BOOK ONE ¦ BOOK TWO ¦ BOOK THREE ¦ PROPHECIES Urchin of the Riding Stars Prologue On the island of Mistmantle, before dawn on an autumn morning, a squirrel lay on her side and watched the shooting stars dash across the sky. It took her mind from the pain. It was a rare night, when the stars left their orbits and swirled so low across the sky that it seemed you could reach up and touch them. These nights did not happen often, and when they did, they always meant that a great even would happen. For good or for bad? Nobody could know which. Even old Brother Fir, watching from the highest turret in Mistmantle Tower, didn’t know. The mother squirrel didn’t know, and didn’t care. She lay panting, longing for help with the long, hard birth. But she was a stranger here, and knew nobody. Her own island was far away, and she hadn’t dared to stay there. A prophecy had been made about this baby. He will bring down a powerful ruler. If the king heard of that he would surely have the baby killed, being ruthless enough to do it. She had hidden on the first trading ship she could find, and escaped. She had hoped the ship would go to Mistmantle. She had heard great things about the secret island, where a kind king ruled from a high tower on the rocks and red squirrels, hedgehogs, moles and otters lived and worked together. It was a good safe place, protected by the enchanted mists folded around it like a cloak. Because of those enchantments, very few ships ever reached the island — but, at last, this one did. Already in birth pain, she had slipped from ship to shore and crawled to the shelter of the rocks. No creature was near. Those who were awake were high on the hilltops, watching the stars. A sudden spear of pain made her lurch and gasp, but it took her breath away so completely that she could not even scream, Birth should not be like this, Something was terribly wrong, and she was alone. Raising her head she could see lights shining high in Mistmantle Tower, but it was far away, soaring towards the night sky. As stars swirled over the island the squirrel’s baby slithered into the world, a pale scrap of a thing with thin, downy fur that glimmered under the starlight. With the greatest effort she had ever made in her life, the mother sat up, nuzzled him, and bit through the cord. ‘Heart keep you,’ she whispered, and laid the warmth of her face against him. ‘Be happy. May someone find you and love you.’ Before she could give him a name, she was dead. The baby lay on the shore, pale as moonlight, showing up clearly against the dark rocks. A gull flying overhead caught sight of something like a scrap of fish, swooped, snatched him up, and rose into the sky. Mistmantle Tower was near. That would be the place to perch and gobble down the meal. In a dash of silver a star rushed past, and another. The gull swerved and soared. A falling star dazzled it, and another made it veer from its course. Scared and angered, it opened its beak to screech. The newborn squirrel fell, spinning, gaining speed. If he had hit the rocks he would never have breathed again, but he fell in shallow water and the waves washed him on to cold, wet sand. In Mistmatle Tower, animals had crowded round the windows all night to watch the stars. The best of it was over now, and they were smothering their yawns with paws and settling into their nests for a brief sleep. But in the highest turret of all Brother Fir remained watching, leaning his paws on the sill to ease his lame leg. The squirrel priest was old, but his eyes were still sharp and he missed nothing. When he saw something white tumble from the sky, he leaned out to see better. Sometimes, fragments of rock would fall to earth as the stars passed, and it could be one of those. Below, from another window, Crispin stretched forward and turned his face to the sky. He was a young squirrel living in the tower, an attendant to the hedgehog King Brushen. Though he was young he had just been made a member of the Circle, the small group of animals closest to the king. He craned his neck from the window. When he, too, saw something white spin down through the air, he leapt from the window and ran swiftly down the wall to the shore. In the dim, early light, Crispin knelt by the thing at the water’s edge. He had expected something hard and bright, like a precious stone, but what he found was a curled-up scrap that could be anything. A starfish? It moved. As Crispin watched it gave a thin cry, uncurled and waved a tiny paw in the air. He heard the shuffling step of Brother Fir behind him, but was too fascinated to look round. ‘It’s a baby!’ he said. Well, Hearts bless it, so it is!’ said Fir. ‘Pick it up, young Crispin, don’t leave it there!’ Crispin wasn’t used to babies. He scooped it up awkwardly in both paws, afraid of hurting it, but it stretched and wriggled, and without thinking he cradled it against the warmth of his shoulder. Brother Fir took off the old grey cloak he wore. ‘You young squirrels don’t feel the cold,’ he said. ‘You’re always going out without your cloaks. Wrap him in that before he freezes.’ ‘How did he get here?’ wondered Crispin, watching the baby’s face as he wrapped the cloak around it. ‘He must be very new.’ ‘A few hours old, I think,’ said Fir. ‘And most unusual. Look at that fur!’ Crispin didn’t know what newborn babies were supposed to look like, but he knew there was something strange about this one. It was paler than the sand. ‘She must be dead,’ Fir said bluntly. ‘Or dying, or she’s rejected it. A mother separated from her baby would be screaming to split the rocks. She’d have the whole island out looking for him.’ Crispin handed the baby to Fir, ran round the shore to find a group of otters, and sent them to search for the baby’s mother. He returned to find a chubby female squirrel bounding rather heavily down the beach, and even from a distance he could hear her calling to Fir. ‘What you found?’ She bellowed. ‘A one of them stars?’ Crispin flinched. Apple was a warmhearted squirrel, but not very bright and extremely talkative. ‘Morning, Brother Fir, sir — oh! Morning, Crispin, I’ve come looking for stars, I mean, bits of stars, I been up a tree all night to watch them stars. Don’t know what bits of stars look like when they’re on the beach, but I come looking, all the same. You found one?’ ‘Better than a star,’ said Fir. He lifted back a corner of the cloak, and the baby blinked sleepily. ‘A baby!’ Apple’s deep brown eyes widened. ‘Ooh! Can I have a little hold? ‘Whose is he?’ she asked. ‘He’s lost,’ said Fir. ‘He was washed up by the sea. We’re looking for his mother.’ ‘If you can’t find her, I’ll have him,’ she said promptly. ‘I don’t mind. I’ll take care of him. I love babies, me.’ ‘Thank you, Apple,’ said Fir as he took the baby back. ‘We’ll take him to my turret, to warm him by the fire. Will you find a nursing mother who can feed him, in case his own can’t be found?’ ‘I’ll look after him,’ called Apple over her shoulder as she hopped away. ‘Don’t let her near him!’ said Crispin. “She doesn’t know her teeth from her tail-tip. She’d forget where she’d left him.’ ‘She’s a motherly soul,’ said Fir. ‘And there’s a whole colony of squirrels in Anemone Wood, all bringing each other up. They’re capable of raising one extra youngling between them. They cope well enough with their own. You seem to have survived.’ They began the long climb back to the tower. Crispin would rather have skimmed up the walls, but he slowed down to keep pace with Fir. ‘You told her he was washed up by the sea,’ he said. ‘Hm. I certainly did,’ said Fir. ‘He’s almost certainly an orphan, and not from here. We’ve never had a squirrel that colour before. That makes him different enough from other squirrels, without them thinking he came tumbling down out of the sky on a night of riding stars. And if I know Apple, she’ll soon forget that we had anything to do with him. Let her think she found him all herself. We’ll tell him all he needs to know when the time is right. They stopped by a window so that Fir could ease his lame leg and get his breath back, and Crispin looked down at the tideline. It was scattered with all sizes of shells, coloured pebbles, driftwood, shining clusters of seaweed, tattered feathers and the spiny shells of sea urchins. ‘Urchin,’ he said. ‘Can we call him Urchin? He was found on the shore.’ Fir raised a paw. ‘May the Heart bless you and keep you, Urchin of Mistmantle,’ he said. And far away in the other side of the island a wave of the sea lifted Urchin’s mother, cradled her, and carried her gently away. Chapter 1
For days, squirrels and hedgehogs had dragged rough branches up this hill. Their bonfire was ready to light now, stacked up so high that Urchin knew he had to climb it. He was old enough to manage it, and young enough to want to. Springing swiftly from one branch to the next, twirling his tail to balance himself, he reached the very top, gripped with his hind claws and dusted moss from his fur. He was still as pale as honey, with the red-squirrel colour only at the tips of his ears and tail. When he straightened up, shook his ears and looked out over Mistmantle, he felt he was lord of the island. Tonight would be a night of riding stars. The animals would gather here as the air turned cool, light the bonfire, watch the stars swirl and dance through the darkening sky, and guess at what great things would happen next. Anemone Wood spread out below him to the south, with a first touch of autumn turning the leaves to crisp gold. Further away, on the shore, otters chased each other in play. A line of small rowing boast bobbed on the water. Urchin could never understand why otters were so fond of boats, when they all swam so powerfully. Maybe they just liked anything to do with water. A tall ship was moored by the jetty, with its sails furled and its painted figurehead gleaming with colour in the sunshine. A working party of squirrels and otters had been lined up to unload it, passing crate after crate along the line. Urchin guessed at what might be in those crates. Wool for cloaks, maybe paint for the workshops, or rare wine for King Brushen’s cellars? Tomorrow he would be down there, doing real, grown-up work, helping to load the ship with timber. He didn’t really want to think about tomorrow. Balancing and curling his hind claws he turned a little further to gaze far over the treetops to Mistmantle Tower, and his heart stretched out to it. The tower was the place he longed for. On a high outcrop of rock, gleaming in shell-pink, white and pale sandstone-yellow that was almost gold, Mistmantle Tower rose like a statue to the sky. From a turret, a pennant fluttered in the breeze. A young female squirrel was hopping up the steps carrying something in a basket, and the moles on guard stood back to let her in. She might be on of the queen’s attendants/ Urchin envied her. He even envied the kitchen mole who appeared at a low window and threw dirty water into a drain. From the king in the Throne Room to the kitchen mole in the scullery, life in the tower must be wonderful. He had been there, of course. All the Mistmantle creatures were invited to the tower for the great occasions, like the Spring Festival. Apple said that when she was little, there were all sorts of wonderful feasts and festivals with banquets, music and garlands. There wasn’t so much of that now, but at least Urchin knew what it was like to stand in the vast Gathering Chamber of the tower. He had been there for the naming ceremony of Prince Tumble, the only child of King Brushen and Queen Spindle. It seemed that all the island’s creatures had crammed into the tower that day. Wonderful Threadings hung from the walls, stitched and woven pictures showing stories of the island, but there was neither room nor time to take a good look at them. Even following the crowd up the stairs had been confusing. Urchin had wondered how anyone ever found their way out. The procession had been magnificent. The animals of the Circle had entered first, then there had been a gasp of admiration as the three Captains of Mistmantle stepped proudly down the hall with gold and silver glittering on their robes and circlets of gold on their heads. First Husk the Squirrel. Then Crispin the Squirrel and Padra the Otter. Brother Fir had followed them, limping, in his plain white tunic. Then, at last, tall, strong and splendid, came King Brushen with Queen Spindle at his side and all the colours of a jewel house gleaming from their mantles, and the queen’s friend, Lady Aspen the Squirrel, with the bright-eyed wriggling baby hedgehog, Prince Tumble, in her arms. Finally, with every animal stretching up on its clawtips, Brother Fir had lifted up Prince Tumble and blessed him. Urchin had not been back to the tower since. He looked past it, into the enchanted mists that surrounded and protected the island so well that few ships ever reached it. Islanders who belonged here, if they left by water, could never return by water. The mists would prevent it. The otters took care never to row their boats beyond the mists. He was trying to work out how long it would be until nightfall when a fir cone hit him on the shoulder. ‘He’s showing off,’ said a squirrel voice. ‘Ignore him,’ said another. Two other squirrels had reached the hilltop — Gleaner and Crackle. They were never apart, and always looked at Urchin as if they’d just been planning something very nasty for him. Crackle seemed to go out of her way to make trouble, but Gleaner did it without even trying. Urchin looked past them and saw more animals working their way up the hill, the squirrels taking short cuts as they leapt from one tree to the next. Gleaner and Crackle were followed by Urchin’s great friend Needle, a hedgehog with unusually sharp prickles, and around her — not too close — was a scampering, clambering bunch of very young squirrels, barely old enough to get up to Watchtop at al; without being carried. Beyond them Urchin’s foster-mother, Apple, lumbered up the hill, keeping mostly to the path. When she did jump on a branch, it bent alarmingly. ‘Urchin!’ squeaked a small squirrel in excitement. ‘It’s Urchin!’ cried another, bounding forwards. ‘Wait there!’ called Urchin. If they climbed up to meet him they’d probably bring the whole heap down on themselves, so he sprang down to them. He was popular with the young squirrels, and in no time they were swarming over him, wanting rides on his back and holding out their paws to be swung round. Needle came and stood beside him. ‘There’s Captain Crispin on the beach,’ she said. ‘And Captain Padra.’ Urchin looked down to the shore and saw Padra the Otter lolloping from the water and rolling in the sand to dry his wet fur. Captain Crispin stood by, holding his cloak. All three captains had been friends since they were small. In time they had been chose to be pages at the tower, then promoted to the Circle, and now they were captains, the highest rank on the island. Captain Husk was the king’s most trusted friend and adviser, and mostly stayed in the tower. Captain Padra had always taken special care of the shores and the creatures who lived by water. But Crispin took a particular care for the woodlands and the Anemone Wood creatures — he even appeared to take an interest in Urchin. He was Urchin’s hero. If anyone had asked Urchin what he’d like to be, he could have truthfully said, ‘ I want to be like Captain Crispin.’ But he wouldn’t have told anyone that. It was a treasured dream, not to be spoken. And they’d only laugh. Besides, nobody had asked him. He’d be loading timber on to ships for the rest of his life. The youngest of the little squirrels had fallen over and was whimpering. Urchin picked her up and sat on a log with the squirrel on his lap and Needle beside him. ‘Isn’t it wonderful up here?’ she said. ‘Look at that ship!’ Then she looked down at her paws. ‘Sorry.’ ‘It’s all right,’ said Urchin. ‘I don’t mind.’ He knew she hadn’t meant to remind him of his future unloading ships. Crackle popped up behind them. ‘Oh, so Needle’s still speaking to us,’ she said. ‘You don’t want to talk to him, Needle, he’s just joining a common working party and you’re a tower hedgehog. You’ll be off to the workrooms tomorrow, won’t you? Painting, weaving, sewing, making the Threadings, goodness knows what else. Very talented, aren’t we? Very privileged. Much too good to speak to the rest of us.’ Needle turned quickly. ‘Ouch!’ said Crackle. ‘Oh, did you get caught in my spines?’ asked Needle politely. ‘You shouldn’t get so close to me. Ignore her, Urchin.’ ‘You must be looking forward to tomorrow,’ said Urchin. ‘I haven’t liked to talk about it,’ she said awkwardly. ‘What, because you’ve been chosen for a training at the tower and I haven’t? said Urchin. ‘Talk all you like. I’m very glad for you. It’s just that…’ He looked at the shore again. Captain Crispin was no longer there. A few sailors and otters sat on the jetty, dabbling their paws in the water. ‘I had dreams,’ he said quietly. ‘Sometimes I think I’m meant to do something special.’ He wriggled his paws. ‘Maybe it’s because of not knowing who I am. I don’t even know how I got here, or where from. I don’t know who my parents are — or were — and I don’t even look like the rest of you. Apple always told me I was special. I used to think, perhaps, I’d been chosen for something. I…you won’t laugh, will you?’ ‘Of course not!’ said Needle. He wouldn’t have said this to anyone but Needle. Even with her, it wasn’t easy. ‘I was born on a night of riding stars,’ he said. ‘Wonderful things are supposed to happen after those nights, but I don’t think anything very exciting followed that one. It was as if…well, as if I was what happened. As if I was sent here that night, and I have something vital to do. And I’ve tried really hard at everything I’ve ever done. I knew I wasn’t really a Mistmantle squirrel, and I’d have to make an effort to become one. And I have made the effort, but I’ve got nothing to show for it. Nothing except loading ships for the rest of my life.’ ‘What makes you think it’s for the rest of your life? asked Needle. ‘You might go on to —‘ She stopped, as Apple had finally appeared at the top of the hill. She was looking down at the moored ship while she got her breath back. ‘Loading boats!’ she grumbled, and flopped down heavily beside Needle and Urchin. The log rocked, and the little squirrel on Urchin’s lap squeaked. ‘It’s all wrong, this. They never used to do it this way. They never had no working parties and that, and all the work that needed doing got done, all the same, and we had a lot more fun in them days.’ Urchin and Needle grinned swiftly at each other. There was no point in arguing, or in speaking at all, once Apple had something to say. ‘The boats all got loaded up and unloaded, too, and all the nuts and berries and that all got gathered up and stored, and all the making of cloaks and cordials and the fishing and the work on the boats, and looking after the tower and making medicines, and keeping our nest nice, all that, it all got done. And these says it’s all working parties, isn’t it?’ She looked around for support. ‘Isn’t it, though?’ ‘Yes, Apple,’ said Needle. ‘It’s working parties all the time now, and before you’re up in the mornings it’s “all the West Shore otters report for beachcombing” and “all the Anemone Wood squirrels to report to the cone stores” and I don’t know what else. Here’s Urchin looking after them little ones, hello, little one, climbing trees, all the things he should be doing at his age and now he’s got to go and — ‘ ‘Unload timber!’ squeaked Gleaner, and giggled. Needle’s spines bristled. ‘And what work will you be doing, Gleaner?’ she asked sweetly. ‘They haven’t told me yet,’ said Gleaner a wriggle and a shrug. ‘They’re still thinking about me. They may be considering me for work in the tower.’ She wriggled again. ‘Of course, I don’t suppose I’ll get in, but it’s very nice to be considered.’ ‘Who said you were being considered?’ asked Needle. ‘Mind your own business,’ snapped Gleaner, and added in a whisper, ‘you should have been culled at birth.’ ‘Culled?’ said Urchin. ‘That’s not funny!’ ‘And that’s another thing that never used to happen in the old days,’ said The small squirrel twisted to look up at Urchin. ‘What’s culling?’ she asked. ‘Never you mind, bless your little ears,’ said Apple. ‘There was a mole baby taken to be culled last week,’ said Crackle loudly. ‘That’s enough out of you!’ said Apple. ‘But it’s kind, isn’t it, to kill the weak ones,’ said Gleaner as Needle took the little squirrel by the paw and dragged her away to play. ‘It’s cruel to let them live if they’re weal or they’re not right. Far more sensible to kill them off. They do them in very quickly.’ ‘They dope them first, don’t they?’ said Crackle. ‘You just be quiet,’ snapped Apple over her shoulder. ‘It’s a terrible thing, and we never used to do it in the old days.’ Gleaner sat up very straight. ‘It’s the king’s law!’ she said indignantly. ‘You can’t say the king’s wrong!’ All Mistmantle animals were fiercely loyal to the king, and always had been. Turning against the king was unthinkable. Hedgehogs especially were famous for their loyalty and hard work, just as otters were known for their courage and good humor, and squirrels for their bright spirits. Moles were so much underground it could be difficult to get to know them at all, but they were determined and reliable. ‘He’s a real good king, a good king,’ agreed Apple firmly. ‘He’s just got some funny laws, that’s all. Like that…’ she glanced at the little squirrel, who had escaped from Needle and was climbing up Urchin’s leg, ‘ …that law we were talking about, and them working parties. And them’s not good laws, in fact, that thing we’re talking about, that’s a bad law, there’s no good in that, can’t be, but he’s a good king, a right good king, but them laws just isn’t good laws, that’s all, he’s got some bad laws.’ ‘Pardon?’ said Urchin. ‘Oh, don’t make her say it all again,’ sighed Gleaner. 'I wish they wouldn’t though,’ said Needle. ‘My mum’s having another baby and I just couldn’t bear it if …’ Urchin looked down at the squirrel, but she was staring at something a little way off. ‘The baby should be all right,’ he said. ‘But even babies that are just a bit weak and small get culled,’ said Needle. ‘Or a teeny bit lame or shortsighted.’ ‘What’s the baby staring at?’ demanded Apple loudly. ‘Oh, my goodness, it’s him!’ ‘It’s Captain Crispin!’ exclaimed Urchin, He jumped to his hind paws and nearly dripped the little squirrel as Captain Crispin leapt from a tree and landed on the hilltop. ‘Good morning!’ he called. ‘What a splendid bonfire!’ As a captain, he wore a gold circlet on his head and a belted sword at hi hip. Thrilled and flustered at the same time, Urchin bowed awkwardly and wondered if his fur was dirty or sticking up. That was the trouble with being fair. The dirt showed. And he wished he’d been found doing something more impressive than looking after an infant. He stammered a good morning. Apple curtsied and wobbled a bit. ‘Good morning, Captain Crispin, lovely morning, Captain Crispin, sir, we’ve built our bonfire, sir, we’re all ready for the stars tonight, we’ll be having a grand supper up here, I’ve brought some of my apple and mint cordial, would you like some cordial, sir?’ Urchin’s claws curled in embarrassment. Apple’s cordial was famous for repelling insects, but it tasted terrible. ‘Thank you, Mistress Apple, but I’ll do without that pleasure today,’ said Crispin. ‘But I’d like to speak to young Urchin, if I may. Urchin, will you come with me?’ Crispin asked Urchin how Apple was, and what work had been chosen for him, and how the autumn harvest-gathering was doing, while Urchin tried to guess at what the best answers would be and to say something intelligent without showing off — but Captain Crispin was so friendly and natural that, in time, he forgot to be shy. And finally, Crispin turned to him and asked, ‘Will you be on Watchtop Hill tonight, to watch the stars?’ ‘Oh, yes, sir!’ said Urchin. ‘Only, if you’d like to, you could come to the tower,’ said Crispin. ‘Captain Padra and I are going to Brother Fir’s turret room to watch from there. Probably the best view of the island. You’re invited, if you’d like to join us.’ Urchin felt a shiver of joy through his fur even though he was sure he must have misheard. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Finally he managed to say, ‘Me, sir? The tower?’ ‘Certainly you, Urchin, if they can manage here without you,’ said Crispin, ‘and if you don’t mind missing the bonfire. Make your own way to the tower, around twilight, and I’ll tell the guards to expect you. They’ll direct you to Fir’s turret.’ ‘Thank you, sir!’ gasped Urchin. ‘Thank you, Urchin!’ said Crispin, and with a leap he was bounding down the hill. Urchin watched him out of sight, then ran full tilt to the nearest tree, shinned up it, and turned somersaults for pure joy. A night of riding stars, the tower, and Crispin. © M.I. McAllister |