but we’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and keep you alive to see how it progresses. It had better be a good seam. Where’s Smokewreath?”

  With the usual clatter of bones, Smokewreath shuffled along the gallery.

  “It was I who brought you the silver,” he hissed. “My magic made the earth shake to open the seam. I found it.”

  “But you never found it before the freak came, did you?” said the king petulantly. Smokewreath continued to clatter along the gallery.

  “It is a dangerous thing to question—” he began, then suddenly, barely two paces from Juniper, he stopped. His eyes narrowed. As Urchin watched, Smokewreath tipped his head like a bird, and sniffed.

  Urchin forced himself to look straight ahead, but his skin prickled. It was as if Smokewreath knew about Juniper, could sense his presence. Smokewreath growled deep in his throat and shuffled backward.

  “What’s the matter with you?” snapped the king.

  “Something…” rasped Smokewreath. “Something…” He was breathing heavily. His ears were flattened against his skull, his coat bristled, and to Urchin’s astonishment, his eyes were terrified.

  “Strong magic!” wheezed Smokewreath. “I will make stronger magic! Strong!” Shuffling backward, almost tripping over his own paws, he retreated into the shadows. The king snapped out an order, and a rough shove from Bronze sent Urchin staggering back into his cell with the lock clanking behind him.

  After the torchlit corridor, the cell was dark and bitterly cold. Urchin sipped at the stale, metal-tasting water, which made him even colder, and didn’t feel like nibbling at the hard bread. He wrapped himself in the blanket and huddled among the leaves, wondering what had so alarmed Smokewreath. He had been alarmed himself when the sorcerer had stopped so close to Juniper. He knew that the presence of threatening evil made Juniper feel sick. Could it be that Smokewreath felt the same in the presence of someone as good and brave as Juniper—or was Juniper more than just good and brave?

  The important thing was that Juniper was safe with Cedar. He was glad of that, in spite of the dull emptiness in his cell.

  There was still the faintest trace of lice lotion on his fur, and again it reminded him of Apple. He was coming to like it, as a reminder of Mistmantle. “Winter drill,” Apple would have said at a time like this. “Wrap up, curl up, settle down.” That was what most animals did in the coldest and hungriest of winters. Keep warm, and sleep as much as possible. There was a method to it, to retreating deep inside yourself and closing down every thought. There was nothing to do now but sleep. Urchin curled up tightly, pretended he was on Mistmantle, and was falling asleep when the door banged open. There was laughter in the corridor. Urchin closed his eyes tightly, desperate to sleep again.

  “Commander Cedar of the Inner Watch!” called Trail. Reluctantly, wearily, Urchin opened his eyes as Cedar dragged him to his paws.

  “King’s orders,” she snapped. “You’re to come with me.”

  She dragged him through the gallery, where guards laughed loudly and exchanged comments: “Did you hear? She got permission to bathe him. Yes, from the king. They must have fifty kinds of lice on Mistmantle that we don’t have here. Not even Commander Cedar can finish them off.”

  She opened a side door, led him quickly down a staircase, unlocked a door, and hurried him through a maze of corridors with twists, turns, and stairs. Finally, she said, “Now, Urchin.”

  As he realized that he was fully awake and not dreaming, Urchin felt his ears twitch with excitement. “Is this it?” he asked eagerly. “Time for escape?”

  “Not yet,” she said softly, and Urchin tried not to look disappointed. “But there are animals you should meet, and I had the chance to get you out of the cell tonight. I’m hoping the king might let me make a habit of it. In the meantime…”

  She bent to pull at a ring in the floor and opened a hatch. Urchin looked down into blackness, and before he could ask what was down there, Cedar had jumped and disappeared. There was a soft thud, and her voice carried up to him.

  “Jump!”

  Not knowing what he would find, or even how far it was, his paws tingling, Urchin jumped. Torchlight in his face made him blink.

  “This way, sir,” said a mole, and led Urchin along a tunnel so low that before long he had to crawl. He had never liked tunnels much, least of all tunnels that made him duck, and the tightness of this one was new and frightening. He concentrated very hard on putting the next paw forward, then the next, trying not to think of the roof against his fur, and the weight of the Fortress above them. He mustn’t think about not knowing how long this tunnel would last, and being trapped with a mole in front of him and Cedar behind him…. His chest tightened. He tried to breathe deeply, but the air was warm and stale…. I need to be out, out, let me out…. How do I know I can trust Cedar? Has she brought me here to kill me…? Then, just as he had to fight against panic, the tunnel widened, the mole unlocked a door, and he was met by a wave of light, color, and brightly chattering voices.

  He stood in the doorway of an underground room awash with torchlight and firelight. Wooden tables to the right and left of him were heaped with food—plain, but plenty of it—and colored cordials that made him fiercely thirsty just to look at them. Then he realized that every animal in the room had turned to face the door and was watching him with bright, hopeful eyes.

  There were squirrels, all shades and sizes of moles, and keen-eyed hedgehogs, and with a heart leap of happiness, he saw Juniper. Many animals had cups in their paws, but they had stopped drinking and fallen silent a
part from whispers—“That’s him! The Marked Squirrel!” Some bowed or curtsied politely to him, and he bowed back as a young female hedgehog and a male squirrel made their way toward him, and the crowd parted for them.

  The tall, lean squirrel stopped, folding his paws behind his back. He was dark with a deeply thoughtful look about him, and wore a plain brown tunic with damp marks on it as if he had just been drying his paws. He waited respectfully as the hedgehog stepped forward with a smooth firm step and her head held high. She was small with a grave and plain, pointy face, but her eyes were sparkling. There was a sharp, alert quality about her that reminded him of Crispin and Padra, as if she noticed everything that was happening. She must have been taught to keep her wits about her. Urchin waited to be introduced, but he knew who they were.

  “This is Queen Larch,” said Cedar, “the niece of our late queen, and the true queen of Whitewings. And our priest, Brother Flame.”

  “You are most welcome among the Larchlings,” said Larch, her voice was low and grave. “I must apologize for the ill treatment you have received here. Whatever we can do to help you, we will.”

  Brother Flame darted forward, seized Urchin’s paw, and shook it. He smelled of unpleasantly sharp herbs.

  “Please excuse me,” he said briskly. His manner was nervous and intense, but he spoke to Urchin as if they’d known each other for years. “I’ve just been treating a young mole who had difficulty breathing, and I fear I still smell of the infusion. Whatever else is wrong on Whitewings, we still have skilled healers.”

  “And we need them,” said Larch. “All this mining for silver and coal makes dust that gets into our eyes, our throats, our lungs, and our fur. It makes us ill, and every season the plants we need for healing are harder to find. The smoke and dust are killing everything.”

  “I’m so sorry,” said Urchin. With so many hopeful eyes fixed on him he felt he would gladly deliver the island, if only he knew how to. “What do you want me to do to help you?”

  Larch looked surprised. “Urchin of the Riding Stars, we are here to help you,” she said. “We will do all we can to get you home to Mistmantle. You have been treated shamefully by Silverbirch and his court.”

  “But I’d like to do something for this island,” said Urchin. His mouth felt drier all the time, and in his own ears his voice was hoarse; but he saw the longing and hope in the faces around him and said what he needed to say. “I mean, yes, I want to go home. I want it so much I try not to think about it. King Crispin wants me home, I know that. But he wouldn’t want me to abandon you if I could give you any help.”

  “The help you can give us is this,” said Larch, her solemn little face looking up into his eyes. “When the silver frenzy is over and Silverbirch is overthrown, we will seek help from Mistmantle. Not soldiers, not jewels. Just some good Mistmantle soil to replace the earth that’s been wrecked by mining, and something to grow in it.”

  “That’s exactly what this island needs,” said Urchin.

  “Just what I said,” said a gruff, familiar voice.

  “Lugg!” cried Urchin. Grinning broadly, Captain Lugg pushed through the crowd toward him.

  Larch clapped her paws together and suddenly everyone became busy, pouring cordials, moving chairs, gathering into little groups as if a party might be beginning. To Urchin, the lopsided grin on the mole’s familiar face was better than a party and more welcome even than the cup of cordial Lugg put into his paw.

  “How did you get here?” gasped Urchin.

  “Drink that,” ordered Lugg. “Come 'ere.” He jerked his head toward the fire, where Juniper waited. “Glad he’s turned up. Thought he would. Good lad, that.” A procession of hedgehogs with bowls of hot water and sponges made their way toward them, and Lugg nodded at them. “Here comes your bath time.”

  “My what?” said Urchin.

  “Mistress Cedar said she was taking you out of your cell to wash you, so you have to look washed.” He grinned as the hedgehogs left the water and sponges beside Urchin. “Don’t mind me, and be sure you do your ears.”

  “But what are you doing here?” demanded Urchin as he washed.

  “Getting you out, what d’you think?” said Lugg. “The king was against sending another rescue party until we could be sure of not getting the same welcome as last time. But time went on, and I said to the king, I don’t want to risk anybody else’s hide, but I wouldn’t mind risking my own, digging an extra tunnel or two that the Whitewings lot don’t know about. So, I’m here. May as well get you out while I’m at it.”

  “When?”

  “How do I know?” said Lugg. “Only just got here. Funny place, this.”

  “But we thought all the tunnels were guarded,” said Juniper.

  “They are,” said Lugg. “All the ones they know about. So I made some more. That’s what kept me. Mind, them old tunnels under the sea! Beautiful arches, lovely work. Good as the tower. Just big enough for small squirrels. We’ll have to get back that way.”

  Urchin and Juniper exchanged glances. Neither of them much liked the idea of several days traveling far underground, but it was the only way back to Mistmantle.

  “Lovely work, in these Whitewings tunnels,” went on Lugg, and nodded his thanks at the young hedgehogs who laid baskets of bread and fruit at their paws. “They’ve got lovely tunnels all over this island, but they’ve dug too many of 'em. Not good for the land. Weakens it. And what’s more, as I just told Larch and the rest of them, there’s a whacking great fault line right under this Fortress. Takes a mole to find things like that. I had to work out the tunnel network, make a few byways of my own, not get caught, and all without the whole lot caving in. Nice work, though I shouldn’t be the one to say it.” He gave a smile of satisfaction as he warmed his paws on his cup of steaming cordial. “Very neat.”

  Urchin was enjoying the clean feel of his fur now that the dust was washed out. Lugg passed him a towel.

  “I reckon we’ll have a chance to get you out when winter really bites and it’s too hard for mining,” he said. “Then time will be tight, because we have to get you both out before Smokewreath claims his kill. Can’t promise, mind. Do my best.” He stretched and smiled approvingly as musicians piped up music and Larchlings joined paws to dance. Urchin watched and wondered whether he was supposed to invite someone to dance or whether somebody would invite him, and what he would do if he did have to dance, because he didn’t know the steps. And besides, he was still damp. Then he felt whiskers against his face. Cedar was behind him, bending to speak.

  “You and Juniper, come with me,” she said quietly. “There are things you need to know.”

  Still holding their cups, Urchin and Juniper followed. Cedar wove her way through the crowd, up a few shallow steps cut into the rock, and through a doorway so low that he had to duck before he found himself in a small, round chamber with an arching ceiling, decorated with the branches of larch trees.

  Even before he saw Brother Flame, he knew they stood in a priest’s chamber. It had the quiet, prayerful feel of a priest’s room. Baskets of leaves were stacked on top of each other, neat rows of tiny bottles stood on a ledge, and a low fire murmured in the hearth. Lanterns glowed gently.

  Brother Flame welcomed them to the hearth with an outstretched paw, and they sat closely around the warmth. A small wooden table stood by the fireplace, empty but for a small polished box, and Urchin was wondering what might be in it when Brother Flame sat down and said quietly, “Cedar. You should tell this.”

  The power in the moment reached Urchin. It was solemn and significant. His ears twitched.

  Cedar opened the small box and held it out to him so that he saw a woven bracelet, old, and a little worn-looking. It looked as if it might be made of squirrel fur, but—and Urchin’s heart beat a little faster as he looked more closely—it was pale fur. It might have darkened a little with age and wear, but other than that, it would be as pale as his own. She laid it on the floor in front of him, her paws shaking a little.
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  Urchin shivered. The intensity of the moment hummed and pulsed around him. His life was about to be changed, deeply, and forever. His heart told him so.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  EPIA HAD JUST WOKEN UP.

  “That’s where it is!” she said.

  For days she had been nagging herself about a missing cloak. She couldn’t think where it would be, or exactly where she’d had it last. She hadn’t missed it before. But now there were mornings of bright white frost and cold winds that made her long for her warm green cloak. She had gone to her nest thinking of it, wishing she could spread it over the moss and leaves as the nights grew colder. And, as often happened with Sepia, she had slept deeply and woken early, knowing the answer to her problem.

  “It’s still in the song cave,” she said. She had left it there after the night when Hope was missing. She sprang up, fluffing her fur for warmth. Her winter coat was growing in thickly and she was glad of it, but she thought of Urchin and hoped he was warm.

  It would be lonely, going to the song cave and back by herself. It wasn’t that she was worried by Gorsen’s warnings about the caves—she’d been playing and singing there for years without harm—it was more that she’d become used to having company. Needle might come with her. At this time in the morning she was usually on the beach searching for the Heartstone, so Sepia bounded down to the shore, where Needle and Fingal appeared to be having an argument. Sepia found a rock to perch on until they’d finished.

  Fingal was saying that he couldn’t see why Crispin shouldn’t be crowned, Heartstone or not, and they could always have another celebration when Urchin got home; Needle insisted that tradition was important, and they needed the Heartstone to prove that Crispin was the true king. Fingal rolled in the sand and said that anybody with half an eye and most of a brain could see that Crispin was the true king, while Sepia watched the pattern made on the sand by the waves. Apple came to join her, and as usual they tried to reassure each other that Urchin would be all right, and would come home. Apple wondered out loud about Captain Lugg, who had suddenly gone away again, and his poor wife, Mistress Cott, “she’s as good a mole as ever popped up, she says he’s away on the king’s business, but if she knew what business, she wasn’t saying, and maybe she wasn’t allowed to say, you never knew, did you, poor Mistress Cott, isn’t she brave.” Finally, when Apple had to stop for breath, Sepia hopped down and explained what she wanted to do.