Urchin and the Rage Tide Page 12

  “Can’t we have a rest?” she whined.

  “If we do, you won’t want to get up again,” said Needle firmly. “If Furtle and Ouch are anywhere near, they’ll be so pleased to hear you.”

  “Furtle! Ouch!” called Myrtle, and trudged on.

  “Louder,” said Needle. But Myrtle’s loudest shout wasn’t a shout at all, and she struggled on, holding Needle’s paw.

  “Shout with me, then,” said Needle. “After three. One—two—”

  “Quiet!” shouted Todd. Myrtle squeaked and shrank against Needle.

  “Have you found something?” asked Urchin.

  “There’s something down there,” said Spade. “Tipp’s just been down and he reckons it’s been shaken about since last night. You can tell. Smells different. Todd, have a look in there, will you?”

  Todd bolted down a mole hole and emerged shaking sand from his ears.

  “Tight squeeze,” he said. “We’ll have to widen the tunnels. But there’s been some sort of a dwelling down here. Funny place to live. Where’s Hope?”

  Hope, hearing his name, scrambled to the mole tunnel and, flattening his prickles, wriggled his head and shoulders into it. Urchin lay at the entrance, his ears pressed into the earth and moss, listening. Hope’s muffled voice reached him.

  “They’ve been here,” he was saying. “There’s a nest, or it used to be—just a moment…Something sounds wobbly—”

  “Get OUT!” shouted Spade. “Get back, spread out!”

  Urchin seized Hope with both paws and heaved him out of the hole, getting badly scratched and prickled. For a few seconds, all three moles and Hope lay with their ears to the ground. Needle hugged Myrtle tightly.

  Urchin strained his ears to hear. There was a soft pattering sound, as if pebbles were falling somewhere, then nothing. He was about to ask Hope what was happening, when he heard the hedgehog quietly counting.

  “Eighteen—nineteen—twenty,” said Hope under his breath; then he and all the moles sat up and looked at each other.

  “All clear,” said Spade, and added quietly, “Urchin, you’d better come down here.”

  Urchin squeezed through the tunnel and dropped onto an earth floor. The moles followed.

  “It could have lain uncovered for a thousand lifetimes,” said Tipp. “We must have walked over this ancient place, time and again.”

  “Aye, took a bit of finding,” remarked Todd.

  “This way, Urchin,” said Spade.

  Urchin followed him to the arched chamber. Stones from the broken window lay where they had fallen. Remnants of a nest and a broken whittled stick lay on the floor. Hope sniffed at the nest, then turned and hurried away.

  Urchin knelt by the pile of stones. “Tell me they’re not under that,” he said quietly.

  “They’re not,” said Hope. “They’ve been here, but their scent goes this way, and it’s fresh. They went this way today.”

  “Are you sure they were going away, not coming back?” said Urchin.

  “I can’t make out paw prints,” said Hope.

  He moved over to let Urchin through the tunnel. Urchin narrowed his eyes against the dark. Freshly fallen sand had confused the trail, but there was a faint impression of small paws, the claws pointing away from him.

  “No other trails?” he asked.

  “No, sir…I mean, no, Urchin,” said Hope.

  “Then they left this way,” said Urchin. “Will the roof cave in any more?”

  “With what this island’s going through just now?” said Spade. “Could do anything. Plagued if I know. But if that’s the way they went, that’s the way we’ll go. Mind, it’s a job for moles. And Hope, he’s as good as a mole. But them up there”—he jerked his head toward the place where Needle and Myrtle waited—“not them. No point in putting anyone else at risk. And it wouldn’t do for young Myrtle to see this mess.”

  “Certainly not,” said Urchin. “And if I’m no use here, I’ll report back to the king.” He sprang into the tunnel, climbed out, and ran into Needle and Myrtle.

  “They’ve been there,” he said, “and they’ve left.” He saw the disappointment on Myrtle’s face, and hugged her. “We’re getting close to them, Myrtle! Hope and the moles are on their trail.”

  “Myrtle’s tired,” said Needle. “I’ll take her to her parents—they’re safely inland—and we can tell them we’re onto something, can’t we, Myrtle?”

  “They seem to have been unharmed when they left here,” said Urchin. “You can tell them that much. I’m going to the king.”

  “I can only take so much of this,” sighed Needle. “This is the second time we’ve almost found them, and nearly got ourselves killed in the process.”

  “But they got out safely,” said Urchin. “Apple would say that the Heart protects the helpless.”

  Needle couldn’t help thinking that Apple would say far too much, but she didn’t tell Urchin that. At the sound of falling pebbles she jumped to her paws, but it was only Hope slipping on some loose stones.

  “Every time anything rattles, I jump,” she muttered. “I just wish the island would stop wriggling about and settle down. Come on, Myrtle, let’s get to somewhere nicer than this.”

  Needle and Myrtle trotted away, paw in paw. Urchin paused several times on the way back to the tower. It was always worth one more look toward the mists, especially on a clear day like this one. He might see Corr the Voyager returning home; and even if there was no news of Sepia, at least he’d know that Corr was well. The most wonderful sight in the world, the sight he had longed for and dreamed of, would be—he treated himself to the thought of it—a swan flying over the mists, nearer and nearer, strong and graceful, and, on its back, a squirrel. And as she drew nearer he would see her face and she would wave her paw—

  A paw touched his shoulder, and he jumped. The king! He bowed, feeling his skin burn with embarrassment. He wasn’t in the habit of daydreaming when there was work to do. But King Crispin only sat down and looked out to sea, so Urchin sat down beside him.

  “I was coming to find you, sir,” said Urchin. “We’ve found the summer palace—Furtle and Ouch aren’t there, but Hope and the moles are on to a scent.”

  “You don’t have to be a hero all the time,” said Crispin, looking out to the mists. “I’ve been doing what I do a lot these days—just going around the island, listening to the animals, hearing their stories, talking with them. It seems really important to do that now. I must go to that old play palace myself.”

  “It’s badly decayed and unsafe, sir,” said Urchin.

  “Then it’s a good thing I met you, or I might have fallen into it,” said Crispin. His voice softened. “Urchin, I know what you’re thinking. Do you think I never sat on a cliff and thought of Whisper? And, in a way, it’s harder for you. At least I knew Whisper was dead, but with Sepia…”

  “As long as she isn’t found dead, there’s hope,” said Urchin. “But I almost think—please don’t misunderstand this—for her sake, I sometimes think I’d rather she were dead than bobbing about in the middle of the sea, starving, thirsty, cold, and alone, and after all that, dying anyway. I’d rather she just banged her head on the boat and drowned and didn’t know anything about it. I keep looking out to sea in case there’s any sign of Corr. It’s not just Sepia, it’s him. I’m supposed to be responsible for him. Padra must have felt like this when I had to go away.”

  “But you came back, against all expectations,” said Crispin. “Corr made his own decision to go. A Voyager has to take responsibility for himself. He was bound to go beyond the mists soon.”

  “She might have died within minutes of being swept away,” said Urchin. “As long as I don’t know, I can’t stop hoping.”

  “The Heart never stops surprising us,” said Crispin. “I’m seeing Juniper and the captains in the Throne Room presently, and it would be good to have you with us.”

  They scrambled to their paws. Urchin saw a flicker of pain cross Crispin’s face.

  �
�Are you all right, Your Majesty?” he asked.

  “Cheek!” said Crispin. “Do you want to make a race of it? Down the hill and through the corridor window?”

  Urchin offered a prayer for Sepia, and ran. But not as fast as he could. If Crispin’s old wound was hurting, Urchin could beat him conspicuously, and that wouldn’t be fair.

  Hour after hour, Mossberry brooded on his role as the Destroyer of Mistmantle, spitting out his medicine and shaking the bars on the window. The Heart sent water, but sent me to bring fire. He must offer up the island in flames, and then…? Then the Heart would honor him. What a pity the king and queen would not live to see his triumph.

  As soon as he escaped from this cell, he must find the kitchens. That would be the place to find kindling and flints—and oil. He would need oil.

  He returned to his work of clawing at the bars and shaking them. He still cried out Freedom! Calamity! but he no longer wanted to warn anyone. All he wanted was to cover the sound of his teeth and claws on the window bars.

  The queen, Catkin, and Oakleaf were waiting in the Throne Room. Padra, Fingal, and Tide arrived, and Whittle pattered in to join them.

  “How is Mossberry?” asked Whittle.

  “Quieter, thank goodness,” said the queen. “I’ve been sending him medicine to calm his mind. But that’s only the first step.”

  “It’s a great relief to us all, Your Majesty,” said Docken. “It’s bad enough waiting for another rage tide without listening to a mad squirrel having a tantrum. And if there’s another wave to come, I wish it would just do its worst and get it over with. It’s such a fine afternoon, madam, it’s a great pity the young ones can’t mess about on the shore as they used to do.”

  “Jumping the waves,” said Catkin wistfully. “And skimming stones. Brother Juniper’s really good at that.”

  “I taught him to do that,” said Fingal with pride.

  “So you keep reminding us,” said Padra.

  “Sometimes it feels as if we’ll never do that again,” said Oakleaf wistfully.

  There was a scrabbling of paws on the wall outside; then they heard Crispin’s voice.

  “Urchin!” he called. “If you let me win, you’re on sword polishing for three days!”

  With a twirling of tails, Urchin and Crispin leaped side by side through the window.

  “Where’s Juniper?” asked the king, breathing hard.

  “Your Majesty,” said Padra, “the seas are gathering. You’ll soon get your wish, Docken.”

  Juniper was on the way down the turret stairs to the meeting when a wave of nausea seized him, and his head swam. The words of prophecy were the same as before, but clearer than ever.

  One must come and one must go,

  One must go and one will come,

  There will be sorrow before joy.

  It took a few deep breaths before he could gather himself together; he put his paws against the wall to keep himself from falling. Then he ran stumbling down the stairs to the Throne Room. The second wave was coming. When he entered, he found an atmosphere of sharp alertness.

  “Pardon me, Your Majesty,” he said.

  “Juniper, are you all right?” asked the king. Juniper gave the brief nod that meant that he wasn’t all right, but he’d rather not discuss it.

  “We met here to report back and plan our next step,” said Crispin, “but from what Padra tells me, everything has become more urgent.”

  “It has, Your Majesty,” said Juniper.

  “The second wave of the flood will be on us tonight,” announced Padra.

  “And there will be terrible upheaval with it,” said Juniper. “I don’t know what will happen, but there is great change to come and pain to bear. I can feel it all around us. ‘Sorrow before joy.’ But that means that there will be joy.”

  “We’re as ready as we can be for the wave to come,” said Padra. “Most of our animals are still safely inland and on high ground.”

  “Then we’ll get the others inside and clear the tower again,” said Crispin. “Mossberry will have to be moved under guard.”

  “And we still haven’t found Furtle and Ouch,” Urchin reminded him. “They’re always one step ahead of us, but the trail seemed to lead uphill and inland.”

  “Hope and the moles are following it,” said Crispin.

  “Shall I go back to join them?” asked Urchin.

  “Yes, and warn them all of the next wave,” said Crispin. “At this stage only search inland, not near the coasts. Try the burrows we used years ago, when the landslide came. Round up any animals you meet on the way. Take warm cloaks. And, all of you, remember that your confidence will be the confidence of the island. Be strong, be cheerful, be confident. Juniper, your blessing, please.”

  Juniper raised a paw. “May the Heart bring us from sorrow to joy,” he said. “May the Heart that broke with love and still loves us kindle love among us. Heart help us.” He took the bag with the Heartstone and lifted it over his head.

  “Your Majesty,” he said, “I think you should carry it now.”

  There was a moment of solemn silence. Everyone knew that they should leave the tower at once, but to move or speak too soon would seem disrespectful.

  Fists hammered on the door. Scufflen, breathless, burst in.

  “Beg pardon, Your Majesty,” he cried, “Mossberry’s escaped! And there’s smoke coming from the kitchens!”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  EPIA HAD NO IDEA where she might be, and with every second she cared less. All she wanted was for the pain in her head and limbs to go away, and the burning in her throat to stop. She curled into a ball, biting on her paw.

  After the first wave of the rage tide had subsided and the sun had risen, she had found herself beyond the mists. Further than that, she had had no idea where she was. There had been no sight of land.

  Rocking on the open sea, she hardly believed that everything she had ever loved was over. She could never go home to Mistmantle. There was no way back through the mists. She would either die on the open sea, or find another island where she could live. She would never in all her life again see her family, her home, her friends, her little choir. She would never again see the king and queen; and the children who had been in her care since they had been tiny; Padra, who had always been so kind to her; Urchin, Urchin. She bit her lip and told herself that crying wouldn’t help, but it was no good. Crying was all she could do.

  She felt she had never really appreciated Mistmantle with its greenness, its cliffs, its shores and the jetty, and, most of all, the animals. She hadn’t even said good-bye. She would have given all her future to run through Anemone Wood again.

  Take a few deep breaths, she had told herself. Then she had looked in the storage under the rowing benches and found, to her great relief, stores of fresh water, nuts, berries, and biscuits. The boat must have been prepared by Mossberry’s followers. There was hope.

  She had tried not to think about Urchin, but when she did, she remembered that he had left the island and returned, flying on a swan. Perhaps she would find a swan to carry her home! She had no idea where to find one, but it was something to hope for. She took the oars and rowed as hard as she could, with no sense of direction.

  She rationed the food and water, but days and nights had passed, and soon only a pawful of nuts and berries was left, and less than half a bottle of water. Hunger had gnawed at her, and at nights the cold had kept her awake so that she had rowed on, or lain tightly huddled up and shivering, hugging herself for warmth. When the food was all gone she had scooped up trailing seaweed and eaten that—it was nasty, but better than nothing. She had discovered too late that it made her thirsty. When rain had fallen, she tipped back her head to drink and caught as much as she could in an empty water flask, praying for food and land. With blisters on her paws, she had rowed on, not knowing where she was. At last, a dark rock had risen against the horizon.

  Stiff, wet, and desperately thirsty, she had rowed the boat to shore and climbed out to p
ull it high onto the dry ground—but her legs buckled under her and she crawled exhausted from the sea. She was so weakened that she would have left the boat where it was, but she couldn’t risk it floating away on the tide. She had pulled, waded back into the sea, and pushed, and finally secured the boat in a high cave. Then, still wet, she limped and crawled across the sand and, at last, heard the sweetest music she had known in all her life. It was the sound of trickling water.

  She followed the sound. Sparkling water danced downhill from a spring and spilled over into a stream. Leaning over it, she saw fish swimming, so it must be safe to drink, and she had been almost too thirsty to care. Scooping her sore, cracked paws into it, she drank deeply. Cold, clear water slipped down her throat. Oh, that was good. Heart be praised. She had crawled back to the boat, curled up in it, and slept.

  If only this could be a dream, and she would wake up in a warm nest with breakfast to look forward to. She would help Princess Almondflower to dress, she would take her to play on the beach, she would sing with her choir, and her friends would be there. Urchin would be there. Was he thinking of her? Poor Urchin. He must be worried.

  Throbbing pain in her head woke her, and spread down her neck and shoulders. She tried to raise her head, and couldn’t. She wondered if she might be dying.

  If she must die, she would. At least the pain would go away. But to die here, all alone? Nobody would ever know what had happened. Urchin and her family would wonder and worry all their lives. A tear scalded her cheek.

  Mossberry had, at last, wrenched away the bars from his window. He darted down the wall, found a ground-floor window that had been broken in the flood, and slipped through it. Fire, he needed fire.

  The kitchen had been deserted and was now gray and cold with no fire in the grate, but dry flints and kindling lay on a shelf above it. All he needed now was oil, and it didn’t take long to find that. There was brandy, too, which suited his purpose perfectly. He laughed aloud. The Heart must have provided all this for him.