The Heir of Mistmantle (18 page)

Damson still slept. The fire burned down again, and Sepia fed it with twigs and heated a cordial. She would have liked to offer some to Juniper, but she knew he wouldn’t drink it. She huddled by the fire, sipping the hot drink and wishing somebody else were there with them—Mother Huggen, or Moth, Arran, or Padra. Somebody who would know what to do. She was growing drowsy by the fire when she heard a low moan from the bed. When Damson slowly opened her eyes and stirred, her voice was weaker than ever.

“Got him out of the water,” she moaned. “Took him back. I should have gone to the tower. I should have told King Brushen, but I was shy of him. I should have told a captain, or someone. I should have told them what happened to Spindrift, and how that squirrel tried to kill Juniper, too. I should have told!” She gave a little cry of distress. “I was that scared! I didn’t know who that squirrel was! I couldn’t name him! If they couldn’t find out who he was, he’d still be free! He’d have come for me, and what’s more, he’d know the baby was still alive. He’d have come for Juniper! He would!”

Juniper smoothed her fur, and hushed her gently. “Sh, now, Damson. You’ve done nothing wrong. You saved the baby, didn’t you?”

“I was scared, Brother Fir! Didn’t know what to do! Just took Juniper and loved him. His foot had got twisted, must have been when that squirrel threw him, but he wasn’t seriously hurt. He thinks he was born that way. Sometimes, I thought—tomorrow I’ll go to the king. But I was that scared! I kept putting it off. There weren’t many knew about Juniper, and when the culling law came in they all kept quiet on account of his paw. When I went to the Gathering Chamber for anything I stayed at the back, ready to get away quickly and go home to Juniper. Didn’t mind if I couldn’t see or hear much. Never did see or hear much, not even that day when we did the clawmarks and cast lots, not until…”

She paused, taking deep breaths. Finally, with an effort, she said, “…until that wedding.”

Juniper wrapped both of his paws over hers. He wanted her to stop, but whatever she had to say, he had to hear it now. He felt the hard, fast beating of his heart.

“I saw him then,” she said. “I heard his voice and saw the turn of his head. And I recognized him!” She clutched his paw more tightly, and her voice grew higher and trembling. “That was him, Brother Fir! After all those years, I knew the voice, and the turn of his head, like when he was on the shore…I knew, and I ran for my life.”

Juniper’s own voice was unsteady. He fought to keep it under control.

“Who…” he began, but Damson broke in again, fearful and distressed.

“I should have denounced him! I was afraid! Who would have believed me? Who’d believe me against him?”

Juniper’s stomach churned, and he struggled to take deep breaths. He could feel Sepia’s gaze as if she wanted to strengthen him.

Damson let out a deep, long sigh. After so many years, it must be too hard for her to say. The whisper was quiet, but Juniper and Sepia heard it in terrible clarity.

“Husk,” she said. “I’d never realized it before. Husk killed Spindrift. He tried to kill Juniper. The one she trusted. He was Juniper’s father.”

“No, he couldn’t be,” stammered Juniper.

“Oh, he was,” she said. She was calmer now. “I thought about it, after that. I think he already wanted Aspen. Wouldn’t do to be linked with a simple squirrel from the rocks and her child. Wouldn’t suit his plans. Pushed her down the cliff with the baby in her arms. Put her in a leaky boat and pushed her out to sea, saw the baby was still alive. Tried to drown him. Everyone thought she’d gone with a sailor from another island.”

Juniper held her paw as firmly as he could, but he shook. Sepia hugged him tightly.

So this is what it all came to. The thing he’d always wanted to know. The missing pieces of the puzzle. The lifelong question of who he really was. He wished he had never found out.

If only, if only, he had never let her think he was Brother Fir. If only he could go back to that moment of decision and tell her that Brother Fir was not there. He could have sent for one of the captains, she might have told a captain, and he could have gone away, and he would never have known. It would have been better that way. If only he’d never, never, never…

…if only I’d never been born, he thought bitterly.
I
am Husk’s son.

Sepia held him, wishing she could bear the pain for him. A sudden cry from Damson pierced them both with shock and sent a shudder through Juniper.

“You won’t tell him, Brother Fir? You won’t tell Juniper? You see why he must never know!”

“Yes,” said Juniper. He managed the words slowly, forcing out one at a time. “He mustn’t know.”

“And can you forgive me? I know I should have told, but…”

“Forgive?” he said. Forgive her for saving him, caring for him, sacrificing her freedom, and keeping the terrible truth from him? He wanted to take her in his arms and hug her, thank her, bury his face in her fur as he had done when he was tiny—but he was supposed to be Brother Fir.

“Peace, daughter,” he said gently. “There is nothing to forgive. You have done well.”

“But I should have told!” she cried.

“You are completely forgiven,” he said. He laid a paw on her head. “The Heart loves you, forgives you, and rejoices in you. Heart bless you. Sleep, daughter.”

He stared ahead of him, seeing nothing, aware of Damson’s rough dry paw in his. Sepia’s arms were still around his shoulders, but in his loneliness she might have been on the other side of the mists.

Husk’s son. Husk’s son.
He hadn’t pretended to be Brother Fir for his own sake. He hadn’t meant to pry, to hear a confession that wasn’t meant for him. But he had been curious about it, and he
had
heard it, and it was too late to change that. He knew who his father was, and he would have to live with that knowledge for the rest of his life.

Damson’s breathing seemed to be slower. There was a pause between the breaths, as if she might not take the next one. Before dawn she opened her eyes again, and he gave her a drink.

“Is that my Juniper?” she asked.

“Yes, I’m here,” he said, and as she struggled to sit up, he raised her and cradled her. He had been ready for her death. It was inevitable now; she had brought him up until he could take his place on the island, but he yearned for her to stay. She had always been there.

“You’ve been"—she wheezed painfully—"you’ve been a good son to me, Juniper. Good lad. Proud of you.”

Juniper rocked her and leaned down to press his cheek against hers.

“You’re my mum,” he told her. “I’ll always love you, Mum.”

He raised a paw and said the blessing over her—
May the Heart claim you with joy and receive you with love. May your heart fly freely to the Heart that gave you life.
He did what he had longed to do, and for a few precious seconds he pressed his face into her fur. Then he could only wait, softly singing the lullaby to her and holding her in his arms until sunrise, when she died.

CHAPTER TWELVE

E LAID HER DOWN IN THE NEST
. There were other sick animals to be visited. He had to do that now. It was vital, and it would take his mind from that terrible truth. But he was too numb now to think clearly. His instinct drew him to stay with Damson as if he could slip back to a safe, happy time when she was alive and well, and there was no disease on the island, and he had no idea of who he was.

“I’ll fetch Apple,” said Sepia, and scampered away. When she returned with Apple dabbing her eyes on a leaf, Juniper packed his satchel, rubbed vinegar lotion on his paws, and wrenched himself away from Damson’s nest.

He walked away uphill, not caring where he was going. No matter how far he walked, he couldn’t get away from who he was.

He had recognized the greatest enemy of Mistmantle, but here was another enemy. It was his past, which he could never change or escape.

Urchin, Needle, and their friends were all, in one way or another, heroes. But he was Husk’s son, born under a dark shadow to a cruel tyrant and murderer.
I
am not fit for Urchin’s company,
he thought.
I don’t belong with decent animals.
It was as if everyone would hear his new name following him on the air.
Husk’s son.

Cedar held the naming shawl in both paws and faced her old enemy, Smokewreath the Sorcerer, across the empty cradle. Bones, claws, and feathers swung from the cords on his robe, he smelled of death, and his eyes stared with malice. He stretched a scrawny, stained claw to the naming shawl. If he took that, he could keep Catkin forever, trapped with his malice and bound in curses. He must not have it. But she couldn’t stop him, she couldn’t move, couldn’t even cry out for help, couldn’t call on the Heart, she was frozen….
She woke, her eyes wide with terror, struggling for breath, telling herself it was a nightmare. She must look at the cradle in case Smokewreath really was there. Forcing herself to breathe, she sat up. She had staggered back to the tower so exhausted that she had fallen onto the bed with dust, dirt, and blood still in her fur, and slept instantly, but not for long.

Was there someone outside the door? She twitched her ears and told herself that the guards were there. She felt at her side for a sword and remembered that she had not worn a sword since she came to Mistmantle. She had not needed one. But did she face enemies whose evil was too great to fight with a weapon? What was the enemy? And where? The tap at the door was light and gentle, but she bit her lip.

“Queen Cedar?” said the soft voice of a female hedgehog.

“Thripple!” called Cedar thankfully. “Come in!”

Thripple walked lopsidedly into the chamber, carrying a candle. “They only just told me you were back,” she said. “I thought I’d better come down in case you couldn’t sleep.”

“I did,” said Cedar, shivering. Thripple wrapped a coverlet around her. “I wish I hadn’t.”

“Did you have your nightmare again?” asked Thripple.

Cedar nodded, and pressed her paws to her eyes as if she could obliterate Smokewreath’s face forever. “I have to look at the cradle,” she said.

They stood looking down by candlelight into the empty cradle. Cedar picked up the naming shawl and stroked it.

“I can’t help wondering if Smokewreath the Sorcerer really is still alive,” she whispered. “Or if he’s…well, if he’s…if he’s dead, but still…you know. Was he…” With a great effort, she said the word. “Was he
cursing
me as he died? Did he curse every child I’d ever have?”

Thripple sighed. “I can’t say whether he did or not, madam,” she said. “But as to whether his curses had any power against you, that’s another thing. No curse can stand against the Heart. Perhaps you’d sleep better for a wash and a hot drink, now?”

Cedar didn’t argue, but voices in the corridor sent her dashing to the door in case there was news of Catkin. An agitated squirrel seemed to be arguing with the guard moles at the door as she flung it open.

“Mistress Hammily!” she said.

“Beg pardon, we didn’t want you disturbed, Your Majesty,” said one of the moles with a glare at Hammily.