The Heir of Mistmantle (17 page)

Cedar raised her head. “There won’t be a trail,” she said wretchedly. “All this rain will have washed it away.”

“She can’t have stayed aboveground for long,” said Urchin, trying to think one step ahead. “Too dangerous. There must be another of these places somewhere.”

“It could be anywhere,” said Cedar. With her voice on the edge of tears, she rubbed her paw across her eyes. “What do we do now? Start all over again? I’m sorry to whine, but I don’t know how much more disappointment I can bear.”

“You’re not whining,” said Crispin, coming to sit beside her. “You have the strongest spirit I’ve ever known.”

Urchin thought hard. “You led the resistance on Whitewings,” he said. “You had to keep secrets. You kept Larch and Flame alive and let everyone think they were dead. If you were Linty, what would you do?”

Cedar stared ahead of her with deep concentration on her face. At last, slowly and thoughtfully, she said, “We missed this place for so long because it’s ingeniously well-hidden and a long way down, and seemed impossible. Impossible to make, let alone to get to. She’s gone somewhere else impossible. So we have to look in impossible places. And if I were doing what Linty’s doing,” she said slowly, thinking aloud, “I think—I think—I’d try to get down to the shore, in case I needed to take Catkin off the island!”

She sprang up, then stopped as if she had been frozen to the spot. Her eyes were on something on the floor. Urchin had never seen such horror on her face before. He and Crispin both followed her gaze to a small, dark patch on the floor.

“Blood!” she whispered.

“That’s me,” said Urchin. “I cut my paw on a stone.”

The queen knelt and examined the stain. Then she raised her eyes to him.

“This isn’t fresh blood,” she said. “It can’t be yours. It’s dried.”

Crispin took her paw. “It’s only a little,” he said. “It could be anything. Linty might have cut herself. Don’t lose hope.”

“It’s all I have,” she said. “I don’t know what to do next.”

“Please, Your Majesty, I wish you could sleep,” said Urchin. “The rest of us can keep searching.”

She raised her eyes to him. “If you knew my nightmares,” she whispered, “you wouldn’t say that.”

All the long night and the next day, in driving rain, the search for Catkin went on. In the Mole Palace the little ones squealed and chased each other, played at having picnics, ate porridge while listening wide-eyed to Moth and Mother Huggen telling them stories, and slept cuddled together in warm nests. Twigg made toys out of scraps of timber and polished them with vinegar before sending them to the little ones. Shadows lengthened, the streams ran clear, and Catkin was not found.

Sepia arrived at Damson’s tree root, and Apple went home. As it grew late, Damson turned her head restlessly. From the way she grasped about for his paw, Juniper understood that her sight had failed completely, and she struggled to raise her head when he spoke to her, as if she found it hard to hear his voice.

She muttered, whimpered, and whispered, and though Juniper laid his ear as close as he could to her lips, he could not understand a word. He straightened up, rubbing his eyes and wondering when he had last slept properly, when a sudden sob and a gasp from Damson startled him bolt upright.

“I need a priest!” she wailed. “Bring me the priest!”

“I’m here,” said Juniper. He stroked the top of her head and took her paw. “I’m a novice priest now.”

“I mean the proper priest!” cried Damson. “Brother Fir!”

“Sh,” said Juniper gently. “Sleep now.” It was no good trying to tell her that Brother Fir could not come. She drifted into sleep, but each time she woke, her cries were more pleading and urgent. “Where’s the priest? When is Brother Fir coming! I need Brother Fir! Tell him I’m dying! Please! Please! Before I die!”

She became calmer at last and lay with her head in Juniper’s lap. Perhaps she would slip away quietly now, like this. That would be best. There was a quietness that came with dying. He had learned about that over these last few days, and he recognized it now. All he could do was wait with her while she died, however long it took. She opened her eyes at last, wept silently, and pressed his paw.

“That’s the priest, isn’t it?” she whispered calmly. “I so wanted you before I died. I knew you’d come. I was afraid you’d be too late. Sepia, is that the priest?”

Juniper looked across at Sepia, and she came to sit beside them. If Damson had said, “Is that Brother Fir?” it would have been much more difficult. But she had said, “That’s the priest, isn’t it?”

He was nearly a priest, and only a priest could comfort her now. So he made the decision that would change his life.

“Yes,” he said. “The priest’s here.” He felt the soft letting-go as Damson relaxed in his lap. There was a quiet sigh.

“Then I can tell the truth,” she said.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EPIA STOOD UP AND TOOK A STEP BACK
. She was looking intently down at Juniper, who met her gaze. She gave a tiny shake of her head, but Juniper still looked back at her without flinching.

Sepia spoke so softly that she barely said the words at all, only framed them.

“You’re not meant to hear this.”

“It’s too late,” Juniper whispered back. “She has to say it. She won’t die in peace if she doesn’t.”

Damson had to believe he was Brother Fir. It wasn’t only because he wanted to hear what she had to say. She had to believe she had spoken to Brother Fir, or she would die in distress. He held the moss to her lips. She managed her words slowly, stopping now and again to gather her strength.

“I never told it before,” she said. “Long ago, I was living higher up than here, up on the north side, near where the ridge stands up, with the larch trees, and far below it there’s that little bay. Animals keep themselves to themselves there. My husband had died in the last bad storms. We’d had no little ones of our own, and that was our great sorrow. There was a young squirrel lass there, a pretty, dark-furred young thing, sweet-natured. Always had time for a chat. Helpful. Her people had died in the storm, too.”

She paused for breath, then went on, her voice low as she struggled with the words. “Too trusting. Too willing. Called Spindrift.”

There was another long pause and a wheezy breath. “Told me lots of things, but not what mattered most. Never told me she was with young. I noticed it, but she said nothing till her baby was in her arms. He was a beautiful baby, very like his mother. She said she’d been wed, and it was a secret, and her husband was coming to take her somewhere special. I wasn’t to speak of the baby. He was secret, too. I doubted all that, Brother Fir. I reckoned it was somebody from the ships, and he might never come back for her.”

Juniper gave her a drink, and presently she dozed while he watched over her, stroking her head. His legs grew stiff and painful, but he stayed still, not wanting to disturb her. The fire was burning low. Sepia fed it with more branches, then brought him a cloak to warm him, wrapping it around his shoulders so he would not have to move. She placed the candle nearer to him. In her sleep, Damson murmured phrases of song, and Juniper thought he recognized the Mistmantle lullaby. There was nothing to do but to wait until she woke again. When her eyes did open she looked about her, seeing nothing.

“It’s dark in here,” she said. “You still there?”

“I’m here,” said Juniper. “Did Spindrift’s husband come for her?”

“Oh, he came,” she said, and her voice was almost a moan. “Dead of night, he came for her.”

Juniper’s skin turned cold under his fur. He began to think he would rather not hear this. But he no longer had any choice. The words of his prophecy whirred in the back of his head like something far away, heard dimly, but not seen.

“She told me one evening,” said Damson. “She told me he was coming that very night. I woke in the night—heard the baby crying—I could hear something moving on the cliff top, high up over the shore. I heard a voice—remembered that voice, Brother Fir, all these years! I wish I could forget it. ‘This way, my love.’ That was what he said. That voice sank into my mind. Stayed there.

“To this day, Brother Fir, I don’t know for certain what I saw. Night was pitch black, no moon, and my night sight was never good. I heard a scream. Even then, I didn’t know, didn’t know what to do! I muddle easily, sir. Sometimes a scream is just a few young ones larking about, but it sounded like a proper scream—I scurried off to look. I’ll tell you now…never told before.” There was a long pause. “Should have. Didn’t.”

She took a deep breath. Juniper felt the pulse in her wrist.

“Peace, Damson,” he said. “Take your time.”

“There was a boat near the water. I saw a squirrel put something in that boat—it was all bundled up, couldn’t tell what it was. He did something to the boat. Came back. Saw the white on his chest. He was walking about the shore, stopping, starting, like searching for something. You still listening?”

“Yes, I’m listening,” said Juniper.

“Lost sight of him,” she said, “then there was that bit of white again, and something in the air—he’d thrown something. Heard a splash. He pushed the boat out.

“I was so scared I didn’t want to move, but I had a terrible feeling, terrible, about what he’d thrown into the sea. I waited till there was no sign of him, and I ran…I ran to the shore.”

There was another long wait while she gathered her strength again. Juniper stayed very still. He had guessed what she would say next.

“I was right!” she wailed. “Couldn’t believe it! Bobbing on the water, kicking enough just to stay afloat. He’d tried to drown the baby! Little Juniper!”

At last, thought Juniper, at last, I know what she tried to hide from me. My father tried to kill me. He had always known that there was some dark secret in his past, and he knew at last what it was. He could understand why Damson had kept it from him, and felt grateful to her. It was terrible, but the uncertainty was over.

Sepia slipped closer, wanting to take Juniper’s free paw, and found she couldn’t touch him. The moment was for Damson and Juniper. She was an outsider.

Damson closed her eyes again, and when she drifted into sleep, Sepia did hurry to Juniper’s side, putting a paw tightly round his shoulders, but he didn’t move. It was as if he had no idea that she was there.