Urchin and the Raven War (15 page)

Urchin thought he may have misunderstood. “Say that again, please?” he said.

“The tower might hold,” said Heath.

“Might?”

“Yes,” said Heath. “Only ‘might.’ Didn’t the king talk to you about the possibility of the ravens taking the tower?”

“Well, yes,” admitted Urchin. But it had seemed as realistic as the sky falling.

“He’s got it well defended,” said Heath. “But we can’t be sure of anything, not against such hordes of them. In the meantime, we keep everybody’s spirits strong, so don’t look worried. Here’s Brindle!”

Brindle was working his way through the other animals to find them. There was blood on his shoulder.

“I just looked to see what’s happening out there,” he said. “Nearly lost my arm. Those birds have gathered on the rocks and beaches, and I reckon more of them have gone inland. What could we do against them?”

“Animals in tunnels and trees can jump out and pick off the odd one,” said Heath. “But there must be thousands of them.”

“Is Lapwing still safe?” asked Urchin quietly.

“Should be exactly where I left her,” he said. “But I’m just going to—”

He stopped dead, staring at something. Urchin hopped forward to see what he was looking at. In a corner of the burrow, a small cloaked squirrel was taking off a helmet. When she saw Brindle, Urchin, and Heath all watching her she quickly jammed it back on her head, but it was too late. Brindle seized her by the paw so violently that she squeaked, and dragged her into the tunnel beside them.

“Ca…Lapwing!” he whispered furiously, pulling off the helmet. “You were ordered to stay put!”

Catkin tilted up her chin.

“I was fighting for Mistmantle,” she said. “How could I leave it to everyone else? I’m only doing what my father does. And my mother, too.”

“Your father came up from being a page like the rest of us,” said Brindle sternly. “He learned to obey orders, and it’s time you did the same.”

She’d asked for that, thought Urchin. She seemed to think this was all an exciting game, and she had to be at the center of it—but in the dim light he caught the glint of tears in her eyes, and the tightness of her face as she fought them.

“Brindle’s thinking how upset your parents would be if you were hurt,” he said.

“No, I’m not,” said Brindle. “I’m thinking of having to face them and tell them I’ve lost their daughter. You were brought here to find out about living in the outside world, not to play the heroine and die in it. I’m supposed to keep you safe, and you’re not making it easy.”

“But you have been brave,” Urchin said to her.

“And you’ll have to be a lot braver before we’re through,” said Heath. “We all will. Rest now; prepare for whatever happens next. The Heart knows what that will be.”

CHAPTER TEN

ORR SWAM STEADILY ON
, rising for air when he needed to, twisting to look over his shoulder at how far he had come. He must take care. He’d have to swim right into the edges of the mist, but it seemed that he could do that safely, so long as he didn’t swim
beyond
them. The day before, it had been hard to tell mist from fog, but he had worked out that the raven ships must have been just inside the mists, because he’d come home safely. So if the ships hadn’t withdrawn—and there was no reason why they should—he’d be safe this time, too.

He swam fast and straight under water, smooth and strong. It was a long, long, and longer swim, making shoulders and limbs ache, but the need to defend the island urged him on. Every time he rose to the surface he turned his face to the sky, ready to gulp the air and plunge back under water if a wide-winged raven flew above him. At last, the air had a touch of mist on it. He dove down, gliding on until the dark hull loomed above him. The sinister croaking of ravens came from inside it.

Appalling pictures filled his mind, pictures of what the ravens would do to Mistmantle if they could. His home overturned, the nets slashed, the pots and pans buckled, the boats smashed to pieces, and his family—he couldn’t bear to think of that. The king and queen, Urchin, Fingal, all of them would be slaughtered or forced into slavery. And Brother Fir—what would happen to old Brother Fir?

Above him, the raven ship smothered out light and air. His fur chilled. Corr muttered something to the Heart and rose so straight and fast through the water that the ship seemed to lurch toward him. Gripping the kitchen knife in both paws, gathering his strength, he sliced into the hull, once, twice, three times. Once more. The wood creaked, complained, and began to splinter.

Out of the way, fast, before she sinks.
He twisted and swished forward, rising up out of the water to gasp for breath. He had struck his first blow for the island.

King Crispin made one last furious slash that sent a raven spinning to the ground, and leaped down the trapdoor from the battlements, pulling it shut with a bang. Cedar and Burr ran to catch him as he landed. He had given the order to fall back into the tower, but they had waited, knowing he would be the last to leave.

He wished they hadn’t caught him. He needed a few seconds just to rest on all four paws, his head down, catching his breath and waiting for the stinging pain of his wound to subside. Burr took the sword from his paw and darted away to clean it. Cedar was still holding on to him, as if she were afraid he’d fall.

“I’m all right,” he said. The chamber was full of exhausted animals, and he couldn’t let them see that he was in pain. The air was thick with the smell of blood, sweat, and hot fur.

“Where’s Whittle?” he asked. “He must commit the names of the dead to memory.” He knelt to take the shaking paws of a young sword-hedgehog. “Well done, Hedgen, well done.” He and the queen worked their way around the chamber, from one animal to the next.—
Go down to the healers, get that wound bathed.
—
Young hero, you’ve done enough for one day, go back to your burrow.
—
Tipp, Todd, your grandfather would be boasting of you.
Finally, the senior animals gathered in the Throne Room.

The fire, lamps, and candles were unlit. Burr slipped quietly about with a taper to lighten the room, but it didn’t seem to make much difference. Padra and Arran sat side by side facing Crispin and Cedar. Docken was beside them, and Juniper arrived, his eyes hollow with exhaustion, then Moth the mole, rubbing her paws on her apron. Fingal and Needle slipped in quietly.

“How’s Fir?” asked Crispin.

“Just the same,” said Juniper. “Hope’s with him.”

Crispin nodded briskly. “Here it is, then,” he said. “Every animal who fought today is a hero. There should be Threadings for every single one. Our losses are few, but they are terrible. Grubb and Hew, two moles from Anemone Wood, were killed, and Hazel the squirrel, and there are a lot more injured. We’re all quicker on the move than the ravens are, and we fought well. But there are so many of them!”

“Why have they stopped?” asked Arran. “I thought at first that they’d left the tower to attack the rest of the island, but I just went up to Fir’s turret to look. They’re still here, but they’re settling.”

“They’re regrouping,” said Crispin. “And planning their next moves, I should think. Or trying to tempt us out into the open.”

“The tower will hold, Your Majesty,” said Docken. “Won’t it?”

Needle squeezed her eyes shut against tears. The thought of the ravens taking over Mistmantle Tower was almost too much to bear. Fingal took her paw.

“They’ll break their beaks on the rocks before they get in here,” he said, and hugged her. “Ouch.”

Crispin almost smiled. “What are the most important things on the island?” he asked.

Some said, “The animals,” some said, “The young.” Some said both.

“But not the tower,” said Crispin. “If they take the tower, they do. It’s just a place. We get as many animals as possible out of it first, and underground. The Mole Palace is being reinforced and guarded as thoroughly as possible. Ravens are too big to get into it underground, but I wouldn’t put it past them to dig their way through from the surface. There is a chain of moles in tunnels across the island, ready to pass the word along if we have to empty it quickly, and the young can be spread out into new burrows and tunnels, deeper underground, to keep them safe.”

“There’s something else we should think of,” said Queen Cedar, rubbing her aching sword arm. “I was born on a fire island, and when the fire mountain exploded, all the animals fled to other islands. Some of us settled on Whitewings, and I don’t know where the others went, though I think at least one family settled on Swan Isle. What I mean is—if you can’t stay on your own island, you have to go somewhere else.”

Silence fell on the Throne Room. Needle felt cold, and wished the queen hadn’t said that.

“It’s a last resort,” said Cedar. “But do we know exactly what the ravens want? We’ve heard them screeching ‘kill and devour,’ but they don’t seem to be devouring us yet.”

“Beg your pardon, Your Majesty,” said Docken, “but they don’t want a snack. They’ll wait until they’ve killed enough for a feast.”

“Then what?” asked the queen. “They could keep some of us alive, as they did on Swan Isle, to be slaves. But they’re not rational. They’re like King Silverbirch on Whitewings—come to think of it, he liked shiny things, too. Obsessed with getting what they want when they want it. I don’t think they really want us for food or slavery. I think they want to destroy the island and every living thing on it. Lay it all to waste.”

“I’m afraid you may be right,” said Crispin. “If the worst happens, we must have well-provisioned boats ready. Priority is to the very young, the very old, and those who look after them.”

Arran said what they were all thinking. “We could never come home to Mistmantle,” she said.

“If the ravens do what they’re capable of,” said Cedar, “there won’t be any Mistmantle to come home to. Whitewings isn’t as beautiful as this, but Queen Larch would make you welcome.”

“Well, Your Majesties,” said Padra cheerfully, “all this makes me even more determined to fight for Mistmantle. Stick your spines out, Needle.”

“I’d love to have a go at that Silver Prince,” said Fingal. “Has anyone actually seen him? Is he real, or have they just made him up?”

“They must be guarding him very closely,” said Crispin. “We saw him on Swan Isle. He’s real, but I’d say he’s gray, not silver, and he doesn’t look much of a prince.”

“What a disappointment!” said Fingal. “All the same, I’ll kiss whoever finishes him off. Unless it’s you, Padra.”

“Boats to be prepared, then,” said Crispin. “And Heart grant that we don’t need them. All of you, have a bag packed with emergency rations and a cloak, in case you have to get out of the tower quickly. Juni—”

A blaring of caws and screeches filled the air. All of them leaped to their paws.

“Plagues and fire, they’re back!” muttered Padra, reaching for his helmet.

“To your places!” yelled Crispin. “Where do they all come from?”