Urchin and the Raven War (8 page)

“Treachery!”
screeched a voice above them.
“Treachery, treachery!”

There were more ravens above them, swooping down to strike as Crispin heaved the sword from the dying Archraven, but Russet and Tipp were scrambling up the cairn to the king’s side. Pitter stumbled after them. In one horrible moment that made her cold to the bones, she saw what would happen next and cried out, but it was too late. As Crispin turned, raising his sword again, the dying Archraven raised a claw and ripped into Crispin’s shoulder.

“He is dead!” cried Crispin. “Your leader is dead, and his troops lie dead around him!”

His voice seemed to come from far away, and he felt he was swaying. With his sword he pushed the Archraven’s body to the ground, noticing blood on his claw and wondering why he suddenly felt weaker.

But the ravens knew they were defeated. Already they were gathering above the trees, crying and wheeling, until they were only specks of pepper in the sky and, at last, were gone.

The Mistmantle animals hardly saw the ravens go. They were scrambling onto the cairn where Crispin lay, his eyes closed, blood seeping into the stones.

“Move him carefully,” ordered Russet. “Lord Arcneck, please help me get him to the ground. Find something to stop the bleeding.”

Pitter was pulling moss from the stones. She was astonished at herself, damaging the princess’s grave when she had just defended it, but this was important.

“Please, sir, listen, sir,” she gabbled to Russet. “This moss is good for stopping bleeding. There’s more of it on the ground, please, sir, it’s what we use all the time.”

Russet turned over the wounded king, and Pitter pressed her paw to her mouth. She could see no white fur at all. There was only dark blood and a deep ragged tear running from shoulder to hip. With both paws she pressed the moss hard against the wound.

“This is moss from the princess’s grave,” she said, though she didn’t know if he could hear her. “Our princess will watch over you.”

The squirrel king did not move.

CHAPTER SIX

REEDOM
! C
ORR WAS LOVING
freedom, the taste of it in the air, the feel of it in the sand under his paws, the touch and smell of it every morning as he woke. No nets to mend, no fetching and carrying, and, most of all, nobody telling him what to do, how to do it, and where and when to do it, then nagging him for not doing it well enough. He could choose where to row his boat and where to land. He caught his own fish, and lit fires to cook it on if he felt like cooking it at all. He found that there were at least a dozen different kinds of seaweed—pink, purple, black, and every shade of green—that he’d never seen before. The Island of Mistmantle, with its bays and rock pools, was more varied and beautiful than he had ever imagined.

At first he chatted mostly to other shore animals. As he became bolder, he made his way farther inland to explore woods and hills. He saw the way the light changed on trees and water, and how skies were different every morning and every night. When his boat became battered, he patched it up again.

He was enjoying it all hugely, but there wasn’t much in the way of adventure—not unless you counted getting lost a few times and having to find his way back to his boat and campfire. And he killed a water snake, but he’d done that before; rescued a rather frightened little mole that had lost its home tunnel; and helped a family of hedgehogs move into a tree root. It was fun, but it wasn’t enough. He needed more than that to tell them about when he turned up at the tower. And he would like to take a present, a really special present, for old Brother Fir. The trouble was, he didn’t know what was special. The bushes inland were bright with flowers he’d never seen before, but they might be commonplace at the tower.

On a night of cloud and mist, when Corr slept curled against the shelter of his boat, Urchin of the Riding Stars lay in his chamber at the Spring Gate and decided that if he couldn’t get to sleep, he may as well stop trying. Before dawn he got up and wandered down to the shore.

Were those swans in the sky? Between cloud and darkness, it was hard to tell. He strained to look into the grayness, then took a run at the tower, ran halfway up the wall, stopped, looked, and ran higher. And higher. And higher. At the window of the priest’s turret he climbed in, nudged Juniper awake, and said, “They’re coming home!” Then he ran onto the battlements.

The sun had been fully up for hours, and animals were gathered on the rocks by the time the swans landed. Boats were ready to ferry the warriors from swan to shore. In the kitchens, animals worked furiously to prepare food the returning heroes would like.

The healers were ready, too. Under the queen’s instructions, rooms had been prepared for the wounded. Clean white beds, bandages, water, salves, and medicines were neatly arranged in rows.

Urchin stood beside Prince Oakleaf, a little behind Juniper and the queen. The breeze that chased the mists away flapped at his deep red cloak and ruffled his ears. Animals whispered to each other, shading their eyes as they peered into the sky. As the swans drew nearer, the chatter stopped. Animals held tightly to each other’s paws. Needle, with her brother, Scufflen, beside her, remembered the Threading with the picture of a sword pointing upward and hoped it told the truth. At a tower window, Sepia cradled Princess Almondflower, singing softly as she watched.

The swans flew smoothly and steadily, close together. No riders waved from their backs. Standing on clawtip, craning his neck, Urchin saw at last the figure of Russet of the Circle leaning to the right of his swan, and a small squirrel he didn’t recognize doing the same opposite him. Then he realized that they were both watching, very carefully, the back of the swan between them, where no rider could be seen.

The swans were close now, almost at the tower. Something lay on Lord Arcneck’s back—something white, and heaped up. Padra called an order to the stretcher bearers as Lord Arcneck landed at the queen’s paws and Prince Oakleaf ran forward. From the white heaped-up blanket, a little of Crispin’s face showed.

Juniper and the queen knelt, their faces taut with fear. Each put a paw to Crispin’s neck, feeling for a pulse. A girl squirrel Urchin had never seen before stood beside them, her paws full of moss.

“Heart hold you, Crispin,” said Padra, bending over him.

Crispin’s eyes opened. He almost smiled.

“We won,” he whispered. “Padra, help me sit up. They need to see I’m still alive.”

“You mustn’t move!” said Russet, and bowed to the queen. “He’s badly wounded, madam.”

“Obey orders, Padra,” muttered Crispin with a faint smile, but he gritted his teeth and winced as Padra raised him. He lifted a paw to greet the animals, but the movement made him sway. If Padra had not been holding him, he would have fallen. In the tower, Sepia turned Princess Almondflower away from the window.

“Take him to our chambers,” ordered the queen, and raised her voice. “Animals of Mistmantle, the king needs your prayers!” The other animals ran to greet their friends and families, but they did so in subdued quiet.

Urchin dared not think how close Crispin might be to the line between life and death. The thought of Mistmantle without him was unbearable. In the royal chamber, he watched as the queen gently unwrapped the blanket, and gasped. Dried blood caked the king’s chest. Half covered by moss, a deep and jagged gash seared him from shoulder to hip.

“What’s all this moss?” demanded the queen.

The small squirrel scurried forward, her voice trembling with shyness. Her paws shook as she held out the moss.

“Please, Your Majesty,” she whispered, “it’s called mendingmoss. It stops the bleeding. You’ll need more, please, Your Majesty; you have to keep taking it off and changing it so I brought some fresh, Your Majesty.”

For a moment, the queen only looked at her as if she were speaking a foreign language. Then she wrung out a cloth in a bowl of water and began to gently wash away the moss and blood from the king’s deep wound.

“Your Majesty,” whispered Urchin, “shall I fetch Catkin?”

“No,” said the queen, then thought again. “Yes. She’d better be here. Squirrel, tell me about this moss.”

Urchin bowed and slipped to the door. He’d fetch Catkin himself, praying that she would not be queen by morning. Juniper was just coming in with a small oval box in his hand. It was made of pale pink stone, with flecks of gold and silver.

“The Heartstone?” whispered Urchin.

“He needs it,” Juniper whispered back. “It has properties that none of us understand.”

Around Crispin stood Russet, Padra, the queen, and the little stranger squirrel with her moss. Nobody cried, nobody fussed. Quietly, steadily, with watchful eyes and skilled paws, they attended the king. Juniper, joining them, took the Heartstone of Mistmantle from its box and folded Crispin’s claws over it.

“Hold the Heartstone, Your Majesty,” he said. “Hold the Heartstone, and live.” But he had to hold Crispin’s paw closed. There was no strength in it.

Animals gathered around the tower. From Fir’s turret to the Chamber of Candles, from Mistmantle Tower to the North Shore and the Rough Rocks in Anemone Wood. In the Tangletwigs, on hilltops and on sands, at the rivers and the waterfalls, candles were lit and prayers were said. Urchin brought Catkin to the royal chambers. Prince Oakleaf refused to leave his father’s side. Juniper, Padra, and Urchin took turns staying by the king as Cedar changed dressings, cleaned the wound, and raised the king’s head to give him sips of medicines and water from the Spring Gate. Animals left flowers, berries, and bottles of their best cordials at the tower for him. Every morning, Pitter looked out of her window and pinched herself to see if she had woken up.

She was in awe of the queen, who seemed so efficient and so clever that Pitter adored and feared her at the same time. On that first day she had stammered out to the queen everything she knew about mendingmoss, please, Your Majesty, and how she had come to Mistmantle with the other animals because, please, Your Majesty, they didn’t know about it and she did. Then she had been taken to another room where somebody had brought her food and a drink, which was very nice—but she didn’t know what it was and what she would do next. Then a kind-faced squirrel had come in and said, “You’re Pitter, aren’t you? I’m Sepia. We’ve made up a bed for you in my room for tonight. I hope you don’t mind sharing, but it means you won’t be lonely.”