EAR THE TOP OF THE DUNES, he turned to look about him. At every second he had expected rough paws to grab at him, but nobody had touched him.
All about him, hedgehogs and squirrels stood and stared. Those who didn’t wear helmets were glancing uncertainly at him, then at each other, as if they didn’t know what to do. Wondering if this were all a dream, he marched on. He wished somebody would do something. It was as if they were watching to see if his courage would hold. It was almost a relief when two hedgehogs ran to his side and took hold of his arms and shoulders, but it felt as if they wanted to apologize for arresting him.
They marched him onward. Other animals gathered around them and followed, but it seemed to Urchin that he was the one leading the way until they stood at the highest point on top of the dunes, the point from which he could see as far as the Fortress and beyond it to the crags. On this bare winter day, the Fortress was clearer than ever.
The hedgehogs holding him were gaining confidence. They’d arrested the Marked Squirrel and he wasn’t resisting, and, gripping his arms tightly, they quickened the pace. Archers and guards, keen to share the glory, ran to help them. Paws grabbed at Urchin, elbowing each other aside to reach him, pushing and dragging him.
“To the Fortress!” shouted one, grabbing at his shoulder. “Tell the king we’ve got him!”
Bundled across the landscape of the island, Urchin looked up to the Fortress. Dawn was spreading across the sky with an early, wide-awake light of pale gold over the bare trees and the harsh outlines of the battlements. Three figures stood there, and even at a distance, their shape and size and their way of moving identified them. Granite, tall and broad in his armor, his feet apart, one paw on his sword. The king, swishing his cloak and raising his clenched paws in triumph. Smokewreath, hunched, darting and dancing. He’d be funny, thought Urchin, if he weren’t about to kill me.
For a moment he wished he wasn’t doing this, but then he was ashamed for wishing it. He was giving his friends the chance to escape and to warn Mistmantle, and if anything was worth dying for, that was. He walked on, not resisting the hedgehogs as they pulled him, his eyes now on the sky beyond the three triumphant figures on the battlements. This would be his last sunrise, and he was glad it was a good one.
Smokewreath was beating his staff on the battlements. The others were joining in, stamping; and armed animals and archers clapped their paws and took up the chant, louder and harsher. It carried in waves across the island until Urchin could hear the word clearly, and feel the pounding of the earth.
“DEATH! DEATH! DEATH!”
What have I done! What have I done, that they’re all chanting for my death? thought Urchin, but he knew it wasn’t anything he’d done. It was the wave of greed and fear that made them scream for his blood. But there were other voices, too, and a different chant that was hard to hear clearly. He twitched his ears.
He could hear his own name. Somebody was cheering, calling his name and cheering! He twisted and stretched to look over the heads of the animals dragging him onward, straining to see what was happening.
The Larchlings were cheering him. Some he recognized from the underground party, but all were clear by the way they stood, more and more of them with their paws raised, some saluting, all calling out his name—“Urchin! Urchin the Marked Squirrel! Urchin!”
“DEATH! DEATH! DEATH!” came the chant.
Run, Cedar, run, Juniper, he thought, and prayed with all his strength for them to get away. Live. Get to Mistmantle. The animals holding him were running him forward now, hurrying in their eagerness to get their prize to the Fortress, and there was hardly time to see anything that was going on, but he could see enough. With cries of “Urchin of the Riding Stars!” the Larchlings were running to help him. The animals dragging him turned, ready to defend themselves, determined to keep their prize as the Larchlings called out his name and rushed forward.
They’ve found their courage at last, thought Urchin with a surge of joy. They’ve turned against the king! But his next thought was a terrible one: They’re going to fight, the king’s guards will destroy them, there will be a bloodbath, and all because of me.
Arrows sang, swords flashed, and from the Fortress the chant became louder, higher, and wilder. The stamping was so hard, so rhythmic, so fierce that the earth shook. As Urchin looked up, the Fortress seemed to be moving.
There was a noise like thunder, but it couldn’t be thunder. It came from underground. Then, from far off, came such a violent splintering and cracking that Urchin ducked and wanted to run. Everyone was looking up in terror at the Fortress. The chanting and stamping had stopped. The hedgehogs holding Urchin let go and ran.
“The trees are falling!” screamed someone. The winter trees around the Fortress tilted stiffly, jerking, wrenched one way and then the other as if they were in pain. Animals ran for cover. Screams came from the Fortress, its doors were flung open, terrified animals ran and scrambled to escape. On the moving battlements, Smokewreath and the king clung to each other. Granite was trying to climb down the side, but the Fortress was rocking. Then an appalling cracking sound hit Urchin’s ears like pain, and covering his head with his paws, he tore back up the dunes. There was rumbling, creaking, screaming, and a furious rending crack that became a roar and thunder of falling stones. Then it was over, except for some deep, growling rumbles from under the earth, and the dust that filled the air as Urchin raised his head.
He coughed and squinted. Dust filled his mouth and stung his eyes. Clouds of it hung in the air, and slowly settled around the emptiness where the Fortress had been. It covered the fur of animals with awed faces. It caught in his throat and made him cough until his eyes watered, as he scrambled to the burrow, trying to call for Cedar and Juniper.
“Urchin!”
He heard the hoarse call among the cries and calls of frightened animals. Juniper was hurrying toward him, rubbing dust from his eyes with one paw.
“Juniper!” cried Urchin, stumbling forward. “Are you all right? Are you all all right?”
“We’re all here,” said Cedar, and her eyes were pink with dust or tears. They all looked like that—Juniper, Cedar, Flame, Lugg, Larch, as they struggled toward the beach.
“We mustn’t stop,” said Larch. “There might be more quakes. We need to get everyone to the beach. If you see any animal that needs help to get there, help it.”
They coughed and staggered and slithered down to the beach, picking up and giving a paw to hurt and frightened animals on the way. Then at last they were on the beach; everyone seemed to be hugging each other and throwing down weapons, and Urchin’s head was spinning. He couldn’t really be free, the Fortress couldn’t have just vanished—the only thing that made sense was the voice of Captain Lugg.
“Told you!” he said, and coughed. “Too much tunneling, too much mining. Had to happen sooner or later. Watch them dunes don’t go next.”
“We’ll have to go back for the injured,” croaked Flame.
“Not yet, Brother, I wouldn’t advise it,” said Lugg. “Let things settle. Don’t want you falling down a hole; they need you. And they’re all looking out for each other.”
Animals were hurrying down to the beach, the walking supporting the injured. Larch was going from one group to another, giving orders—“Somebody go and help that squirrel, I think it has broken a paw—You, you, and you, carry that hedgehog down here”—while helping Cedar and Flame to attend the wounded. Juniper and Urchin went with them to give whatever help they could, and Lugg organized the unharmed animals into bringing water from the nearest spring. Juniper and Urchin were just discussing the possibility that most of King Silverbirch’s supporters must have been in the Fortress when it fell, when the voices around them faded and stopped. Animals were watching them.
An old, gray-muzzled squirrel stepped forward and said in a deep, strong voice, “Hail, Marked Squirrel, deliverer of Whitewings. Do you come to be our king?”
“Of course not!” said Urchin quickly. “I mean, I’m sure it would be a great honor, but you already have a queen. Queen Larch.”
A slow beam of joy spread across the old squirrel’s face. His eyes brightened.
“Then it’s true?” he said, and his voice trembled with excitement. “What they’ve been saying, it’s true? She’s alive, and on the island? Little Larch?”
Urchin stretched up on his hind claws to survey the crowd, as Larch was too small to be found easily. He caught sight of her washing dust from a young hedgehog.
“There she is,” he said. “Looking after that little hedgehog. That’s Queen Larch. And you have a priest, and the animals who’ve kept them safe all these years.”
There was a lot of scurrying about and chattering among the animals, while everyone pointed at Larch and whispered and agreed “that she had the look of the old royal family about her, and yes, this really was Larch. And was that Brother Flame? We always wondered what happened to him. Still white and gray with dust, still coughing, squirrels and hedgehogs knelt. On the sandy beach, on the snowy slopes, in the dust, bruised and disheveled animals proclaimed Larch their rightful queen.
“Is it over?” said Urchin. “Are they really dead?”
“Everything caved in,” said a breathless and very dusty squirrel, wriggling through the crowd. She rubbed her eyes and blinked. “They were all on the roof. I was in a treetop. Everyone was shouting and stamping, and it all caved in, and they just vanished, with everything falling on top of them—and I ran, sir. What do we do next?”
“Ask your queen,” said Urchin. “I have a king to go home to, and my own island needs me. I have to go home.”
The snow had stopped falling, but leaves, twigs, and dust still drifted through the air and settled on the shore. Juniper and Urchin picked their way through to Cedar.
“You’ll have to go now,” she said, “if you’re going to catch the tide. They’ll want to give you festivals and celebrations and goodness knows what if you stay any longer.”
Urchin sprang to his paws. All he wanted to do was to get home as quickly as possible, but the little boat at the jetty looked smaller than ever.
“Lugg will have to come by boat, too,” said Urchin. “He can’t go down a tunnel now, with the ground unsteady. And there’s the swans. Will the boat carry us all?”
“Why take the little boat?” said Larch. “Take the ship! There’ll be no shortage of volunteers to crew it for you.”
“But there’s a problem with the swans,” said Flame. “Something we hadn’t thought of. Because they’ve been chained up all their lives, their wings aren’t strong. I’m not sure if they can get themselves over the mists, let alone carry someone.”
“Well, they can try!” said Urchin. “By the time they reach the mists, at least they will have exercised their wings! They could carry a message to Crispin!”
“And Lugg didn’t leave by water,” said Juniper. “So if the rest of us can’t go through the mists, he could lower the ship’s boat and try to row through. Please, we can’t wait and talk about it now.”
Urchin gazed up at the ship. Proud and graceful on the water, she looked as lovely as an enchanted ship in a story.
“We’ll send her back here,” he said eagerly, “with a cargo of Mistmantle earth, to give the island a chance to be green again, as you wanted. And…” He hesitated. Knowing how much Cedar wanted to go to Mistmantle, he wanted to invite her, but he should ask the queen’s permission first. “Cedar always wanted to come to Mistmantle.”
“I can’t leave now,” said Cedar, though Urchin had seen her gaze stray wistfully to the ship. “You’ve only just come into your own, and there’s so much to be done,” she said to Larch.
“Cedar,” said Larch, “you have taught me well, and you know the quality of the Larchlings. Flame and I can cope here.”
“And,” said Urchin brightly, as a thought occurred to him, “if Lugg can’t get through the mists, you might be able to. You could be the only one who can get through, and warn Crispin, and tell him where we are, so we can’t go without you.”
“He’s right,” said Juniper. “We need you. And if there has been a rebellion against Crispin, we could do with someone like you on our side.”
“Now,” said Larch. “This is my royal command. Go, Cedar, before you miss the tide.”
Cedar shared a few final words with Larch and Flame while Urchin looked with longing at the elegant ship. Snow still lay on the mast and the furled sails. To sail in that ship must be almost as good as riding on a swan.
“Come on, then, young 'uns,” said a voice behind them. “Best get it over with. Time and tide.”
“Thanks, Lugg,” said Urchin, turning around, and stopping in surprise. He’d never seen Lugg look this worried before.
“What do you think?” said Juniper. “Straight up the side?”
Urchin and Juniper hopped onto the jetty and measured the jump. Then they sprang to the side of the ship, scrambled up, and tumbled onto the deck.
Organized by Larch, the Whitewings animals were escorting Cedar to the ship. A guard of honor hastily dusted itself down and lined up on the jetty. On the deck, Urchin and Juniper found cloaks to wrap around themselves, and rubbed their paws against the cold.
“Heart be with you!” called Flame. “May the Heart bring you all to Mistmantle!” Two swans, trying their wings, flew to the mast and circled it.
“You see!” said Urchin to Juniper. “They’re learning already!”
“We’ll need more ballast,” said one of the hedgehogs in the crew, making Urchin bite his lip with impatience. “We’re too light without it. They’re loading it up now.”
“Will that stop the rocking?” muttered Lugg. “And it isn’t even going anywhere yet. Moles aren’t meant to be on boats.” He sniffed, and sniffed again. “I can smell that stuff for killing lice.” He stepped a pace back from Urchin. “You haven’t caught lice here, have you?”
“Certainly not!” said Urchin. Cedar had warned him that it might take a while to wear off, and he hoped he wouldn’t smell of it when he got home. He wouldn’t want Crispin and Padra to think he was lousy.
Standing in the bow, he looked for the last time at the island where his parents had met, where his father had died. Finally the ballast had been loaded, the anchor was hauled up, the sails were unfurled, and the ship was moving. “We’ll take turns helping the crew at the oars,” said Cedar. There was clear, deep water between the ship and the coast of Whitewings; animals waved, squirrels sang, and silver dust settled and caught the sunlight. Swans rose into the air. And when Urchin could see nothing more of Whitewings, he turned his face to the horizon, pressed his forepaws against the bow, and prayed the ship would make it safely to Mistmantle and to Crispin.
The sea breeze was sharp and chill, flapping Urchin’s cloak about him. He felt somebody at his side and turned to see Cedar, with the little box in her paws. His heart thumped hard, and he held out his left forepaw.
“Tie it very tightly, please?” he said. “So I never lose it.” And when Cedar had knotted the bracelet firmly on his wrist, he folded his right paw over it and pressed it hard against his heart under his cloak. Nobody could take it away from him now.
A harsh wind followed them, cruel with sleet, but it drove them hard to Mistmantle. They navigated by the stars at night and by guesses in the day, but in the deep winter the days were short and the nights were long. They helped at the oars, brewed up cordials for themselves and the crew, and slept by turns in nests beneath the deck. They kept their cloaks wrapped about themselves even in their nests, and in the night watch on deck Urchin and Juniper saw frost on each other’s whiskers. When Urchin slept, huddled in a tightly clenched heap, he dreamed of roaring fires in Mistmantle Tower. He and Juniper talked of their childhoods, and Urchin realized that something in Juniper’s story didn’t quite fit. When he felt they understood each other well enough, he mentioned it.
“You’re not that much younger than I am,” he said, “and the culling didn’t come in until Sepia was born. I think you’re older than Sepia. So Damson must have hidden you before the culling law came in, before she absolutely had to.”
Juniper looked out to sea for a while. Then he said, “I know. I’ve thought of that. She must have had another reason for hiding me, but when I’ve tried to ask her, she changes the subject. I can’t push her about it, can I?”
They talked a lot about what they'd do when they reached the mists. The swans were learning to use their wings, but the mists were long, and it looked unlikely that they could fly all the way over them, let alone carrying a passenger. They were hopeful of Lugg or Cedar at least getting through. If the rest of them were kept out, and there was no swan on Mistmantle to fetch them, they d just have to return to Whitewings and go all the way back through tunnels. Nobody except Lugg liked the idea, and even he admitted it would be a long way to go about it.
“We could climb the mast,” suggested Juniper. “Then we wouldn’t be coming by water. We’d be over it.”
“I think it would still count,” said Urchin. “But if the mists are there to protect the island, they should let us through.”
“Firelight, moonlight, the secret,” said Juniper.
“I don’t suppose you know what that means?” said Urchin.
“No idea,” said Juniper with a shrug. “But I think it’s something to do with getting back. And I don’t feel sick.” Lugg trotted quietly to the side of the ship. “I think if the moles had invaded Mistmantle, I’d feel sick. Firelight, moonlight, the secret.”
When the sails needed to be furled or unfurled, the squirrels took turns running up the rigging. Urchin could see that Juniper found it harder than he did, not because of his withered paw—that never seemed to bother him—but because he became breathless quickly. Urchin knew that Juniper had sacrificed his health by following him to Whitewings. He called up to Juniper that they could swap places if they liked, but Juniper shouted down that he could climb just as well as Urchin, and was soon pulling himself up into the crow’s nest.
The trip was harder for Lugg, who endured it as best he could in spite of being seasick all the way. He persisted in calling the bow “the pointed end,” the stern “the blunt end,” the mast “the sticky-up bit” (unless the sails were unfurled, when he called it “the washing”), and the bowsprit “the sticky-out bit.” As for port and starboard, he said it was all the same to him when he leaned over it.
On the third night, the sky was so cloudy that it was hard to navigate, but the wind still seemed to be set for Mistmantle. Urchin, yawning enormously, rubbing his eyes and huddling into his cloak, scurried across the deck to take over from Cedar. He hugged a cup of hot cordial.
“Dawn takes forever,” she said, chafing her paws against the cold. “It always does when you’re waiting for it. But it seems longer than ever tonight.”
“M-midwinter,” stammered Urchin through chattering teeth. “Lugg’s got the stove going and Juniper’s heating up cordials.”
“Hot cordial!” said Cedar, and dashed away. She was right about the dawn. Urchin stood at the wheel for what seemed like hours, and it was still dark. The cordial cooled quickly, and the heated core it had given him had faded before he noticed that the sky seemed a little paler and grayer than before, but when Juniper came to take over, the horizon still could not be seen. The chill had entered Urchin deeply.
“It’s still gray,” he said, shivering.
“It’s clearer behind us,” said Juniper, his fur fluffed out for warmth as he joined Urchin on deck.
Urchin looked around. Behind them the sky was pale blue, and the wave tips showed clearly.
“But it’s foggy ahead,” he said, and suddenly he leaped across the deck, stumbling on numb paws, twirling his tail as he sprang down the hatch, shouting, “Cedar! Lugg! We’re in the mists!”
They stood on deck, all of them, their eyes shining, their ears pricked as they gazed at the white wall of mist. Lugg stretched up on clawtips, peering forward with his nose twitching. Cedar pressed forward over the bow, her chin tilted upward, tears in her eyes.
“I’ve seen the mists,” she said in a shaky voice. “Even if I never get to Mistmantle, I’ve seen the mists. I know it’s in there.”
Juniper took her paw. “The Heart won’t keep us out,” he said. “There’ll be a way.”
“Oh, good,” said Lugg, sounding unconvinced. “Don’t suppose you know what way? Should have gone by tunnels. Could have been hacked to death by mad moles, but better than a boat. Never again.”
“But we’re moving,” said Juniper. “We’re in the mists, and we’re still moving. So far, so good.”