Urchin and the Rage Tide Read online

  “If we can’t use the Heartstone,” he said, “I believe there may be one other way. There’s something I haven’t told you.”

  Then Juniper remembered the words of the prophecy. When he began to understand it, he thought his heart would break.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  EPIA LAY CURLED UP IN THE BOAT, dreaming and crying out. In her dreams she saw her song cave, but the walls seemed to grow dark and close in on her. Shuddering convulsed her. Somebody slipped water into her mouth, and she coughed. She heard the sounds of battle, reliving a long-ago day of flashing swords and torn Threadings. There was a tall hedgehog with his paws around her throat—but now somebody was singing to her. She tasted honey, the sweetest honey with a taste of flowers and sunshine. Rain fell on her face, and somebody wrapped a cloak around her.

  She dreamed of her friends, of the shore, and of singing. Then she was in another boat, with a wild-eyed squirrel springing at her—she screamed. The ravens were coming, the ravens that flew at her in her nightmares—somebody was saying her name. She wanted it to be Urchin, but knew that it wasn’t.

  Silver on the sea. She remembered, long ago, a track of silver across the sea. It had brought her home, but there was no trace of silver now. Pain, weakness, and the longing for home made her whimper.

  Crown pulled the cloak around her to keep the rain from falling on her. That cloak had probably saved her, that and his own protecting wing. He tried to see through the mists, watching and listening for Corr to come back.

  “Heart,” whispered Sepia.

  “Heart keep you,” said Crown.

  “Heart,” prayed Urchin as he stood on the shore and looked out to the mists.

  Heart, thought Needle, turning her face away, not wanting to cry on the pillow she was sewing for Sepia.

  Heart, thought Princess Catkin as she pattered into Sepia’s chamber with a soft white quilt and flowers, beause making Sepia’s room ready helped her to believe that Sepia would sleep there again.

  In the priest’s tower, Juniper remembered something else from long ago. “Crispin,” he said, “that night, when Sepia went out to Catkin’s rescue—Brother Fir told her to trust the Heart, and not the Heartstone.”

  Trust the Heart and not the Heartstone.

  “Thank you,” answered Crispin. “I know what to do now.”

  The island was a beautiful place, an island of plenty for all—not just food, drink, and shelter, but love and work, happiness and strength—all the things that made every waking day good. The Heart had broken with love for Mistmantle, and more hearts would break for the island’s future.

  “We still have a day until the medicine is ready,” said Juniper.

  “I’ll use it well,” said Crispin. “Good night, Juniper. Thank you.” He stopped to take a last look from Juniper’s tower, marveling at the simple and everyday beauty of turf, sea thrift, rocks, sand, and sea. “I love Mistmantle so much.”

  Juniper decided that, as he wouldn’t sleep, he might as well spend the night in prayer. All night, he lifted his heart to the Heart for Urchin, for Catkin, for Oakleaf, and little Almondflower. For Captain Padra, who had always been at Crispin’s side. For Crispin and Cedar, who walked paw in paw along the shore, before turning back at last to the tower and the soft, cool pillows waiting for them. He prayed for Crown and Sepia in the little boat bobbing beyond the mists as cold and darkness fell, and there were tears on his face.

  Urchin slept lightly that night in a boat near the jetty, wrapped in his cloak, ready to put to sea if he needed to. He slept at last, and woke to the feeling that, although the air was as quiet and still as only the early morning could be, there were other animals about.

  He sat up, eased the crick in his neck, and looked around. Silently, the islanders were gathering to watch for Sepia. Lady Cott the mole, her daughters Wren, Wing, and Moth, and her grandchildren were huddled together outside a tunnel entrance. Sepia’s family was there. Pitter and Scatter hugged each other for comfort. Padra and Tide watched. Needle and Scufflen gazed out to sea. A familiar tread behind him made him turn his head reluctantly from the long, unyielding sea and the mists. Apple was on her way with Hope.

  “It’s no good sitting there, Urchin,” she said. “Won’t bring her home, staring out at the sea.” Hope climbed into the boat beside him. “She’ll get back, don’t you worry, I’ll have some lovely cordial ready for her, it’ll do her the power of good, I’ll give it to the queen for her, didn’t it help bring you around when you were ill? I had a proper good chat with her and King Crispin this morning.”

  “This morning?” repeated Urchin.

  “They were up bright and early, the king and queen,” she said. “Reckon they’re having a little break. They were going up to Anemone Wood and having a little chat with folks on their way. Took a bit of a trip around the coast.”

  “He must be checking for storm damage,” said Urchin—but that didn’t make sense, because Crispin had already done all that.

  “I have something to tell you, Urchin,” said Hope. “The king says you’re to go to the Gathering Chamber this afternoon at high tide.”

  “Did he say why?” asked Urchin.

  “No,” said Hope.

  “And is the medicine…?”

  “The queen says no, it isn’t,” said Hope, and squeezed Urchin’s paw. “Sorry.”

  At high tide Urchin ran up to the Gathering Chamber. Even though his heart and mind were reaching out beyond the mists, the habits of behavior remained. He smoothed his ear tufts and tail tip, adjusted his sword, and strode into the chamber.

  He had never tried to understand how an occasion, or a place, could feel happy and solemn at the same time, but it was like that now, with the Gathering Chamber windows open and a breeze wafting the curtains. The chairs had been removed, and the Threadings hung at last in their places again as if there had been no storms and no floods. The door to the antechamber where ceremonial robes were kept stood open. Cedar, Catkin, and Oakleaf were there, the queen on her throne with Catkin and Oakleaf sitting at her feet, and Padra, Arran, and Fingal behind her. Docken stood by the window with Thripple, Hope, and Hope’s little sister Mopple, and Needle was near them. Spade the mole, Moth, Juniper—why were all his old friends here? Was it a meeting of the Circle? And as he wondered, the king emerged from the anteroom with such a light in his eyes and such a buoyancy in his step that he reminded Urchin of the Captain Crispin of long ago. It was only seeing Crispin looking so young that made him realize how much older he’d grown since he had become king, and, most of all, since the war against the ravens. Urchin bowed. This was his hero.

  “Urchin,” said the king, “there’s something we haven’t done in ages, and we should do it today. One good fencing bout!”

  “Your Majesty?” said Urchin. It was out of place, having a bit of fun, fencing, when Sepia might be dying. Was the king trying to take their minds off it? But he had learned that the king’s actions always had a reason, and if he’d feel better for a match, he was welcome to it.

  “It’s an order, Urchin,” said Crispin, and threw his cloak to Oakleaf. “And so is this—don’t hold back!”

  “No, Your Majesty,” said Urchin.

  “I mean it,” said the king, his smile radiant. “I’ll know if you’re letting me win. Ready? Padra, will you measure the ground?”

  Padra took a leaf from a bowl beside the throne, laid it in the center of the floor, and walked five paces from it toward the anteroom. “So neither of you will have the sun in your eyes,” he said. “Your Majesty—Crispin—here.” He took five paces in the other direction. “Urchin, here.”

  With a swish of steel, they drew, raised their swords, and kissed the blades.

  “For Mistmantle!” declared Crispin.

  “For Sepia of the Songs!” said Urchin, and Padra clapped his paws.

  In spite of what Crispin had said, Urchin couldn’t hurl himself straight into the fight against his king, with the result that he was very nearly disarmed in the
first few strokes. Crispin’s swordplay was as swift and sure as ever, and Urchin found he had to duck, fall, get up again. Then he threw all his strength and skill into the bout, because the king deserved the best opponent he could be. He made every stroke count, anticipating every move, forcing errors from the king before being pushed back himself toward the wall—he was enjoying it now. Blades clashed and rang, Urchin and Crispin leaped and twirled on and off the dais until they were nearly on the windowsill. For half a second, Urchin saw the chance to spin the sword out of Crispin’s paw, but in that heartbeat he hesitated. Then his own sword flew from his paw so suddenly that he didn’t know how it had happened. The king, out of breath, was embracing him, patting him on the back as all the animals applauded.

  “Well done, both of you!” cried the queen.

  “There’s nothing to choose between you,” said Padra. “It could have gone either way. Mopple, help me serve the drinks.”

  Wine and cordials were offered around. Urchin heard Crispin’s voice in his ear.

  “Be strong, Urchin,” whispered the king. “You must be very, very strong now.”

  In the time it took Urchin to accept the drink Mopple held out to him, Crispin disappeared. Urchin caught a glimpse of him slipping into the anteroom, and would have followed him, but Padra drew him aside.

  “Stay here, Urchin,” said Padra. He looked very pleased about something.

  “But, Padra…” began Urchin as Hope, Catkin, and Needle all seemed to have disappeared into the anteroom, too. It was as if they were all playing a party game, and he was the only one who didn’t know the rules.

  “Don’t ask,” said Padra.

  In the antechamber, Needle and Crispin lifted one robe after another from the chest.

  “There was a lovely yellow-gold cloak that Sepia was making for him,” whispered Needle. “I was helping her with the tricky bits, and it’s nowhere to be seen. I’ve looked everywhere, I don’t understand it, and it’s really annoying. It would have been perfect for today. I suppose it’s been put in the wrong place.”

  “We can manage without it,” said Crispin, still rummaging through the robes. “Look, here’s my old captain’s robe! Do you think he’d like to wear that?”

  “He’d be delighted, Your Majesty,” said Needle. “May I see?”

  She took the robe from the king’s paws. She had expected to find it crumpled, but the robes had been laid down carefully, and it fell as smoothly as if it had been freshly aired and brushed. The embroidery around the collar and hem was as bright as ever.

  Urchin didn’t always wear the traditional squirrel green. It didn’t suit his pale fur as well as it did the rich, dark red of the other squirrels. But Needle knew he wouldn’t mind that. The idea of wearing Crispin’s robe would be wonderful to him.

  Urchin was still wondering what was going on, and why Padra was keeping him talking. He was even more bewildered when the queen said, “Excuse me, Urchin,” and began to smooth down his ear tufts and tail tip as if she were making him presentable for a formal occasion. Longpaw the messenger suddenly jumped in through the window, and when there was a firm step outside in the corridor, Docken opened the door to admit Apple and her husband, Filbert, both wheezing as they got their breath back.

  “Apple?” said Urchin. Apple wore a shawl Needle had made for her, and her hat with the pink rosebuds. Urchin wanted to ask her what was happening, but she spoke first.

  “I don’t know what I come here for,” she announced, which only added to his confusion. “Longpaw said we were to come and it were something special, so I got me ’at and we come at once, I hope we haven’t kept anyone waiting, ooh, look, here’s the king, and the queen, ooh!”

  Urchin turned to bow to the king and saw that Crispin was transformed. He wore the oakleaf crown, and an embroidered robe swished about him as he walked. At his side, Cedar, in her robes and crown, had never looked more like a queen.

  Padra led Urchin to a point just a few steps from the dais. “Kneel, Urchin,” he ordered.

  Urchin began to make sense of what was happening, except it couldn’t be happening at all. But when Padra, Docken, and Arran all slipped into the antechamber and returned in their robes, things seemed to be falling into place. Everyone was smiling. The king stood up.

  “Urchin of the Riding Stars,” he began, “son of the esteemed Almond of Ashfire and brave Brother Candle of Whitewings, foster son of loyal Apple, you have served this island and its creatures well. You sought me in exile and helped me to come home. You delivered the island of Whitewings, and brought down their tyrant. You took part in the rescue of Princess Catkin in her infancy, worked and struggled to save the islanders in the landslide, and fought in the Raven War. You have shown courage, wisdom, love, and loyalty. You have been a good friend and a bright spirit. We know your qualities, and your persistence in seeing all things through to the end. Needle, does he know the Threadings Code?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” said Needle. It hadn’t been easy, but she’d taught it to him.

  “Whittle,” asked the king, “does he know the history and law of the island as thoroughly as he needs to?”

  “Er—yes, Your Majesty,” said Whittle.

  “Then, Urchin of the Riding Stars,” proclaimed Crispin, “it is my will and the will of Queen Cedar, Catkin the Heir of Mistmantle, our worthy captains, and the Circle that you be appointed and blessed as a captain of Mistmantle.”

  Urchin felt the gasp inside himself, and could not speak. There was a little cry of delight from Apple, cut short as she clapped her paws over her mouth.

  “Urchin of the Riding Stars,” Crispin went on, “will you, all your life, raise your heart to the Heart?”

  Urchin found he had to breathe slowly and deeply. He wanted to breathe this moment into himself and keep it forever.

  “With the Heart’s help, I will, Your Majesty,” he said.

  “Will you live, serve, guide, and help the animals of Mistmantle, putting their needs before your own?”

  “Yes, with the Heart’s help, Your Majesty,” said Urchin.

  “Will you be loyal to me and to my heirs and successors, so long as we abide within the Heart?”

  “With the Heart’s help, I will, Your Majesty,” he said.

  He must imprint every sound and every heartbeat into his memory. The wide joyful smile on Crispin’s face, the smiles he could feel rather than see, he must keep all this forever. The king’s oakleaf crown with the swan design. A butterfly on the window. Hope, holding a robe across his paws. Fingal with something covered on a cushion.

  “Give me your sword and sword belt, Urchin,” said the king.

  Urchin unbuckled his sword, finding that his paws were trembling and clumsy. The sword looked plain, worn, and shabby as he laid it before the king.

  Padra stepped forward, and for the first time Urchin saw the sword and sword belt he carried in his paws. The hilt, as Padra fastened it around his waist, was plain and light, and the sword at his hip felt as perfectly balanced as if it were part of himself.

  “Present your new sword to the king,” ordered Padra.

  Urchin drew the sword, and the smooth, clean swish of the action was as if it sang. Holding it lightly by the blade, he presented the hilt over his arm to Crispin, who took it.

  Juniper stepped forward to place both paws on Urchin’s head. It may have been the warmth of his paws or the power of the moment, but it seemed to Urchin that sunlight poured into him.

  “Urchin of the Riding Stars, my brother,” he said, “live in the Heart in holiness. Serve the cause of justice. Love mercy. Value all animals as your equals. Always learn. Rejoice in every new day. Be a good captain and a good friend. Share the laughter and the tears of your fellow animals and may the Heart keep you, nurture you, strengthen you, instruct you, and claim you.”

  Crispin kissed the sword blade. “For justice and freedom,” he said. “Urchin, take it and kiss the blade.”

  Urchin did. The king folded his paws over Urchin�
��s, and Urchin didn’t know if this was part of the ceremony or just because the king could see his paws were shaking.

  “Sheathe your sword, Captain Urchin,” he said, “and use it only for what is right and good.”

  Urchin slid the sword into the scabbard, and suddenly everything seemed lighter and less solemn than it had before—Crispin, the queen, and all the faces he could see looked wonderfully happy. The king’s tone was lighter.

  “I have to dress you in my old clothes today,” he was saying. “I’m sorry about that, Urchin.” He lifted the robe from Hope’s paws. “And I will robe you myself.”

  Urchin’s eyes widened as Crispin shook out the robe. He wanted to put out a paw and touch it. He remembered the great honor he had felt as a page, when he had helped Padra to robe. Now he was being robed himself, with Crispin, his king and his hero, settling the robe on his shoulders and arranging it around him. He only hoped that he would live up to his title. He didn’t feel fit to wear Crispin’s robe, but he couldn’t very well argue with him about it.

  “Now, Urchin,” went on the king, “long ago, in dark times, you, Lugg, and Arran made sure I had my circlet to take with me into exile.” Urchin realized what was coming next, and his heart beat hard and fast. “I gave it to my Lady Whisper on our marriage, and she was wearing it when she died. I wanted to leave it on her grave, do you remember? And you urged me to bring it back.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” he said.

  “Each captain’s circlet should be made new,” said Crispin, “but I’d like you to wear mine.”

  Urchin’s doubts must have shown in his face, because Crispin put both paws on his shoulders.

  “Don’t tell me you’re not worthy of it, Urchin,” he said. “It is my dear wish, and the queen’s, that you should wear this.”

  Fingal lifted off the cover. Polished and gleaming, the perfect circle of gold lay on its cushion. Juniper lifted it in both paws, raised it high, and gave it to Crispin.