The Heir of Mistmantle (12 page)

“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 waterways 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.

“I’ll look after him,” said Whittle, eager to be useful. “We should all take turns, all of us who can, because he shouldn’t be left alone, should he?”

Urchin and Juniper hurried down the stairs together.

“Can you cope without him?” asked Urchin.

“Have to,” said Juniper, and after a moment of indecision, added, “You know how busy it’s been.”

“Silly question,” said Urchin.

“Yes, I know,” said Juniper, “but what I’m trying to tell you is, with both of us being so busy, and not always together, I never told Fir about my prophecy. I can’t very well tell him now, can I?”

No, he couldn’t tell him now, and Urchin didn’t feel that it was the right time to ask Juniper what was meant by the greatest enemy the island would ever face. What was the worst thing there could be? A curse on the Heir of Mistmantle?

He wished he hadn’t thought of that.

CHAPTER EIGHT

FLASH OF RED FUR SPRANG
from the tower, and the little knot of animals leaning against the walls ducked as Longpaw flew over their heads. He had landed, whisked round, and leaped onto a rock before all the animals in sight had gathered to hear him.

“Drink only from the springs and the rainwater pools, not from the streams and rivers, until told otherwise,” he announced, “by order of the king. If any of your colony are sick, report it to your nearest member of the Circle. Healers are out doing all they can.”

“Please, sir,” asked Quill the hedgehog, “my mum wants to know, how long is it going to go on?”

“Nobody knows,” said Longpaw, “but the queen knows what she’s doing. She’s seen something like this before, and she thinks it might be to do with the streams, that’s why we’re not to use them. Those with the best noses, report to Captain Padra.”

Longpaw leaped away to spread a team of messengers across the island. Keen hedgehogs and moles ran off to find Padra, arguing about who had the best nose. Hobb, Quill, and a few of their friends returned to leaning against the tower walls.

“Typical tower animal,” remarked Hobb. “Thinks he can give us all orders. Where’s Yarrow today?”

“He’s not well,” said Gleaner in a high, worried voice that might have been a touch too dramatic. “I didn’t sleep at all last night, worrying about him.”

“The queen knows what she’s doing,” said Quill. “That’s what I heard.”

“The queen?” said Hobb. He scratched his polished head and folded his arms. “Her, know what she’s doing? Didn’t you know? It’s sad, really. She’s gone mad as the wind. She goes round whispering down wormholes now. Haven’t you seen her? And where’s this sickness come from? She says herself that she’s seen it before, and there you are, then. We never had it before she came here.” (Quill had a feeling that they had, but he didn’t like to argue with Hobb.) “Animals are dropping dead all over the island, but the queen hasn’t caught it. Neither has that one.” He nodded at Scatter, who was running off to join Fingal. “Stands to reason. They’re immune. That Whitewings place must be riddled with it, and they’ve brought it here. And now the queen’s off her head; we’re all going sick and likely to die and running after lost squirrels because Her Majesty can’t keep her own baby safe; Lord Husk’s planning something horrible and roaming the island, and if he hasn’t got the baby, sure enough he will get her. But try telling any of this to that lot in the tower. They won’t have it. It’s no good expecting the king to do anything.”

“Maybe it’s Lord Husk that’s been poisoning the water,” said Quill, and felt very pleased with himself for having an idea of his own.

“Could be, son,” said Hobb. “Could be. Whatever it is, the king isn’t doing a thing about it.”

“The king?” said a passing squirrel. “Are you having a go at the king?”