Urchin and the Rage Tide

by M. I. McAllister

  “That’s better,” said Sepia. “Now I need somebody good to look after the icing sugar sifter. Will you carry it, Pottle? That’s right, in both paws. Mistress Crackle the pastry cook is most particular about it.” And the little procession finally set off with Pottle at the end, carrying the sugar sifter as if it were King Crispin’s crown. Needle and Thripple, who were bringing another batch of animals from the tower, joined them. From the baskets of brightly colored wools they carried, they were evidently clearing the workrooms. Myrtle the hedgehog and her little sister, Furtle—a wide-eyed, slender slip of a hedgehog—carried a rolled-up Threading under their arms. With her free paw, Myrtle led a tiny hedgehog clutching a paint box.

  “He’s my little brother,” she said proudly.

  “Heart keep him, he’s such a little dot!” exclaimed Sepia. “He can’t walk all that way!”

  “We’ll take turns carrying him when he’s tired,” said Needle, “but we’ll do it carefully. His prickles are as sharp as mine.”

  Myrtle’s little brother was gazing up at Urchin. He stretched up to whisper something to Needle as she bent to hear him.

  “Yes, that’s right!” she said. “That’s Urchin of the Riding Stars, and that’s Prince Oakleaf. And the lady squirrel is Sepia of the Songs.”

  “Ooooh!” said the hedgehog in a voice so soft and shy he seemed afraid to speak. Urchin knelt beside him.

  “Hello,” he said. “I’m Urchin. What’s your name?”

  “Ouch,” whispered the hedgehog.

  “Oh, are you hurt?” asked Sepia, and Urchin looked to see if he’d stepped on a thistle.

  “No, that’s his name,” said Myrtle. “Except it isn’t. Not really. Really he’s called Spirtle, but everyone calls him Ouch.”

  “Why Ouch?” asked Prince Oakleaf.

  “It’s because he’s so prickly,” explained Myrtle. “When he was little—I mean, even littler—if he cuddled up to anyone, they’d say ‘ouch,’ so it was the thing he heard most, and he thought it was his name.”

  “Come on, then, Myrtle, Furtle, and Ouch,” said Urchin. “We’re getting the underground palace all ready for you. You’ll like it in there. Needle, is there anyone else to come from the workrooms?”

  “Not exactly,” said Needle as they guided the animals inland.

  “There was one squirrel who said she had to ask somebody’s permission to go. She’d vanished before I could ask her whose permission she needed.”

  “I’ll go back for her, shall I?” offered Sepia.

  Needle turned, shading her eyes. “It’s all right,” she said. “Here she comes. Russet’s bringing her.”

  “That’s strange,” said Urchin. “Pottle the hedgehog just did exactly the same thing. Who gives them permission to obey the king’s orders?”

  “We’d better be quick,” said Prince Oakleaf. “The otters are saying that the rage tide will come sooner rather than later. Speaking of otters, here’s Fingal.”

  “Everybody move!” called Fingal. With a mischievous grin, he caught Furtle, hoisted her onto his shoulders, cried, “Last one up the hill’s a smoked haddock!” and led the small animals in an uphill charge. At the top, he put Furtle down, waved the others on, and ran back down, laughing, to help the stragglers. But there was no laughter in his face when he turned to Urchin.

  “It’s going to be worse than we could have imagined,” he whispered. “The currents are getting more powerful all the time, and the more they build up, the faster the rage tide will get here. Could be later tonight or early in the morning, if not before, and it’ll be devastating. Is everyone out of the tower?”

  “Russet’s bringing the last squirrel from the workrooms,” said Urchin. “She said she needed permission to leave.”

  “Heart give us strength!” muttered Fingal. “Nobody’s going to give the rage tide permission to drown us all.” Looking up, they saw the animals at the top of the hill watching them, and waiting for their lead. Fingal raised his voice. “What are you waiting for? Down the other side and a good run at the next ridge! Keep going, all of you! Let’s get you all settled in before dark!”

  “I’ll chase them up,” said Urchin. “Do you want to check the shores?”

  “Yes, I’ll round up any stragglers,” said Fingal.

  “And, Fingal,” said Needle, “if anyone says they need permission to move, tell them they’ve got the king’s permission. They don’t need anyone else’s.”

  “What’s all this about ‘permission’?” asked Fingal. “Permission not to get drowned? I’m going to find Padra.”

  He didn’t wait for an answer, and Urchin and Needle continued the trek inland. More bands of animals, from all over the island, were making their way to the places of safety, carrying bundles of bedding in their arms or on their backs. They had reached a steep hill, which meant that some small animals had to be carried, when Urchin noticed, from the corner of his eye, something moving on the hillside.

  He looked more carefully. There was a quick, darting movement as if someone were trying to dodge through the heather without being seen.

  “Needle,” he said quietly, “Oakleaf, do you see that? Over there.”

  Sepia, who had fallen behind them while carrying a plump hedgehog in her arms, caught up. She put down the hedgehog, and watched. The squirrel, stopping once to glance over its shoulder, whisked out of sight into an opening in the hillside.

  “And there,” said Prince Oakleaf, pointing to the right, where a hedgehog was scrambling up toward the same place.

  “We don’t have any emergency burrows up there, do we?” asked the prince.

  “Not that I’ve heard of,” said Urchin. “And they look as if they don’t want to be seen.”

  “And there’s one of my little choir squirrels!” said Sepia. “Up there!”

  Where Sepia pointed, a female squirrel was leading a smaller squirrel by the paw toward the hill, but the little one clearly didn’t want to go. She was pulling hard on the older squirrel’s paw, and straining to look behind her. At this distance they couldn’t see if she was crying, but she was certainly unhappy. The older squirrel finally picked her up, tucked her under one arm, and strode on.

  “This is all wrong!” said Sepia.

  Under other circumstances, Urchin might not have worried. It could just be a young squirrel having a tantrum. But there was definitely something odd happening.

  “They all look very secretive,” remarked Needle. “Something’s going on.”

  “And we could do without any furtive little meetings just now,” said Urchin. “They could be putting themselves in danger, and the little ones, too, whatever they’re up to. I’m going up there. Go ahead, and I’ll catch up to you.”

  “I’ll come with you, Urchin,” said Sepia. “That cross little squirrel is Twirl. She’s not usually naughty.”

  A little beyond them, a line of trees spread up the hill. Urchin looked up, chose a tree he liked the look of, ran up it, and leaped through the treetops with Sepia following, the thin branches bending and springing beneath them. At the other end they skimmed down and landed face-to-face with two hedgehogs who looked nervous, as if they’d been caught doing something they shouldn’t. Each hedgehog had a small satchel on his back.

  “Good afternoon!” said Urchin pleasantly. “You’re moving inland, then?”

  The two hedgehogs glanced nervously at each other.

  “Yes,” said one. There was an awkward silence, then, “We’d better go.” They turned to trundle away.

  “Just a moment,” said Urchin. “We need to know exactly where everyone is, in case anyone goes missing after the rage tide strikes.”

  “Oh, that’s all right,” said the first hedgehog quickly. “We’re staying with…” Unfortunately he said “family” at the same moment as the other said “friends.” They looked down at their paws, then, with some embarrassment, at each other.

  “Family and friends,” said the first hedgehog.

  “My friends and his family
,” said the second. “It’ll be perfectly safe where we’re going.”

  “Yes, but the Circle needs to know exactly where,” said Urchin patiently. “You could be in a shelter that would flood or collapse. Even high ground can collapse if it’s unstable, that’s why the moles have been so busy preparing safe places for us. Tell me exactly where you’re going to be.”

  “We’ll be up in this hill,” said the first hedgehog sullenly, with a jerk of his head toward a burrow opening in the hillside.

  “Yes, up in this hill,” said the other.

  “And it won’t flood,” said the first.

  “No, it won’t flood.”

  “I see,” said Urchin kindly. He sat down, partly so that he wouldn’t seem like a member of the Circle being bossy, but also to make it clear that he wasn’t going to give up and go away. Sepia sat beside him.

  “And who else lives in here?” he asked.

  “Um…my friend does,” said the first hedgehog.

  “And my sister,” said the other.

  “Oh,” said Sepia. “Look!” The squirrels she had seen from the ridge were making very slow progress. The adult seemed to be avoiding attention and the little one tucked under her arm was wailing, kicking, and struggling to be put down.

  “I was right,” said Sepia. “That’s little Twirl!”

  “Is that her mother with her?” asked Urchin.

  “No, that’s her aunt Cherry,” said Sepia. “Twirl’s an orphan.”

  As the squirrels grew nearer, Twirl’s screams became ear piercing. Seeing Sepia, she made a determined wrench to get away.

  “I want Sepia!” she cried. With a final kick and a twist, she forced her aunt to drop her. She tried to dart to Sepia, but her aunt caught her back paws.

  “I’m sure you do want Miss Sepia, but you’re coming with me!” ordered her aunt. “Your friend Maple will be coming. Daisy’s coming, and Brother Mossberry will keep us safe.…”

  Urchin’s ears twitched. Brother Mossberry?

  “I don’t like Mossberry!” screamed Twirl.

  “Brother Mossberry,” insisted Aunt Cherry, but her face fell when she saw the two hedgehogs looking at her, wide-eyed, shaking their heads. Clearly, she was not supposed to have mentioned Mossberry—the three grown-up animals shared the same caught-out look. Twirl had curled up, hugging her knees, her face set in a determined pout.

  “The rage tide won’t wait for the truth,” said Urchin gently. “I think it’s best if you tell me what this is about, don’t you?”

  Fingal found Padra and Corr patrolling the cliffs, scenting the air, and feeling for the direction of the wind. A distant voice made Corr stop, and look up.

  “Hear me, and hear the Heart!” called the voice. “Come! My friends, friends of the Heart! Hear me! Stay close to me, and let me save you from the rage tide!”

  A squirrel was making his way down Falls Cliffs, calling out his offer. His ear tufts twitched, his eyes were keenly bright, and his tail curled elegantly at his back.

  “Who on all the island is that?” asked Corr.

  “Oh, it’s Mossberry,” said Padra wearily. “As if we didn’t have enough problems. So full of his own importance that he has to share it with everyone else. Docken was keeping him in line, but he’s so busy, and Mossberry’s a slippery animal.”

  “Is that a ‘slippery’ audience coming to hear him?” asked Fingal.

  Corr could see what Fingal meant. Animals were slipping from caves and tunnels, glancing anxiously about them, then settling down to listen to Mossberry. They pressed back against the rocks as if they didn’t want to be seen.

  “He’s good, isn’t he?” said Fingal, and as Padra glanced sharply at him, added, “I don’t mean good good. I mean, good at what he’s doing. The way an acrobat is good, or a juggler. Good at making animals stop and stare.”

  “And making them listen, too,” said Padra. “That’s the trouble.” Fingal and Corr moved nearer; then Padra put out a paw for them to stop.

  “Get down where we can’t be seen,” he muttered grimly, and they settled themselves long and low behind the rocks. “If he sees me I might put him off, and I want to see what’s going on. Whatever he’s up to, he won’t want the tower animals to know about it.”

  “Hear the truth, the truth!” cried Mossberry to the little band gathering around him. “This is the truth you’ll never hear from the tower, because the animals up there, they don’t want you to know. There is a rage tide coming. Oh, yes, dear friends!”

  “You’ll protect us, won’t you, Brother Mossberry?” asked a squirrel nervously.

  “Trust me! Stay with me!” urged Mossberry. “I will bring you to perfect safety, but you must trust me. They’ve told you that the rage tide will come, but they haven’t told you why it’s coming! I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you why our island faces destruction!”

  There was a pause for effect. Mossberry’s keen bright eyes scanned the watching crowd. Making sure that he had the full attention of every animal, he raised his paws.

  “I tried to tell them at the tower, but they wouldn’t listen!” he cried. “They didn’t see any point in listening to me! The captains ignored me! Brother Juniper thought I could be no use to him! He’s training Tide as a priest—and of course, Tide is the son of two captains—but he had no time for me! I offered to help them, and Captain Docken gave me menial work to do, fetching, carrying, and cleaning! Friends, they tried to humiliate me!”

  “But everyone does those jobs!” whispered Fingal. “We all do! You do!”

  “Sh!” said Padra.

  “And what I wanted to tell them,” Mossberry went on, “is that the Heart is angry! The Heart is sending the rage tide to punish Juniper, the king, the captains, and all those animals who live in comfort and send us all to do backbreaking work for them! You, me, all of us, they make endless work for us all! Animals, the Heart has rejected them all and chosen me!”

  Padra stood up. “Good afternoon!” he said cheerfully. With his usual good humor, his cloak flapping and his sword and circlet glinting in the sun, he strode up the hill toward Mossberry and his small audience. Fingal and Corr followed him.

  “Heart be with you, Mossberry,” said Padra with a smile.

  For a second Mossberry looked awkward; then he gathered his confidence.

  “Oh, the Heart certainly is with me, Captain Padra,” he said.

  Padra turned and smiled warmly at the gathered animals.

  “And the Heart be with you all,” he said, and they couldn’t help smiling back. Padra was a long-standing, trusted captain who had fought for them and protected them, and his presence was always reassuring.

  “What a rousing speech that was!” he said, and sat down on the rock as if they were all sharing a picnic together. “But maybe I’m just a bit dense—I don’t understand all this anger and destruction bit. The Heart is all loving, that’s what I always understood. And can someone just explain to me, please, what exactly is this backbreaking work that we make you all do?”

  There was complete silence. Corr, looking around, could see from their faces that the animals were trying hard to think of an answer and failing. They all looked as if they suddenly needed to inspect the ground beneath their paws.

  “Mossberry?” inquired Padra. “Can you help us?”

  “I mean the poor tower animals!” cried Mossberry. “Those tower animals who toil miserably, day and night for the king and the court!”

  “Oh, those animals!” said Padra. “The ones who lined up for tower jobs! The ones who come to me, and Fingal, and all the Circle, asking if there’s any work going at the tower, and please will we put in a word for them? The ones who sing while they run up and downstairs, and laugh a lot?”

  Mossberry’s eyes narrowed with rage. He would not be spoken to like this, in front of his own followers.

  “Those days are over!” he cried, tilting his head back. “No longer will animals believe the lies that come from the tower! Freedom! There must be no more grovel
ing before the captains! All the animals will be free!”

  “Sorry, free from what?” asked Fingal.

  Mossberry ran up to the top of a small mound. It wasn’t very high, but it meant that he was looking down at the other animals and they were looking up at him.

  “From slavery!” he cried.

  “Slavery?” repeated Fingal. He looked down at his paws, then all around him. “Are there chains on your paws? Anyone’s paws? Are there guards coming to arrest you for talking rubbish, or me for listening to it? We’re not sent to work down mines all day, are we? Slavery?”

  “It’s not so bad here,” said a hedgehog, timidly. “If we didn’t work, there wouldn’t be enough to eat. Fair enough.”

  “My sister cooks at the tower and she loves it,” said another hedgehog. Mossberry glared at her, and she rolled into a ball.

  “Just one thing, before we all, and I mean all, get up to safe burrows,” said Padra, standing up. “Anyone who wants to know what slavery really is, remember what it was like when Husk was in power! Or, even better, ask Urchin of the Riding Stars. He was a prisoner on Whitewings when King Silverbirch and his sorcerer had all the island terrified, and that really was slavery. If any of you have any complaints about the way the island is run, you are all free—yes, free—to go to King Crispin and tell him all about it. Nobody’s stopping you.” He gave Mossberry a purposeful look, which Mossberry couldn’t return. “Animals, if you have worries or complaints, take them to King Crispin—Crispin, who delivered you from Captain Husk, Crispin, who has brought you safely through drought, landslides, diseases, and war, Crispin, who is always ready to listen to you. Mossberry, if you honestly do care at all for these animals, lead them uphill and inland, now! Good animals, you should all be in the safe burrows in the hilltops. We will be very happy to take you there. Heart keep you all!”

  He turned to go. Fingal stayed for a moment.

  “By the way,” said Fingal, “if it weren’t for Captain Padra, you might still be stuck with Husk. Coming, Corr? Anybody else?”