Urchin and the Rage Tide Read online

  After nights of navigating by the stars and sleeping little, Corr saw land. The sight lifted his heart with joy, and he found new energy to go on rowing. His muscles had grown strong and hard in his journey.

  He had heard about Swan Isle—Urchin had told him about it—but this didn’t look quite like the island Urchin had described. Maybe he was approaching from a different direction, but, as he turned the boat and drew nearer, it seemed too bleak and bare to be the home of swans. As the boat ran aground he leaned over the oars to scan the shoreline.

  Something moved. Something on the ground uncurled itself and raised a small, searching head that turned to and fro. Then another. A hiss, and a slither—

  Snakes! He swung the boat around and rowed furiously, putting clear water between himself and the snakes. When the first anger and disappointment wore off, he remembered something else Urchin had said: Crispin, when he went to Swan Isle, had landed first on a snake-infested island. At least this proved that he was in the right area. Crispin had reached Swan Isle, and so would he. He tasted the air again, leaned over to trail a paw in the water, then rowed on. When he had drifted into sleep, light rain woke him, and he sat up, rubbing his aching shoulders.

  A wreckage of leaves, twigs, and blossom floated on the sea around him. Before him was a windswept island of bent and broken trees, where a silver stream curled its way to the shore.

  “Heart help me,” said Corr. “It has to be Swan Isle.” The position of the spring and the shape of the bay were exactly as Urchin had told him, but from the look of the trees and the scattered foliage on the water, the rage tide must have hit this island savagely. At least, this time, he couldn’t see any snakes.

  He rowed to the shore and slipped into the sea, rolling for joy in the shallow waves, feeling the salt water on his fur. Then he heaved the boat on to dry ground, tied the rope to a tree, and plodded stiffly uphill. Once he caught sight of a squirrel, but when he called to it the squirrel only shrieked, put a paw to its mouth, and ran away; so Corr climbed on uphill, stepping over fallen branches, until he came to a lake.

  Three or four swans floated there, bending their necks to feed. Leaves and twigs drifted on the water and clung to their disheveled feathers. Around the shore, parents guarded their nests.

  He was about to call out a greeting when a flapping of great white wings in his face terrified him. He sprang back, holding out his paws to show he was unarmed as two swans flew at him.

  “I’m harmless!” he cried. “I won’t hurt anyone! I came to find Prince Crown—I’m an otter of Mistmantle!”

  The two swans still bent over him with fierce, strong beaks, but they did not attack him. Even with tired eyes and ruffled feathers, they were daunting.

  “Mistmantle?” asked one. “Are you a friend of King Crispin?”

  “Yes!” he said.

  “And of Urchin of the Riding Stars, the friend of swans?”

  “Yes, I serve Urchin,” he said.

  “Did you fight the ravens?”

  “Yes!”

  “Then you may meet Lord Crown,” said the first swan. “You called him Prince Crown. He is Lord Crown now.”

  As they spoke, something swished behind them. Corr looked past them to see a swan with a ring of gold feathers around his head settle onto the water.

  “Pri…Lord Crown!” said Corr.

  “An otter!” said the new swan gladly, as the others curved their necks to bow to him. “A Mistmantle otter! You are most welcome! Our hospitality may be poor at this time, but it is good to see a Mistmantle animal!”

  Corr could tell that the welcome was warm and genuine. But he saw, too, that Crown was exhausted, and trying, not quite successfully, to hide it.

  “Prince—Lord Crown,” he said, and bowed. “I’m Corr, Urchin’s page.”

  “Yes, I’m Lord Crown now,” said Crown gravely. “My father, Lord Arcneck, died in the rage tide.” He inclined his head toward the other two swans to dismiss them. “Did it strike Mistmantle, too?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Corr, but even Mistmantle hadn’t looked as devastated as this. “I’m sorry to hear of your father.”

  “Come to the shore,” said Crown. “The water there will suit you better.”

  Corr followed him uneasily, beginning to wish he hadn’t come. It had seemed sensible to look for Sepia on Swan Isle, but now, seeing its devastation, he felt he was intruding on their tragedy. Swan Isle had enough troubles of its own. He slipped into the littered sea, and Crown glided beside him.

  “So,” said Crown, “what has the rage tide done to Mistmantle?”

  “It’s swamped crops, trees, homes—anything in its way,” said Corr. “The king and the Circle managed to keep most of the animals safe. It must have been far worse here. But, please, Lord Crown, I have an errand. Do you remember Sepia from our island? Sepia of the Songs?”

  “Sepia,” repeated Crown thoughtfully. “I remember her voice. I saw her leading the little singers.” He tilted his head, and to Corr he looked far older and sadder than he should. “What happened? Did the rage tide take her?”

  Corr hesitated. “Yes,” he said. “At least, it swept her away, but she might still be alive. That’s why I came. She was swept out to sea and through the mists, clinging to a boat, and nobody could reach her. I had hoped she might be here, but…”

  “For everyone’s sake, I wish she were,” said Lord Crown. “But if she were on this island, I would have known.”

  So that was that. Corr tried to think of something to say, but there was nothing. If Sepia had not arrived on Swan Isle, he had no idea where else to look. It was as if she had sailed out of sight forever.

  “Believe me,” continued Crown, “if she had landed here, she would be cared for as an honored guest. But what about you—you have left Mistmantle by water to find her! You must have left Mistmantle forever for this quest!”

  “I’m a Voyager, sir,” he said. “I can come and go freely through the mists. If I can find her, I can get her to them.”

  “And then?”

  Corr wished even more that he hadn’t come. He had meant to ask if a swan could carry her over the mists for him. It had seemed so simple when he had first worked it all out, but these swans had suffered so terribly in the rage tide that he couldn’t possibly ask for their help. Perhaps Whitewings could provide a swan. The thought of rowing all the way back there, then to Mistmantle, seemed to knock the strength out of him.

  “I understand,” said Crown. “You hoped that one of us could take her home. Mistmantle and Swan Isle have helped each other ever since Crispin landed here in exile, and I know how your island suffered in the Raven Wars. Rest here, Corr. Fish. Drink from our streams. Be refreshed. Hold on to your hopes. Let me talk to my swans.”

  Corr slept in his boat that night, warm under the yellow cloak. Sometimes he woke thinking he was out at sea and needed to look up to read the stars—then he would remember where he was, and drift into sleep again. The sun had risen when the prodding of a strong beak dragged him reluctantly awake.

  “Corr!” Lord Crown was nudging him, shaking the cloak from him. Corr uncurled and rubbed his eyes, hoped he was being awoken for a good reason.

  “I have news for you, Corr,” said Crown.

  Corr sat up. Lord Crown stretched his wings, standing on the prow of the boat.

  “I have spoken to my swans,” he said. “One, who has returned from a long flight, reports seeing a boat—an animal appeared to be sleeping in it.”

  “That could have been me,” said Corr, trying not to yawn.

  “No—not in those waters,” said Crown. “And I have talked to our squirrels. If she’s alive, I know where she may be.”

  The tiredness fell from Corr like an unclasped cloak. This time, this time, had he found her?

  CHAPTER TEN

  URTLE WAS PLAYING HOUSE. The little back room was her pantry. It was not a good time of year for berries, but earthworms, slugs, and beetles were plentiful, so they had eaten very well. She ha
d not yet learned how to make nests properly, so she filled a corner of the room with moss and leaves, and they made themselves cozy in that. She had once been to the tower to see the room where her sister Myrtle made the Threadings, and had been most impressed when a tower squirrel had brought them cordial and berry cakes on a wooden tray. So now she was making trays out of any bits of bark she could find, and pretending the water was cordial. But there was no way of making an earwig look like a berry cake, especially when it ran away. Ouch was having the most wonderful time. He had made his own little den in a corner of the room, from which he could see both the windows and the doorway. This was important because, he said, they could be attacked by ravens. He had made a sword from a stick and had fought off dozens of imaginary ravens already. They had gathered at the windows and he had seen them all off and rescued his sister from two or three flying up the stairs. Sadly, that fight had been so fierce that his sword had broken when he swung it at a raven and it broke on the wall. It had been a really good sword, too. He was now making an even better one with a proper hilt, like the king’s. He could make a sword belt, too, if he could find something to tie around his waist.

  Climbing and trailing plants grew around the windows, and some of them had been growing for so long that they had embedded themselves into the crumbling stonework, and were growing through it. The creeper was strong, and would make a good sword belt. Ouch took a trailing stem of creeper and tugged until it came loose with a shower of dust and sand. He had bitten off a length of it and was dragging it across the floor when something fell with a bang.

  It wasn’t a very loud bang, and there was only one of it, so Ouch wasn’t alarmed. He glanced up, couldn’t see anything that had changed, and finished making his sword belt before trundling back to investigate.

  There was a gap where there shouldn’t be. A stone from the window appeared to have dropped off, but it must have fallen into the sea because it wasn’t anywhere in the chamber. Ouch leaned over to look.

  Suddenly, there was nothing beneath his paws. The falling stone had hit the window ledge on the way down, dislodging more of the old stonework. Too frightened to scream, he was falling.

  With flailing paws he caught at the creeper, and his prickles held him there. Below him, the sea waited. Though he scarcely dared to move, he raised his head just enough to look up, and was dismayed to see how far away the window was. Determined not to look down, he tried to climb, but found he was too frozen with fear to move. All he could do, as the use of his voice came back to him, was to cry out for Furtle.

  Furtle was pattering through from her pantry with a tray when she heard the urgent, frightened call. She dropped the tray and ran, looking all around her and calling for Ouch, until the cry came again.

  “You’re outside!” she squealed, and dashed to the window.

  Somehow, she managed to stop herself in time. For a moment she hovered on the edge of the broken sill, her paws tingling with fear—then she found her balance, stepped back, and lay down, reaching over the ledge with shaking paws.

  “Ouch!” she cried. “I’m here! Take my paws!”

  She looked down. The sea swirled toward her and she turned her face away. Just out of reach, hardly able to move a paw, Ouch curled his paws around the creeper.

  “Take my paw,” she said again, but Ouch still clutched the creeper. “I can’t come and get you. You have to reach up to me.” Beneath her, she felt the stone crumbling. By clutching the creeper tightly with one paw and flexing the other, she found she could stop shaking. “One paw at a time, Ouch. Left forepaw first.”

  Squeaking with fear, Ouch moved his left forepaw just enough to hold another tendril.

  “Good little hedgehog,” said Furtle. “Now the other paw.”

  Gradually, paw by paw, gaining a little confidence, Ouch climbed toward her. Furtle clung to the creeper with one paw and reached down with the other, stretching as far as she could until his claws closed around her paw.

  For one horrible second she was sure he’d tip her over the edge. Gripping his paw in both of hers, gritting her teeth, she heaved as Ouch scrabbled up to her and, at last, with the stone crumbling beneath him, fell into her arms. For a moment or two, he couldn’t say a thing. Then he said, “That was exciting, wasn’t it?” but not as if he meant it.

  “It was horrid,” she said, and they hugged each other while Ouch told her how he had come to fall out of the window in the first place. Without either of them saying so, they both knew that the adventure was over. It wasn’t fun anymore.

  “Where’s Mummy?” asked Ouch.

  “This way,” said Furtle. She wasn’t at all sure about where to find her parents, but she knew it was time to do so. They bundled up their cloaks and left the way they had come, Ouch wearing his belted sword. Behind them, another stone fell from the archway and tumbled into the sea.

  Crown joined Corr at the water’s edge at last. It had been a long, hard wait for Corr. Crown had been called away to the help of a squirrel whose home had been damaged by falling branches, and had only just come back, leaving Corr not knowing whether or not there was anything to hope for.

  “I spoke to one of our swans who saw a small boat two days ago,” said Crown. “It was far from here and heading west, so it couldn’t have been you. An animal was rowing, but the swan was flying high and couldn’t see what it was.”

  “So it could have been Sepia,” said Corr. “What islands are there to the west?”

  “Nothing close,” replied Crown, “but have you ever heard of Ashfire?”

  “I’ve heard of it,” said Corr cautiously. “I don’t know anything about it, except that our Queen Cedar was born there.”

  “Long ago, its mountain exploded into molten fire,” said Crown. “Queen Cedar’s family escaped to Whitewings, and some of our squirrels are descendants of Ashfire families, too. Occasionally, swans fly over it.”

  “So you know where it is!” exclaimed Corr.

  “Yes, but nobody lands on it now,” said Crown. “The molten fire spread over it and left it barren. But if that was Sepia rowing west, why would she go that way? Why wouldn’t she turn the boat back to Mistmantle?”

  “She probably didn’t know the way,” said Corr. “I don’t suppose she was ever taught to navigate, and by the time she’d been swept out to sea she would have lost all sense of direction. She may have been trying to find this island, and gone far off course.”

  “That could be it,” said Crown. “And from what they told me, she could have reached Ashfire by now.”

  “But if it’s a barren island she can’t survive there!” exclaimed Corr.

  “That makes it even more urgent,” said Crown, stretching his wings. “We’ll take fresh water and food. This island may be stricken, but the beechnuts are plentiful. We can take some of those.”

  “We?” repeated Corr.

  “As you said,” said Crown, “if you find her, you’ll need a swan to fly her over the mists.”

  “But not you!” said Corr. “You have all the island to care for! Couldn’t somebody else—one of your brothers or sisters?”

  “Maybe,” said Crown, “but there are two reasons for me to go. One is that all the swans have been battered in the rage tide, and I wouldn’t ask this of any of them. And the second is that King Crispin has been the one I looked up to since I was very young, and he saved my life. I wouldn’t desert Mistmantle now. Swan Isle and Mistmantle can still look after each other. Both our islands will need help after these tides and storms. And Mistmantle isn’t only the home of King Crispin, it’s the home of Urchin of the Riding Stars, who delivered the Whitewings swans from slavery. All swans honor him for that.”

  “I’m doing this for Urchin,” said Corr. It was the best thing Crown could have heard from him, but he said it as if he were thinking aloud, or talking to himself. “I mean, I’m doing it for Sepia—we all love her, all the island. You couldn’t not love Sepia. But I’ve served Urchin ever since I first went to court, and for his sake
, I need to bring her back.”

  “Then,” said Lord Crown, “let me speak to my family. My mother will be regent while I’m away from home. For Urchin, for Sepia, for Crispin, for Mistmantle, I will come with you. Do you know about mendingmoss? Could you gather some?”

  “I don’t think I’d recognize it, sir,” admitted Corr.

  Lord Crown looked about, saw a squirrel in a tree, and called to her.

  “Curltail!” he said. “Go to the princess’s grave. Fetch mendingmoss for me, all you can gather. Quickly, now—good girl!”

  He flew away, in search of his family. Before Corr had filled the water bottles from the spring, the squirrel had returned with all the mendingmoss she could carry in her two forepaws. Awkwardly, with her paws full, she managed a sort of curtsy. Corr had never been bowed or curtsied to in his life and didn’t know what to do, so he gave a nod and a smile, as Urchin and the captains always did.

  “It’s from the princess’s grave, sir, as Lord Crown said,” she told him. “All I could carry. The same as we used in the Raven War, and it saved the king of Mistmantle then.”

  “It did,” he said, “and we need it to save a life now, if we reach her in time.” He sniffed the breeze, and was alarmed by the new, powerful current on the air. “We should go soon.”

  “Have you ever…” she began shyly, and went on, “have you ever met Urchin of the Riding Stars?”

  Corr smiled. “Yes. I know him well.” The squirrel’s eyes widened.

  “What’s he like?” she asked.

  “He’s my hero,” said Corr as Crown alighted beside them. “I polish his kit and make his bed and remind him to smooth his tail tip, and he’s still my hero. We should leave soon, Lord Crown. The second wave is coming.”

  Crown raised his head. “Yes,” he said, “it’s on the air. Before the rage tide is through, the air will be wild!”

  At first it was Urchin who led the search for the old summer palace, his squirrel instincts leading him toward the likeliest place for squirrel children to have a playhouse. As they climbed higher up the cliffs, Hope and the moles spread out, each sniffing and listening in a different direction with Hope occasionally bumping into a rock or a tree root and apologizing to it. Needle followed with Myrtle, who was getting tired and dragging her paws.