Urchin and the Rage Tide Page 17

  “Urchin of the Riding Stars,” said Crispin, “be a guardian of this island. Be strong, be true, be noble. Be Captain Urchin.”

  The gold ring of the circlet pressed down into Urchin’s fur, and it seemed to him that in that moment he changed forever. Then the king was hugging him and kissing him on both cheeks, the queen had left her throne to kiss him, the other captains were patting him on the back, and the smile on Needle’s face was the brightest he had ever seen.

  “I’d better not hug you,” she said.

  “Thanks,” said Urchin, and was immediately wrapped in a hug from Apple, who was sobbing too much to speak.

  “Catkin, Mistress Apple needs refreshment,” said Crispin. “Forgive me, Apple, I’m neglecting you. Needle, send for wine!”

  “We’ll have to mind how we speak to Urchin now, Hope,” said Fingal, grinning. Urchin sat down and put an arm across Hope’s shoulders.

  “Captain Urchin!” said Hope.

  “Do you remember,” said Urchin, “when we found our way out of those tunnels, when you were looking for Thripple?”

  “I won’t ever forget that,” said Hope.

  “That day,” said Urchin, “you called me ‘Master Urchin, sir.’”

  “Did I?”

  “Nobody had ever called me ‘master’ before, let alone ‘sir,’” said Urchin. “It made me feel grown up, even though I knew that I wasn’t.”

  “He still isn’t,” remarked Fingal. “Don’t grow up, Urchin, whatever you do. Definitely a bad idea.”

  “Do we have to call you Captain Urchin all the time now?” asked Hope.

  “Absolutely,” said Fingal.

  “Not if you don’t want to,” said Urchin. “I’ll always be Urchin.”

  “And you should be very proud of it, too,” sniffed Apple. “It were the king himself gave you your name, Urchin, when he weren’t a captain yet, just Crispin.”

  “And I’m still just Crispin!” cried the king. “You are all forbidden to call me king today! Let’s drink a toast, everyone. Does everyone have a drink? To Captain Urchin!”

  And amid the toast and the congratulations that followed, nobody noticed the way Padra raised an eyebrow to the king, or the way King Crispin slipped to his side and said, “Bear with me, Padra. I need to hear my own name today.” But in the middle of it all, Urchin, drinking his wine and accepting everyone’s good wishes, wondered why this was happening now, of all times, and so unexpectedly. He knew there was something he had still not been told.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  N THE BOAT BEYOND THE MISTS Crown moved, painfully, to turn and hold his one good wing over Sepia. He must keep the sun from burning her by day, just as he must keep her warm by night. He wished there was something he could say or do to make the mists part. He had begged the Heart to do something, something different, just for Sepia. He poured water into her dry mouth and drank some himself.

  “Sepia,” he said, “Corr has gone for help. Even now, they’ll be planning something. He’ll be back soon with medicines and food and everything you need. Your queen will know what to do. Just hold on, hold on, Sepia.”

  Cool water dripped into her mouth. Sepia tried to open her eyes and see who was helping her, but even that effort was too great. She supposed she must be dying slowly, because she had lost all sensation in her paws again. She no longer knew where they were. Her ears twitched a little, but she wasn’t sure how.

  Memories floated in and out of her dreams. She saw herself again, the youngest of a big family, small, and just the tiniest curl to her paw. There was a cave where she’d go all by herself to sing, and the sound would come back from the walls and the shimmering stones. There had been a furious dash through the forest to warn the king of treachery—or had she dreamed that? Catkin, Linty, a boat, and Urchin—where was Urchin?

  Shadows fell. Evening came. She tried to curl up more tightly, and could not, because her limbs would not do what she wanted them to. Perhaps she was in the sea. Catkin and Linty had been in the boat; then she had fallen into the sea—no, that had all happened long ago. This was a different boat.

  Crown spread the winter cloak over her, tucking it around her with his beak, and settling again with his wing over her, nestling his warmth against her. She smiled weakly.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, but even that was so hard that it might be best never to speak again. The sea and the creeping of death told her not to. Sleep, said the sea, sleep, Sepia, said death. No need to wake again.

  In Mistmantle Tower, Queen Cedar slipped away from the celebrations to the bedchamber where the glass bottle of medicine stood warming beside the hearth. She held it to a candle flame, shaking it gently. Then she held it up to the light, put it down, added another tuft of her own fur, and warmed it in her paws as if she could coax it to be ready more quickly. In the meantime, she’d busy herself with other things. Crispin would need her.

  Among the animals gathered on the shore and those who were rebuilding their homes, and the tower animals putting their workrooms and kitchens to rights, the news spread that Urchin of the Riding Stars was now a captain. They welcomed the good news with cheers, dancing, and hats thrown in the air, even if they followed it with “oh, but poor Sepia…” But Urchin, still in the Gathering Chamber, felt awkward about appearing among the other animals with a circlet on his head. He felt he wanted someone to tell him how to be a captain, when from now on he’d have to get more used to giving orders than receiving them.

  Apple and Filbert had left and it seemed as if the celebration was coming to an end. The other captains were taking off their robes, so Urchin took his off, too. If there hadn’t been other animals there, he would have pressed his cheek against it. Crispin took it from him.

  “I was a page once,” he said. “I haven’t forgotten how to put a robe away. Now…”

  Suddenly, his face was graver. Urchin felt that things were coming to a conclusion. Cedar and Juniper were standing together close to the king.

  “Will you speak to everyone here?” Crispin asked them, and turned back to Urchin. “Urchin, Needle, Hope, please go to Juniper’s turret. Wait for me there.”

  Urchin, Needle, and Hope climbed the stairs silently and huddled together in Juniper’s tower. They didn’t know what it was that Crispin had to tell them, but uneasiness made them nervous.

  “He always knows what he’s doing, doesn’t he?” said Urchin.

  “That doesn’t necessarily make it any better,” said Needle. They sat in awkward silence, and it was a relief to hear Crispin’s step on the stair. He smiled reassuringly as he sat down on a stool by the hearth, but his eyes were sad.

  “Are you all right, sir?” asked Urchin.

  “Yes, Urchin,” he said quietly, “and soon everything will be all right, even though it might not seem so immediately. What I have to tell you now is hard, very hard, but it’s also necessary and right. You may ask questions if you like, but wait until I’ve finished.”

  They nodded, and waited.

  “You know that I was badly injured in the Raven War,” he said. “You probably know that my old wound has always been with me. You don’t know how serious it was—for a while, nobody did. But the raven’s talon penetrated right to my heart, and damaged it. It’s time to tell you what only Cedar, Padra, and Juniper have known—my wife, my best friend, and our priest. I’m dying.”

  No! The word formed in Urchin’s mouth, and he pressed his lips shut. He must not interrupt.

  “There’s nothing to be done,” he said. “If it hadn’t been for Pitter and her mendingmoss, and Cedar’s care ever since, I’d have died long ago. But that injury is draining me now. I can only get weaker and slower.”

  Urchin took Needle’s paw. He could tell she was biting her lip and wanted to cry. Hope shuffled to Crispin’s side and laid his head against the king’s paw.

  “Thank you, Hope,” said Crispin, and stroked the hedgehog’s head. “You always know the right thing to do. Now, all of you, remember Juniper’s prophec
y. One must come and one must go, one must go and one will come. Sorrow before joy. Juniper and I have talked about this. It’s about Sepia and me. Sepia can’t get back through the mists. I’ve been away twice, and we all know about going through a third time. It will probably kill me, but I’m dying anyway. And what I believe—and Juniper almost didn’t want to agree with me, but he knows it’s true—is that if I go, willingly, out of love for the island, there will be a perfect balance and Sepia can come home.”

  Urchin wanted to cover his face with his paws, but he mustn’t. He was a captain now. He had often thought he would give his own life to save Sepia, but this wasn’t his own life.

  “May I speak now?” he asked. Crispin nodded.

  “I could go instead. I’ve left twice. I could die for Sepia.”

  Crispin smiled. “And what could I say to her, if she came back and found that you weren’t here? It has to be me, and only me. I’m the king. It’s my privilege and my responsibility. And remember what I just told you. I’m dying. Do you think I’d willingly leave Catkin to be queen when she’s so young? Do you think I want to leave my family, especially when Almondflower’s so little that she might not remember me? But this way, I won’t grow feeble and take to my bed. They won’t watch me turn old and grumpy. Urchin, Needle, Hope, I never expected to be king, but I’ve tried to be a good one.”

  “The best ever,” said Needle. “And now you’re giving your life for the island.”

  “No,” said Urchin, and as the king’s eyes met his, they knew that they understood each other perfectly. “You’ve already given your life for the island, every day. Now you’re giving your death.”

  “It’s all I have left to give,” said Crispin. “And I want you to understand that if it only saved Sepia’s life, it would be worth it. But it isn’t just Sepia—it’s all she will bring to the island, and all our future as an island. Juniper believes that there is great change coming, and it will be good. The Heart has a way of turning things around. Sorrow before joy. That’s how it is. Urchin, you and I have both been forced to leave the island against our will in the past, but great good has come of it. If King Silverbirch hadn’t tried to kill you, Cedar wouldn’t have come here, and Whitewings would never have been liberated. It’ll be all right this time, too—more than all right.”

  “It can’t be all right if you die, sir,” said Needle in a very small voice.

  “It can only be all right if I die,” said Crispin, and in spite of her sharp spines he hugged her. “If my life has counted for anything, I want my death to count for something, too.”

  He released her, and took Hope’s paw. “Take care of these two for me, Hope,” he said.

  “Yes, sir,” said Hope.

  “Urchin,” said Crispin, “you’ve had hardly any preparation for being a captain, but I know you’ll be a good one. Take good care of Catkin. Wear your circlet every day, and wear it well. Remember that sometimes it’s when we’re simply being ourselves that we make a difference. The most important thing I ever did—absolutely definitely without a doubt the most important—was pick up a half-drowned baby squirrel from the sea.”

  He turned, and seemed to be watching the tide. Then he looked around once more at Juniper’s turret—the hearth, the cups, the basket of logs, the plain little bed, the open windows with the herbs and flowers spilling from the window boxes.

  “Not long to go,” he said. “I should go down to Cedar and the children. Cedar and Juniper will have told the other senior animals by now. The Circle will let the rest of the island know, but only when I’ve gone, so nobody can try to make me come back. Oh, and, Urchin, one more thing. Now that you’re a captain, you’ll need my permission to marry.” He picked up a leaf, and scored his clawmark through it. “You do want to marry Sepia, don’t you?”

  Urchin felt his face blush. He wished nobody else had been there.

  “I was going to ask her,” he said. “I wish I’d asked her before the rage tide. She might say no.”

  Crispin laughed. “I shouldn’t worry about that,” he said. “I know Sepia, and I know she’ll have you, Urchin.”

  “If she lives,” whispered Urchin. “Sir, if you go, she’ll get back—but that doesn’t mean that she’ll live, does it?”

  “No, but it gives her a chance,” said the king. “And if she dies, at least she’ll die at home, with the animals she loves. She has a strong spirit, and she’ll have all the care Cedar can give her.” He put the leaf into Urchin’s paw. “There’s my token. Permission to marry her, Urchin. And, Hope, what would we do without you?” He snatched up another leaf, scored it, and gave it to Urchin. “Hope of the Circle! Get him admitted! See to it, Captain Urchin!” He shook Hope’s paw and Needle’s, seized Urchin in a strong hug that Urchin would feel forever, then leaped from the window and disappeared down the wall.

  “Let him go, Urchin,” said Needle as she put her arm around Hope.

  Eager to check on Crown and Sepia, Corr crept from the castle before sunrise and began the long swim to their boat. After several hours, and weary with swimming, Corr reached the little craft and flopped into it. Crown raised his head. Corr saw his red-rimmed eyes and grief overwhelmed him.

  “She’s still alive,” croaked Crown.

  “And you,” said Corr, “you look—”

  “Terrible,” said Crown, “I know. I haven’t slept. I haven’t dared fall asleep.”

  “I’ll take over,” said Corr. “I’ve brought Spring Gate water.” He opened the sealed flask of spring water that hung around his neck, and raised Sepia’s head. Her face was thinner than ever. Her eyes barely flickered open.

  “Drink this, Sepia,” he said. “Spring Gate water. Everyone sends their love. Urchin, the king and queen, Cedar, everyone. Longpaw and all your family. Can you hear me, Sepia? Brother Juniper and Needle, and your choir, all your little choir. They’re looking forward to you coming home, Sepia. They’ve been practicing their songs for you.”

  Crown had already fallen asleep. Corr found the pot of honey, dipped a claw in it, and stroked it onto her tongue.

  “Honey from the Queen of Whitewings,” he said. “It’s making you well. Think of Urchin.”

  Against the kind welcome of death, Sepia felt something was calling her back. The flowery sweetness of honey was on her tongue again. It tasted of everything she loved about summer. One by one, notes of music played in her head. Summer, honey, Mistmantle, music, Urchin…it was as if they were fighting death over her.

  Evening gathered around Mistmantle. Urchin, not knowing where to go or what to do, paced the tower from Juniper’s turret to the Spring Gate. It was no good. He couldn’t just let Crispin go and never see him again. He had no idea which way to go, but the watchers on the shore were still gazing out for any trace of Sepia, so of course Crispin wouldn’t have left the island that way, where the crowds were. His tail flying out behind him, Urchin turned and dashed the other way.

  Juniper and Padra were walking slowly toward him. In the fading light their faces were unclear, but their slow walk and bowed heads were enough to tell Urchin what he needed to know. Breathlessly, he stopped in front of them. The bag containing the Heartstone hung around Juniper’s neck.

  “He’s gone, Urchin,” said Padra, and caught Urchin’s paw before he could rush to the sea. “Don’t try to stop him.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  HAVE TO GO TO HIM,” said Urchin. “I must. I won’t try to stop him.”

  He ran along the shore, watching the darkening sea. There were lights on the boat. Realizing that he didn’t know what to say and that it didn’t matter, he waded out and swam.

  In the long, steady twilight of his journey to the mists, the sea gentle and the waves glossy with moonlight, Crispin heard the far cry.

  “My king! Crispin! My king!”

  Crispin shipped the oars and waited, leaning forward in the boat as the bobbing head, dark with water, came nearer. He stretched forward as Urchin’s paws reached up to the bow.

 
; “Don’t capsize me, Urchin,” he said, and smiled.

  “I won’t,” said Urchin, gasping with the effort of the swim.

  “You can’t come with me,” said Crispin. “You do understand that, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I know,” said Urchin. “But I had to see you again, to tell you that I understand what you’re doing—or, at least, as far as any of us can. And maybe you wanted to go away without being thanked, but you can’t. I need to thank you—for my life and my name, and for all you’ve done. For all you’ve been. For the king you’ve been. And for Sepia.”

  “Thank you, Urchin of the Riding Stars,” said Crispin. “Thank you for your company, especially now. Urchin, you remember Whisper?”

  “Of course I remember her, sir!”

  “Good. Keep remembering her. Urchin, I believe that Sepia will come back, and I hope that she’ll survive. But if she doesn’t, you have to know that you can live without her. I had to live without Whisper, and you can live without Sepia, if you have to. It won’t be easy, but you can. I hope you don’t have to. You were the only one from Mistmantle who ever met Whisper, so please, for my sake, remember my Lady Whisper.”

  “I will, Your Majesty. Always,” he said, and realized that there was nothing more to say. It was time to turn around and swim back to shore. Delaying the moment would be like breaking the rhythm of a dance.

  “Heart keep you forever, my king,” he said.

  “Heart keep you forever, Urchin of the Riding Stars,” said Crispin, and Urchin swam to shore, pushing hard against the tide, not looking back until he had waded shivering to the sand, and the lights on the small boat had disappeared altogether.

  Juniper wrapped a cloak around him.

  “Get warm and dry,” he said. “He’ll be all right.”

  “I know,” said Urchin.

  Night fell around Sepia’s boat as it waited beyond the mists. Corr tried to stay awake, but found himself slipping in and out of dreams. In them, he was safe and warm in his rooms at the Spring Gate. Sepia was running across the sands, or waving from a tower window—all was well. Then he would jerk awake and know that he was still on the sea, still beyond the mists, and still becalmed, far from home. He would listen for Sepia’s breathing, open the bottle of Spring Gate water to drip a little into her mouth, and tuck the cloak around her, hugging her for warmth. He thanked the Heart for that cloak.