Urchin and the Rage Tide

by M. I. McAllister

  The Threadings had been removed, but he climbed up to a high cupboard, and tugged hard at the door. It was stiff and opened suddenly, so that Corr fell over and a swath of velvet landed on him. He soon realized that Needle, Thripple, and some of the other workroom animals had moved some of their sewing projects into these high, safe cupboards. On trying to fold it up again, he found that the thing that had dropped on top of him was a cloak.

  If Corr had known anything about fabrics, he would have realized at once that this unfinished cloak, made of deep yellow velvet and lined in white, was an exceptionally warm and valuable one. But all he saw was a very useful garment, the hem still tacked and the collar unfinished. Hoping nobody would mind, he bundled it up and ran down to the kitchen, and from there to the underground lake. With the tide still high, he could make his way out to sea from here.

  Folding the cloak, he stowed it safely away. He mustn’t draw attention to himself. The bay was full of otters, clearing up flotsam and jetsam, some of them in the small boats Fingal had saved from the storm. Nobody would notice another one, even if he did seem to be getting close to the mists.

  His heart was beating hard and fast, and his paws shook a little on the oars. Inside, he still felt he was just Corr the otter. But he was also a Voyager on his first great quest, and like all Voyagers, he must go alone. He had made sure to pack a box of hazelnuts. Sepia liked those.

  Crispin held out a paw to raise Padra, kneeling before him.

  “Come up to the Throne Room, Padra,” he said. “Water may be your natural element, but it isn’t mine. Whatever you have to say, you can say it there.”

  They climbed the stairs to the Throne Room without speaking. Once there, Padra knelt again, placing his sword and circlet at Crispin’s paws.

  “Your Majesty—Crispin,” he said, and his voice was heavy with sorrow, “I have let a young animal go into danger, without your permission.”

  “Get off your knees and sit down, Padra,” said Crispin. “Tell me exactly what this is about.”

  Padra did not move. “I will stay here until I’ve told you,” he said. “Dear Crispin, we went to the shore and saw the bodies of the dead. Sepia is not among them.”

  “Heart be praised for that,” said Crispin. “So there’s still hope, even if it’s a faint one. I don’t see how she could have survived that storm. Padra, if this is about Sepia, don’t blame yourself. I was the one who took her to Arder Bay, not you. She asked to come—she was so worried about Twirl and the other little ones. I could have ordered her to stay away and she would have obeyed, but I let her come. If anyone should resign it’s me, but I have made a vow to the animals of Mistmantle to be a good king, and they look to me to keep it. Put your circlet back on.”

  “It’s not just Sepia,” said Padra. “There’s more than that. Corr came to talk to me in private. He knows he’s a Voyager, so he asked permission to go beyond the mists and search there for Sepia. He wanted to bring her home if he could, alive or dead, if a way could be found. Failing that, he could at least bring news of her.”

  “And what did you tell him?” asked Crispin.

  “I told him to go,” he said. “I told him to provision a boat thoroughly, and go. Told him to keep himself safe as much as possible, but I still told him he could go. He said he thought he should ask Urchin, and I told him I’d sort things out with Urchin myself.”

  “Fair enough,” said Crispin.

  “Yes, but Crispin—Your Majesty—I even said the same about you, when he said he’d need your permission. I told him he needn’t worry about that. I told him, ‘Just go, Corr. I’ll sort it out with the king.’” He looked fully into Crispin’s face. “That was overstepping my authority—it should have been your decision, not mine. Corr is too young for such an undertaking. Who knows what he might find beyond the mists, or what might find him?”

  “I will always treasure what I found beyond the mists,” said Crispin thoughtfully, and for a while said nothing more. Padra waited, knowing that Crispin was thinking of Whisper of Swan Isle, who should have been Whisper of Mistmantle.

  “Whisper and Cedar both came from beyond the mists,” said Crispin, “and it was a Mistmantle mole who murdered Whisper. Please, Padra, now that you’ve told me, sit down.”

  Padra flopped into the window seat.

  “Why did you tell him he could go?” asked Crispin.

  “Because he’s our only hope,” said Padra simply. “If Sepia is still alive somewhere, only Corr can find her. He’s a Voyager, and sooner or later he had to use that gift. He might find a swan to carry her home, and even if she can’t get home, he can help her get to safety on Swan Isle or Whitewings. She’d be made welcome there, and at least we’d know where she was. Corr could bring us news of her. The worst thing is not knowing where she is, and whether she’s all right.”

  “So why did you keep this from me?” asked Crispin.

  “Could you have sent Corr into danger?” he said. “Even for Sepia’s sake? Your heart might have wanted him to go, but he’s your subject, too, and you are pledged to protect him. So I made the hard decision, but I had no right to.”

  “Yes,” said Crispin, “but”—he looked past Padra out of the window—“what would I have done, if you were the king and I were the captain? I would have done exactly as you did.”

  “But I’m not the king and you’re not the captain,” Padra pointed out.

  “So? You did the right thing. And if I have to make the big decisions, I’m making one now.” He poured elderflower cordial into two cups and gave one to Padra. “I am not going to let you resign. We have enough trouble on this island without you standing down. Put your circlet back where it belongs.”

  “If you insist, Crispin,” said Padra, replacing his circlet.

  “And Corr—yes, he’s young, but the young can do great things. I admire his courage, he has the spirit of a true Voyager, and, as you say, he’s Sepia’s only hope. Does Urchin know that he’s gone?”

  “I haven’t told him, yet, for the same reason I didn’t tell you,” said Padra. “I believe he wants Sepia back more than any of us do, and for that very reason he wouldn’t want to put his page in danger for her. It would be a terrible dilemma for him. By your leave, I’ll tell him now.”

  “Does Juniper know?”

  Padra managed a twitch of a smile. “I don’t have to tell anyone what I’ve discussed with the priest,” he said. “Not even you. And neither does the priest.”

  “Fair enough,” said Crispin. “And how’s Arran?”

  “Growling curses against the rage tide,” said Padra, “and a falling tree seems to have cracked a bone in her shoulder, so she’s out of action.”

  “Pass on my regards to her. Urchin needs to know about Corr—leave it to me, Padra, I’ll talk to him. He helped me in my grief, long ago.”

  Much later in the day Needle and Prince Oakleaf scrambled up to the cave where the Threadings had been stored. Needle, who had been there before, had brought lanterns, and bustled about lighting them and propping them against the cave wall.

  “The thing about Myrtle,” she said, “is that she puts things in her Threadings that she doesn’t understand. She barely knows her Threadings Code at all. But she’ll sit at her workbench sewing a symbol into her work without any idea what she’s done. But then it happens—whatever symbol she’s put in her Threading, it means something. When the king went to Swan Isle to fight the ravens, she stitched a sword pointing upward.”

  “That means victory,” said Prince Oakleaf.

  “Exactly,” said Needle, “but Myrtle didn’t know that. And she was right, we won. Then, when the ravens attacked, she drew the sign for the death of royalty and terrified me, but it turned out to be raven royalty that died, not ours. She doesn’t realize what she’s doing, but she’s never been wrong. So, in her latest Threading, she might have stitched something useful—I mean, something that gives us a clue about where we might find them, or even about Sepia!” She stopped, irritated. “Ar
e you listening?”

  Oakleaf was turning slowly around, his mouth open.

  “It’s amazing!” he said. “Why have I never been here?”

  He was watching the flickering of lantern light on the cave. Semiprecious stones blinked at them from the walls. Water gurgled from a spring. Needle, remembering how she had felt when she first saw the song cave, decided there was no point in trying to tell Oakleaf anything much just yet. She pulled out two rolled-up Threadings from the stack against a wall, and spread them on the floor.

  “It’s so wonderful!” exclaimed Prince Oakleaf. “It’s beautiful!” His voice echoed from the high, arching roof. “Singing in here must sound amazing!”

  Needle ignored him. She went on unrolling Threadings—not that one—not that—not that—finally, after studying one with great care, she dragged it to the lantern.

  “Oakleaf,” she said, “do you know all the Threadings Code?”

  “Don’t you?” he said in surprise.

  “Of course I do,” said Needle, annoyed that he should ask. “I wanted to find out if you do.”

  “My mother used to teach it to us like a bedtime story,” said Oakleaf. He examined it with his head tipped to one side.

  “That looks like a circle,” he said, “and a boat.…Can we take them outside and look at them in the light? But let’s stay here for a minute. This place is so…so singable!”

  With a clear, tuneful voice, he began to sing. In spite of his excellent voice, Needle covered her ears. She wanted to tell him to stop, but she hadn’t the heart to. Sepia had sung here, when they came to search for the Heartstone. This was where she had brought the young choristers to rehearse. Suddenly and powerfully, pictures of her filled Needle’s head and heart—Sepia was everywhere, Sepia singing, Sepia surrounded by excited little animals, Sepia cradling a baby princess in her arms, Sepia struggling to the workrooms with her arms full of yellow gold velvet, Sepia loved by the whole island, Sepia swept away and lost.

  “Needle!” said Oakleaf. “You’re crying!”

  Urchin’s mind and heart were so full of Sepia that it was hard to concentrate on anything for long. Finally he noticed that he hadn’t seen Corr for a while, and supposed that he must be doing some task for Padra or the king. Urchin didn’t mind. He didn’t want company just now.

  The tree he had loved as a young squirrel was still standing, and he ran to the top to gaze over the island. Tide and Juniper were on the shore, their paws raised as if in blessing. Twirl was being escorted from the hilltop burrows by Urchin’s friend, Pitter the squirrel. Twirl looked no worse for her ordeal in the sea. Cedar and Catkin were climbing the stairs to the tower’s main door. Where would they all be without Sepia? The thought of her, alone, afraid, and perhaps injured, in a boat with no provisions, was appalling.

  His eyes stung. I couldn’t hold on to her. He revisited that scene, time after time, always wishing it could be different, just a tiny bit different, so that he could hold Sepia and Twirl and haul them both from the water. But it didn’t make any difference. I let her down.

  The tree rustled, and he looked down to see King Crispin leaping through the branches toward him. His first thought was that he wanted to be left alone, but at once he felt ashamed of that. He wasn’t the only animal hurt by the rage tide, and there was work to be done.

  “Do you have orders for me, sir?” he asked.

  “Have you seen your page lately?” Crispin asked.

  “No, Your Majesty,” confessed Urchin, and felt ashamed again. Corr was his responsibility.

  Crispin put a paw on his shoulder. “He’s gone to find her, Urchin,” he said. “Our Voyager has taken to the sea. His first quest.”

  “Heart speed him!” cried Urchin.

  “And, Urchin,” said Crispin, “you won’t find her by gazing at the mists. There are two young hedgehogs missing. Needle and Oakleaf are on the search, and I want you to join them. You’ll feel better when you have a job to do.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ORR HAD SWUM UNDER THE MISTS many times, but he had never realized that he was doing so. Deliberately rowing through them, with the soft white swirl leaving a film of shimmering drops on his fur, was very different. I am a Voyager, he told himself. The oars creaked and splashed steadily, as rhythmic as breathing. I am a Voyager—or at least, that’s what they’ve told me. I hope they’re right. He reminded himself that Urchin had needed to escape from the island once, and he had found a way to bring Crispin home—and it must have been harder for Urchin, who wasn’t a Voyager. Well, he would find a way to bring Sepia home. But it seemed as if he’d never get out of these mists, let alone back through them.

  He rowed until his arms ached and his paws were so stiff he could hardly uncurl his claws. It was hard to keep his sense of direction here, where the scents on the air were confusing, and there was nobody to ask for advice.

  In the safety of the hilltop chambers, small children chased each other in and out of Mother Huggen’s lines of washing. Moth told a story to those who would sit still and listen, but as three or four small boy squirrels were always trying to run up and down one wall, over the floor, up the opposite side, and across the ceiling without falling off, there were far too many distractions. A female hedgehog called Ruffle was supposed to help them but did nothing but huddle by the fire, and Mother Huggen would rather not have had her at all. Her cry of “can’t we go home yet?” was becoming irritating.

  “No, we can’t,” said Mother Huggen, and even she sounded grumpy as she folded washing and smoothed it away in baskets. “The otters say there might be another wave, so we have to stay here. Animals who live on high ground can go away, but Longpaw—Heart love him, he’s Sepia’s big brother—he says nobody can leave without permission from a member of the Circle. And you won’t get it from me.”

  “Nor me!” said Spade the mole, who was sitting beside her. “Pitter says she’ll take some of the little ones out to play, but they have to stay on this—” He stopped, his head on one side as he listened. Then he slid to the floor and lay there, his ear pressed to the ground.

  “Sh!” said Mother Huggen to the children. Presently, Spade got up.

  “It’s just the sound of the ground settling after the floods,” he said. “There’ll be a lot of that to come. Blooming floods. I thought it might be those young’uns we’re supposed to be looking for. Carry on, Mother Huggen.”

  “Whatever have they done with that Mossberry?” asked Mother Huggen. Ruffle the hedgehog, curled by the fire, looked up. “Last I knew he was in a burrow just along south of this one, and I didn’t feel happy having him so close.”

  “He’s in the tower,” said Spade. “They made a chamber into a cell for him. Can’t spare enough animals to guard him, though.”

  “Ruffle,” said Mother Huggen, “go out and hang up the next lot of washing, there’s a love.” Ruffle sprang to her paws at once, picked up the basket, and darted out from the burrow.

  “Looks as if she’s woken up at last,” observed Moth.

  Until the floods had drained and the ground had settled, very few animals were allowed near the shores and the tower, but Ruffle seemed determined to try. Captain Docken saw her hurrying through Anemone Wood toward the tower.

  “Heart keep you!” he said. “Where are you off to?”

  “Um—I—I’m going to—to the tower to see the queen, sir!” she stammered.

  “You won’t find the queen in there,” said Docken. “She’s staying at the burrows just now, with everyone else.”

  “Oh,” said Ruffle. There was an embarrassed pause; then with a shy smile she shuffled forward to go around him. “Still, as I’m here, I could go to see my auntie.”

  “And where does your auntie live?”

  “Oh, near the tower, sir. Very near.”

  “There’s no aunties near the tower just now, love, and no uncles, neither,” said Docken. “It’s all out of bounds. Your auntie will be in the burrows. When I come off duty, you come back with me and w
e’ll find her. Who’s your auntie? I might know her.”

  “Oh, she’ll be all right, sir,” said Ruffle quickly. “I’d better go.”

  Docken watched her go. Ruffle was probably harmless in herself, but he had a feeling that she was up to something. Why did she really want to get to the tower?

  Two animals who could always go to the tower, or more or less anywhere else they liked, were Urchin and Needle. In the workrooms, they spread out the Threading that Needle and Oakleaf had brought from the cave. In a room below, somebody was shouting and banging on the walls.

  “Is that him?” asked Urchin.

  “Mossberry? Yes,” said Needle, and pulled a face. “He can keep it up for hours. I wish they’d find somewhere else to put him. Padra says if we ignore him he’ll stop it, but it hasn’t worked yet.” She smoothed out the Threading. “Hope’s gone to bring Myrtle here.”

  Myrtle’s last piece of work had been a picture of Queen Cedar, sitting on a mossy stone in the wood with Mistmantle Tower in the background. Hope brought in Myrtle, who was drying her eyes on a pawful of moss.

  “Have you found Furtle and Ouch?” she asked, and sniffed.

  “Not yet,” said Needle. “We need you to help us. Can you tell me anything about this Threading?”

  “It’s Queen Cedar,” said Myrtle.

  “Yes, we know it’s Queen Cedar,” said Needle with great patience. “What we mean is, do you see anything in the picture that you didn’t put there?”

  “Will you look at it very carefully for us, please?” asked Prince Oakleaf.

  Myrtle finished drying her eyes and peered at the Threading. As it was lying on the floor she trotted around it a few times, stopping and starting and tipping her head to one side to look at it from different angles.