Urchin and the Raven War (25 page)

The beacons hardly showed the shore. Crispin could just see the small figure, her head tilted. If he could throw off these guards, if Cedar could do the same, if they could seize a weapon—a bit of broken glass would do—they could run down the walls. But getting free of the guards was the impossible part.

“Move the lamp over here, Myrtle,” said Needle. “I can’t see what I’m doing.”

What was Catkin in the picture holding? A bird? That didn’t make sense. A bird meant freedom. There must be something in the code that he’d forgotten, some other meaning, or maybe Needle had drawn it badly—No, that was impossible. There was a click as Needle dropped her pencil. She crawled about looking for it, pressing her face to the ground as she searched.

“The water is up to her neck,” rasped the Taloness.

“If we told you,” said Cedar, and Crispin heard how she fought the tremor in her voice. “If we told you where our young are, you wouldn’t release her. We know you well.”

A long, chilling cackle came from deep in the Taloness’s throat. “We might,” she said. “You cannot tell. You do not know us so well, not at all.”

Crispin strained to listen. He was sure he’d heard something scuffling under the floor, but he might be mistaken. The Taloness was talking, and Needle was still shuffling about. A raven flew to the window.

“There is something silver in the tower, mighty Taloness!” it said. “Something moving!”

“Where?” she demanded.

“Here and there, Mighty Taloness,” it said. “At a window, then another window! It could be tree-rats with swords!”

“Then hunt them down and kill them,” ordered the Taloness. “Kill and devour! And do not trouble us about it! If you find armed tree-rats and spine-slugs in our tower, bring back their bodies and weapons. Gather them for the Silver Prince.” She turned to the window and shrieked.

Crispin gasped. Something silver swished through the air.

“Silver!” cried the Taloness. “Where from?” She rounded on the guards. “Stay with our prisoners!”

For a moment she perched on the broken glass. Then she flew out of the broken window, and Crispin saw her wheel into the darkness. Another star danced across the sky, and another, before she returned to perch on the jagged edge of the sill.

“This island rains silver!” she cried. “Ravens! Catch the silver from the sky! We will have it!” She turned on the guards holding Crispin and Cedar. “Not you! You stay!”

“The stars are riding!” cried Crispin, gazing into the sky. Did they ride tonight for good or for harm? If for good, that bird in Needle’s Threading sang out the truth. If for harm, they announced Catkin’s death, and he was the last king of an island that would fall and never rise again. He looked down to see an empty place where Catkin had been.

Catkin had decided to be as brave as she could for as long as she could, and looked into the sky. She could no longer see the Heartstone shape in the mist, but it had been there. She had seen it and was sure, holding it in her mind and heart as a treasure.

She hoped that nobody from the island could see her dying, because it would be so distressing for them. But how terrible to die with only ravens around her and nobody to care where she was, or what was happening! They probably thought she was still safe with Brindle. And what had happened to Urchin?

She took a deep breath and yawned, because yawning might keep her from crying. Then, deciding that she might as well sing her loudest and best, and sing for Mistmantle until the water filled her mouth, she lifted her head and took a deep breath.

“Come with me to the moss and the moor
…”

Tears sprang to her eyes, and she cried out with joy. From the dark, secret sky a star twirled down to the sea, spinning, pausing as if it had changed its mind in midair, and twisting across the sky. Another swooped and rose with a dash of silver, and another.

“Riding stars!” she cried.
Heart, please, if you really care, let them be for good and not for harm. Let the stars be for the saving of Mistmantle. Let them help me to live and not to die
—
but even if I die, I can see them!. The stars rode for me!

A star swished down to the sea. A raven dodged, croaking with terror and greed. Catkin laughed. The ravens wouldn’t understand riding stars, and didn’t know whether to catch the stars or hide from them. The stars were wild and free, and Catkin, shivering, sang for them.

“Heart keep you
Heart hold you
Heart free you
—”

Ooh! The squeak was because something had just bitten her wrist. She wriggled and tried to kick. A soft splash in front of her made her look down. Two otter noses and just a little of their whiskery faces showed above the water.

“Shh!” said Fingal. “We’ll have to swim under water, but we’ll keep lifting you up so you can take a breath. Ready?”

The bands around her ankles and waist floated free. Her wrists could move.

“Take a deep breath,” said Corr.

“Taloness!” cried a raven. “The stars are flying!”

“They fly for us!” cried the Taloness. “They salute the Silver Prince! Go, catch the stars for us!”

She strutted to the Threading, where Needle and Myrtle were carefully adding details. “Look! Even the spine-slugs know the greatness of the Taloness and the Silver Prince. Put stars in the drawing, spine-slug, or we rip you to pieces!”

Needle completed the circle she was drawing around the female squirrel. “Yes, Mighty Taloness,” she said.

“Stars!” ordered the Taloness. She tilted her head to one side and her eyes fixed on Myrtle, who was drawing a sunflower in the corner.

“Stars, Myrtle,” said Needle. “Draw a star.”

The Taloness put her head to one side again. She examined the picture, then strutted to the window.

“The water has moved too quickly,” she said. “Is that little tree-rat dead? Not even her ears showing? And we missed it!”

Crispin clung to hope. She couldn’t have disappeared under water so quickly—one moment the water had barely reached her chin, the next she had vanished. Something had happened. Against the fierce pounding of his heart and the straining of his nerves, he held on to the hope in the Threading. Catkin with a bird for freedom, and a circle drawn around her for safety. Needle knew something. He had no idea what, or how, but she did. And Myrtle, who had no idea what she was doing, was drawing a sunflower.

Cedar hadn’t needed to learn the Threadings Code, but she had chosen to. Crispin hoped she had seen, and understood.

“So it died with nobody to notice,” spat the Taloness. “What a disappointment. We shall have to drown another one now.” She nodded at Myrtle. “That spine-slug will do.”

There was a harsh rustle of wings. Myrtle shrieked as the Taloness trapped her under her silver talons.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

N A LAST FURIOUS STRUGGLE
, Crispin twisted, strained, kicked, and thrashed. The Taloness raised her beak to stab. Then nobody knew what happened first: Needle with a long sewing needle in her paw leaping onto the Taloness’s back, Crispin breaking free from his guards, or Urchin leaping through the broken window with one sword in his paw and another at his hip.

Crispin caught the sword Urchin threw to him. With a swing of the blade, Urchin hit the Taloness’s feet, forcing her to drop Myrtle, then he and Crispin were back-to-back as they set about the ravens. Swords flashed, wings flapped and fell, talons tore. The door banged open and Padra ran in, a sword in each paw, throwing one to the queen. As a raven flew screeching through the window, fleeing from the riding stars, Padra sent it spinning back into the sky. One more landed on the sill, its beak open and its talons stretched with rage.

“Needle!” yelled Urchin.

Myrtle and Needle were bending over a pot of paint as if they were still in the workrooms. As the raven swooped, a burst of yellow paint met it in the face and sent it tumbling backward, and there was no more screeching, cawing, flapping. Dead ravens lay on the floor.

“Catkin’s safe, Your Majesties,” said Urchin, panting, because it was important to get that clear first.

“There’ll be more of them,” said Padra. “Out, quickly.”

“This way,” said Urchin. “To the back of this chamber, around that tight corner, and down to the Chamber of Candles.”

“What happened to the Taloness?” asked Cedar. She was still shaking.

“She got away, I think,” said Needle.

“Run, then,” said Crispin, “before she brings a whole pack of them.”

They ran across the Gathering Chamber, Padra and Cedar first with drawn swords to protect Needle and Myrtle, and Urchin and Crispin last. But already the cries of ravens were too close. A glance over his shoulder showed Urchin the wheeling, cawing birds weaving through the riding stars, fascinated and terrified, and one enormous, funeral-black, silver-clawed raven that flew into the chamber and swooped straight at them.

The doorway to the passage was well concealed and too small for ravens. Needle, Myrtle, Cedar, and Padra were through already as the raven screeched and darted down, and a push from Crispin sent Urchin sprawling through the entrance.

Scrambling to his paws, he looked back. Black wings hid Crispin from him. As he lunged forward, talons closed on Crispin’s shoulders. Urchin struck out and felt the jarring in his arm as the raven caught his sword and wrenched it from his grasp. It fell with a clatter, far away across the floor.