Urchin and the Rage Tide Read online

  “Then we choose to die with Mossberry!” cried Twirl’s aunt.

  “And the children?” demanded Crispin. “Do the children choose?”

  A very young hedgehog began to cry, a thin little whimper as if it were trying hard not to cry at all. But that whimper was enough. A squirrel began a long, high wail, and another—then the voices of Padra and Fingal rose above them.

  “The sea!” they shouted. “GET BACK!”

  As Urchin looked up, the sea rose up as if it wanted to swallow Mistmantle. The waves became a towering wall rushing to overwhelm them. Crispin called on the Heart as he scooped up every infant he could reach and ran toward the cliffs. As the water surged over Urchin’s head, he saw Sepia snatch Twirl into her paws—then all he knew was cold and helplessness as the immensity of waves swept him up and flung him against the cliff.

  With water pounding in his mouth and ears, Urchin scrabbled to find a clawhold on the cliffs. Fingal, fighting the current, felt the breath knocked out of him as he hit the rocks. Crispin, pain scorching through his old wound, bent over the screaming infants huddled in his arms.

  “Heart keep me!” The cry was deep within Urchin, though he could hardly find the words—but the wave was retreating, and his head was above water. He gulped down the air, and tried to see where everyone was. Russet and Heath were higher up the cliff than he was, reaching down paws to help him up. Padra was beside him, and he could see Fingal struggling to push a shivering little hedgehog into Russet’s paws.

  “Where’s Sepia?” he gasped, and looked down over his shoulder. “Sepia!”

  He could see her, but she was still near the bottom of the cliffs, gasping and bedraggled. Twirl still clung to her. Urchin turned, and edged his way cautiously down the cliff.

  “Urchin, what are you doing?” yelled Padra. “There’s a second wave coming!”

  Urchin didn’t bother to answer. There could be a dozen waves coming, each worse than the last, and it wouldn’t matter. He couldn’t leave Sepia. He could see the way she scrabbled at the cliff, trying to find clawholds. She should take a run at it—but Twirl was clinging to her with all four paws, and they were both heavy with water. Cautiously, he felt his way down the cliff and stretched down toward her.

  “Take my paw!” he called.

  “Take Twirl!” cried Sepia. Her voice was thin with the cold and her teeth chattered as she pried away the paws that clutched her. “Twirl, go to Urchin!”

  Urchin pulled the screaming little squirrel from Sepia and tucked her under one arm. “Give me your paw, Sepia,” he said.

  Padra was behind him. “Pass Twirl to me,” he said.

  Urchin pushed Twirl toward Padra and reached down for Sepia. She was still struggling to climb, and hardly using her right paw at all.

  “You’re hurt,” he said.

  “My paw hit the rocks,” she gasped, and reached up her left paw instead.

  “Got you!” said Urchin.

  He was pulling her to safety when the second wave roared over them, somersaulted him off his paws, and tore her away. Opening his eyes underwater, he could see no trace of her, and as he bobbed to the surface and shook water from his eyes, there was nothing but surging water, carrying him out to sea and then crashing him back onto the rocks. Salt water coughed from his lungs and filled his mouth as Crispin and Padra grabbed him and hauled him up the cliff. He tried to call for Sepia, but could only cough.

  “Get back, Urchin!” yelled Padra, dragging him back.

  “Where’s Sepia?” he demanded, but it seemed everyone was heaving him farther up the cliff, farther from the place where Sepia had been. With seawater stinging his eyes, he strained to look out across the wildly rocking water.

  Two of Mossberry’s boats bobbed in the sea—the others must be shattered by now. And, as he watched, he saw the small figure of a squirrel, half in and half out of a boat as the ebbing water swept it ruthlessly away.

  “Sepia!” he yelled again, but through distance and darkness it was impossible to tell whether that really was Sepia, or one of Mossberry’s followers. He lurched toward the sea, but strong paws held him back. From the voices around him—some sobbing, some calm and firm—he knew that Crispin’s reinforcements had moved in to rescue all the animals they could. From somewhere to the left came a weak cry.

  “Freedom!”

  It was Mossberry. Rage shuddered through Urchin. He felt Crispin’s paw tighten. When he spoke, his voice was low and dangerous.

  “Take him away,” Crispin ordered. “Guard him.” But his voice softened as he spoke to Urchin.

  “Get back, Urchin, come to safety. You can’t help her. I’m so sorry.”

  Without turning, Urchin knew that there were tears in the king’s eyes.

  “We need to be higher up, Your Majesty,” said Fingal. “It hasn’t finished yet, there’s going to be another wave.”

  They trooped away, climbing uphill silently, their heads down, Urchin still looking over his shoulder. Fingal stayed close beside him, not only to comfort him, but to stop him from turning and running into the storming sea to search for Sepia.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  N BURROWS, CAVES, AND TREE ROOTS, animals huddled together, too nervous to talk much, sipping hot cordials and trying to ignore the roar and crash from the surface as the waves surged higher over the island. Moth held her youngest child on her lap because he had woken up crying, but most of the youngest animals were fast asleep, wrapped in blankets on small makeshift moss beds. When Queen Cedar strode into the room Moth tried to stand, but Cedar waved a paw at her not to.

  “Is the king back?” she asked.

  “No, madam,” said Moth. “None of them are.” A surge of wind and rain above them made the trees creak. Moth wanted to say, They’ll be all right, but she couldn’t.

  There was a slapping of wet otter paws. Padra opened the door for the king, and the queen gasped. Mud, sand, and seaweed covered Crispin and Padra, and the cloaks over their shoulders were torn and filthy. A soaked and crying little squirrel clung to Padra.

  “Juniper!” called the queen. “Somebody, find Brother Juniper!” Already attendants were running about with towels and dry cloaks. Fingal stumbled wearily in, one paw across Urchin’s shoulders. Cedar saw the shock on Urchin’s bloodied face, and called again for Juniper.

  “What happened?” she demanded, taking the little squirrel from Padra. “Where’s Sepia? Wasn’t she…”

  “Where are her family?” muttered Crispin, flinging his cloak into a corner.

  “I’ll tell them,” said Urchin. “It’s my fault. I couldn’t hold on to her.” Then the whole room became silent except for the crying of the squirrel.

  In the morning, animals crept out to see what was left of their homes. Torn branches littered the ground. Supple young trees had bent until they trailed the grass. Ancient oaks lay with their wide rough roots sprawled toward the sky, leaving burrows roofless and gaping. Animals gathered around Crispin, the queen, and the captains, telling of collapsed burrows, flooded tunnels, and wrecked workshops. In the worst-hit bays, neither a jetty nor a boat remained. Driftwood and seaweed had been swept inland and hung draped across bushes.

  Members of the Circle counted animals. All the Anemone Wood squirrels were accounted for, except for those who had been determined to follow Mossberry. Some hedgehogs and a mole were missing, but no otters—Arran had intended to check for casualties among the otters, but she had been badly hurt by a falling tree, so Fingal and Swanfeather took over. A whispered conversation took place between Crispin and Padra.

  “I’ll go back to the tower, or what’s left of it,” said Crispin. “Padra, look out for Urchin. I’ll take Needle and Catkin with me. Oh, and here’s Hope.”

  Knowing that Hope couldn’t see him at a distance, Crispin walked toward him.

  “Heart keep you, Hope!” he called. Hope turned his head to the sound, and changed course.

  “Heart keep you, and, please, Your Majesty,” he said, “is it true about…”
He lowered his voice as if afraid to ask. “Sepia?”

  “She was swept out to sea,” said the king gently. “There’s been no sign of her since.”

  Hope slowly lowered his head—whether in a bow or in grief was impossible to tell—and turned to trundle very slowly away with his head down. The sight of that gentle hedgehog, walking away as if there was nothing left in the world worth walking to, wrenched at Crispin’s heart. He waved a paw at a nearby guard.

  “Where are Urchin of the Riding Stars and Brother Juniper?” he asked.

  “Gone back to the bay, Your Majesty,” said the guard.

  “Of course they have,” said Padra. “I’ll go down to them, Crispin.”

  “And I’ll go back to the tower with Hope. Send Needle to me,” said Crispin heavily. “At least we can keep each other company. He shouldn’t be alone.”

  The shore had become a mudflat. Cloaks, broken timbers, and loose stones lay trailed across it, and far worse things were to be found. Urchin and Juniper stood on a piece of driftwood with Corr and Tide at a respectful step or two behind them.

  “Go back to a burrow and rest, Corr,” said Urchin.

  “I should stay with you in case you need me, sir,” said Corr.

  Urchin didn’t want anyone now, but he hadn’t the heart to send Corr away.

  “Stay well back, then, Corr,” he said. Corr was too young to come near what lay before them.

  Though Tipp, Todd, Russet, Heath, and the others had struggled with all their strength, not all of Mossberry’s followers had been rescued. Some had already been pushing out boats when the rage tide had risen up, and others had hesitated too long, and been caught up in the raging waters. Now they lay dead or dying on the beaches. Juniper moved from one to the next, checking a pulse here, covering a face there, instructing Tide in the prayers and comfort for the dying, and listening to their last words. Urchin, too, went from one to another, bracing himself to examine the faces of the dead, dreading what he might find as he gently lifted the soaked and muddy cloths that covered them.

  “She’s not here,” he said at last. “I’ve looked at them all, and Sepia’s not here.”

  “Then she must have been swept a long way out,” said Juniper.

  “Maybe she wasn’t!” said Urchin.

  “Please, Master Urchin, sir,” said Corr, “the sea’s at peace for now. Shall I swim out and look for her?”

  “Yes,” said Urchin. “Report back to me.” He turned to Juniper. “That boat she was hanging on to was bigger than the rest. It wouldn’t overturn easily, or break on the rocks. Yes, Corr, go and look. Stay back from the mists.”

  He watched Corr slide into the water and disappear under the waves. A line of air bubbles rose up. Hearing paws behind him, he turned to see Padra.

  “What happened to Mossberry?” asked Urchin, though he could hardly bear even to say the name.

  “He’s under guard,” said Padra. “He’ll be put in a cell in the tower as soon as there’s a usable one. And we’re keeping his followers apart so they can’t go on telling each other how wonderful he is. I think what happened last night has made a lot of them see differently.”

  “Probably not,” said Urchin harshly. “He said it was a judgment against the island, so they’d just think he was right. Do you think he cares about them? Do you think he cares about Sepia?” Now that he had said her name, he couldn’t stop. “He pretended she was his friend! I should think he’s glad she’s gone, just because she’s a tower squirrel! When did Sepia ever harm anyone?”

  “Urchin,” said Padra gently, “I wish I could help. Talk to me about Sepia whenever you want to.”

  Urchin scanned the sea, peering toward the mists. “You’re talking as if she were dead,” he said. “We saw her hanging on to a boat!”

  “But are you sure that was Sepia?” asked Padra.

  “Of course I’m sure!” said Urchin. “Who else would it be? The animals who died have been washed up. She hasn’t been.”

  “If she is alive,” said Padra gently, “she’s on the other side of the mists. She must be.”

  “Yes, alive on the other side of the mists!” said Urchin fiercely. “And don’t tell me she can never come back, because I’ve got through the mists before, and Sepia will, too!”

  Padra rubbed drying mud from his fur. He hadn’t the heart to contradict Urchin and tell him how unlikely it was that they’d ever see Sepia again, but he couldn’t agree with him, either. Turning to Juniper, he changed the subject.

  “Any more casualties?” he asked.

  “Hedgen and Scuttle the hedgehogs died,” said Juniper. “And Twirl’s aunt Cherry. Shell and Meadow are still alive, and I’ve given orders to take them to the queen, but I don’t know if they’ll come through. We got all the little ones out safely, though.”

  “You see?” said Urchin, not turning his eyes from the sea. “That means Sepia’s the only one not accounted for! Don’t you see, as long as we don’t find a body, there’s hope?”

  Padra stopped brushing his fur. “Urchin,” he said, “if you’re going to cling to that hope, you have to realize that it’s a very frail one. It’s most unlikely that she’s alive. If she is, she’s almost certainly beyond the mists.” He put a paw across Urchin’s shoulders. “We have to face that, Urchin.”

  Urchin shook off his paw.

  “If she’s alive, where is she?” he demanded. “She’ll be alone, in a boat with no food and no fresh water! Not even a dry cloak to keep her warm! Is there a swan left on the island who could fly over the mists?”

  “They’ve all left,” said Padra gently.

  Urchin knelt on the shore. It was as if, by gazing and gazing at the mists, he could make them disperse and show him Sepia.

  Corr swam to shore, shook himself, said, “No sign of anyone, sir, sorry,” and ran to Padra. He knew what he wanted to do next, but he urgently needed to talk to Padra first.

  In the flooded tower, Crispin and Needle waded waist deep through a corridor where seaweed floated on the water and a dead fish drifted past them. Fingal appeared, his fur wet, running up a staircase.

  “All the chambers by the Spring Gate are flooded, Your Majesty,” he said. “So are the lower levels leading to the underground lake, but you can still get there from under the kitchens. I couldn’t get near the Chamber of Candles, but it must be flooded.”

  “All the ground-floor windows are shattered,” said Crispin, “but the Throne Room and the Gathering Chamber have come out of this remarkably well. There’s a hole in the roof of Juniper’s tower, all the pennants and the flagpole are down, and we’ll have to find a small first-floor room to use as a prison for Mossberry.”

  There was a scrabble of paws outside, and Prince Oakleaf arrived to perch on the windowsill.

  “Father,” he said, a bit out of breath, “everyone’s accounted for, apart from Sepia, of course, and two small hedgehogs. Very small ones. They weren’t with Mossberry. They’d gone to safety.”

  “Names?” asked Crispin.

  “Furtle and Ouch,” said Oakleaf. “Myrtle’s younger sister and brother.”

  “Myrtle!” cried Needle in alarm. “Our little Myrtle who does the Threadings!”

  “Yes, Needle,” said the prince. “Her sister, Furtle, and their little brother, the one they call Ouch. They’ve disappeared together. The parents say they’ve always been close, they’re always wandering off together, and they always come back safely, but of course they’re worried.”

  “I should think so, in the middle of all this!” said Needle. “And they’re so small!”

  “Where were they last seen?” asked Crispin.

  “They were perfectly safe in a hillside burrow with a lot of other hedgehogs,” said Prince Oakleaf. “It was dark, of course. They were reported missing at dawn.”

  “Your Majesty,” said Needle, “we could look at the Threading Myrtle’s been working on. There could be a clue in there. We stored them all in Se—the cave above the waterfall.” The cave above
the waterfall was Sepia’s song cave, but she didn’t want to think about Sepia just now.

  Prince Oakleaf looked from one to the other.

  “Sorry,” he said, “how would that help?”

  “There’s something about Myrtle’s Threadings,” said Crispin. “When she’s sewing, she…” He stopped, hearing the swish of paws and tail in the corridor, followed by a call from Padra. “Padra! We’re in here!”

  Padra appeared in the doorway and bowed to the king, but, seeing his grim expression, Needle felt a fear that made her legs weaken. She felt sick. She had never seen Padra look so grave.

  Oh, Heart, please, please, she thought. No more bad news. Please.

  “I must speak to you alone, Your Majesty,” said Padra.

  “Shall Prince Oakleaf and I go to the cave to find Myrtle’s Threading?” offered Needle quickly.

  “Yes, please do,” said Crispin. “Explain to him about Myrtle’s Threadings, while you’re at it.”

  When they had gone, Padra took a step back. He drew his sword, laid it across one paw, and lifted off his circlet. Then he bowed his head and, in the floodwater, knelt and offered the king his sword.

  “Padra, what’s this for?” said Crispin.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ORR THANKED THE HEART for Fingal. Fingal had told him, as they had prepared for the rage tide, “More than enough Mistmantle boats have been smashed to firewood in storms before this. We should get as many boats as we can out of the way, so we need all the strong animals we can find to carry them inland. Got any big strong brothers, Corr?”

  On Fingal’s instructions, Corr’s own little boat had been tied up in one of the galleried caves above the underground lake, and it was still undamaged. Launching it would not be as difficult as he had expected—the water level had risen so high that he would be able almost to drop it onto the lake when the time came. He whisked in and out of empty tower rooms, paying particular attention to the kitchen, and filled up his boat with all the food and fresh water it could safely carry. He’d need an extra cloak, too, but there was no point in searching through the chambers he shared with Urchin at the Spring Gate. Anything left in there would be floating by now. Anxious to get away quickly and unnoticed, he ran upstairs to see if anything had been left in the workshops.