Urchin and the Rage Tide

by M. I. McAllister

  “I am the chosen Destroyer,” he muttered. He loved that title. He uncorked the heavy jar of oil and dragged it behind him, leaving a trail and sprinkling it with brandy.

  Start with the tower. It would be easy to set a fire in the kitchen, but outside he’d need the oil and brandy. He assembled dry leaves on the floor, struck the flints, and kindled it, blowing gently until a wisp of smoke curled upward and the twigs crackled. Some firewood had been stored on a high shelf, and was still dry. He fed the fire, then ran to leap from the window. The jagged pane gashed his shoulder and he twisted to lick the cut, but, standing outside in the late, cool air, he was proud of his wound. He began to walk around the tower, sprinkling oil and brandy like a sorcerer casting a spell.

  “Everyone out!” ordered Crispin. “I’ll search for Mossberry myself.”

  “The guards are already clearing the tower, Your Majesty,” said Scufflen.

  “Your Majesty—” began Padra.

  “Yes, Padra,” said Crispin. “Come with me. Juniper and I will need you. Docken, you, too. Urchin”—Urchin had dropped to one knee to ask to be allowed to help—“go…”

  “Father!” cried Catkin from the window. “Look!”

  Crispin darted to her side with all of them following. Urchin put his paw to his sword hilt.

  “It’s Mossberry,” said the king, leaning to look down. “He’s making a trail of something—looks as if it could be oil—and that looks like a bottle of spirits, probably brandy. And he has—it’s hard to see—yes, he has flints in his paws.” He turned to face them. “All of you, get down the tunnel the mole guards use, now. Mossberry won’t set the oil alight until he’s circled the tower completely. Get as far away as you can. Except you, Fingal, you go to the Spring Gate and swim to safety. The rest of you, down the tunnels. Yes, Urchin, you, too.”

  “Sir—”

  “Orders, Urchin!”

  Orders must be obeyed. Urchin and the other squirrels dashed along the corridor, looking for a tunnel.

  “This one’s flooded,” he said.

  “And this,” said the queen.

  “They all are,” said Catkin.

  “We’ll just have to take the walls,” said Cedar.

  They found a window, and ran down the walls. Queen Cedar sniffed the air.

  “Yes, it’s brandy,” she said.

  “It’ll go up like wildfire if he lights it,” said Urchin. “Everyone run for the burrows.”

  “Catkin, Oakleaf,” called the queen, “we’ll be needed at the burrows.”

  Urchin didn’t have to look around to sense the mutinous look on Catkin’s face.

  “The king and queen have both ordered you to go, Catkin,” he said. “Go. Those hedgehogs are still missing—keep a lookout for them on the way, it’s more urgent than ever that we find them.”

  “He’s right, Catkin,” said Prince Oakleaf, taking her paw and breaking into a run. “And it’s orders.” This time, Catkin didn’t resist. Queen Cedar looked over her shoulder. Urchin had not moved.

  “Urchin…” she said.

  “I’ll watch you safely out of sight,” he said. “The king ordered me to go. He didn’t order me not to return.”

  She didn’t argue. The other squirrels dashed for safety and Urchin ran around the side of the tower. A gust of wind caught him in the face and carried Mossberry’s voice to him.

  Mossberry had taken his place at the foot of the tower stairs. He had splashed brandy and oil on the ground, and thrown down dry kindling. High in his paws, he held the flints.

  From somewhere in the shadows, a hedgehog was running to Mossberry. Docken darted forward, but Mossberry held a flint in each hand as if he were about to strike a spark.

  “Keep away, Docken, traitor!” he shrieked. “Keep away! I am doing the Heart’s work! This tower and this island and I, too, will be offered up in flames!”

  “That’s Ruffle!” shouted Docken. “That hedgehog, that’s Ruffle! Ruffle, come here! It’s not safe!”

  But Ruffle wasn’t interested in anyone but Mossberry. With a sword in her paw she ran to him, threw herself at his paws, and clutched his ankles.

  “She’ll distract him,” said Crispin quietly. “This might give us a chance.”

  “Brother Mossberry, Master!” she cried. “Save us!”

  Mossberry glanced down at the wailing figure at his paws. At every noise behind him, he turned, raising the flints.

  “Get up,” he ordered her. “Stand at my back and guard me.”

  She stood back-to-back with him, brandishing the sword. “Save us!” she cried.

  “Trust me!” yelled Mossberry.

  “So now he has a hostage,” muttered Padra, “and somebody to watch his back. Has she any idea that he intends to send us all up in flames?”

  The rising wind whipped clouds across the sky. If it fanned a flame, the stair could be blazing in seconds. Light rose and fell over Mossberry’s wild face, over King Crispin, Padra, and Docken a little way off, over Juniper standing to one side.

  “Talk to me, Mossberry,” the king was saying calmly. “Tell me what the Heart tells you. Work with me, Mossberry.”

  “Keep away!” yelled Mossberry. “You evil slave to an evil queen!”

  “Come to me, Mossberry,” said Crispin gently. “The Heart loves you, and doesn’t want you to burn. Come to me.”

  Urchin was careful to watch Crispin and Mossberry, but from the corner of his eye he could see what Juniper was doing, too. Slowly, from the side, he was edging nearer to Mossberry.

  “It’s Juniper!” squeaked Ruffle.

  “Keep away, false priest!” yelled Mossberry. “I know you’re there!”

  An unmistakeable sound reached Urchin. It was the striking of flints. A spark flew into the air, and blew away on the wind.

  “Keep still!” Mossberry cried. “Don’t come near me!”

  “Come and talk to me,” called Crispin. “Come and explain to me, Mossberry. I’m listening to you.”

  Urchin knew that Mossberry hadn’t seen him. If he made a noise or ran, and distracted Mossberry’s attention, it might just give Crispin a chance to dash in and overpower him. But it might be a terrible mistake. Any diversion might scare Mossberry into striking the flints.

  Ruffle was watching straight ahead of her. Cautiously, Urchin stepped sideways.

  “Who’s there!” demanded Mossberry. “Who’s that?”

  Mossberry whirled around. A movement from Juniper caught Urchin’s eye, but it was too quick for him to see what was happening. Then Mossberry screamed with rage, the flints were on the ground, and Crispin and the captains were rushing in to disarm Ruffle and bring Mossberry to the ground. Urchin ran to join them.

  “Well done, Juniper!” said Padra.

  “What happened?” asked Urchin.

  “Lovely shot!” said Docken. “Help me hold him, Urchin, while I get my sword belt off to tie his paws. It was Brother Juniper. He always was the winner at skimming stones. Knocked the flints clean out of Mossberry’s paws.”

  “You gave me the chance, Urchin,” said Juniper. “He was distracted long enough for me to pick up the pebble and spin it. I knew I’d only get one chance.”

  “Treacherous, evil priest!” screamed Mossberry.

  “His mind’s so sick, he can’t tell good from bad,” said Crispin. “We’ll get him to the burrows. He’ll have to be kept tied and watched every moment.”

  “Oh, good!” said a voice. “I was hoping I’d get something useful to do!”

  Crispin glanced up.

  “Fingal,” he said, “I sent you to the Spring Gate.”

  “You didn’t tell me to stay there, Your Majesty!” said Fingal. He strode toward them, the silver bracelet gleaming on his wrist, and a bag over his shoulder. “I needed to get to safety, I just thought I’d come this way. By the way, I taught Juniper to skim stones.”

  “That’s true, Your Majesty,” said Juniper.

  “Otters!” exclaimed Crispin.

  �
�Up into the hills, then,” said Padra. “We’ve wasted enough time.” A gust of wind whipped the cloaks around them as they helped Mossberry and Ruffle to their paws and turned to walk into the safety of the hills.

  “Don’t hurt him!” cried Ruffle.

  “Nobody’s going to hurt him,” said Crispin, “or you, Ruffle. Are you harmed? Tell me where you got the sword from and I’ll put it back.”

  “Plague and curses on every one of you!” wailed Mossberry. “I call down curses on—”

  “How many points for plagues and curses?” asked Fingal. He took something from the bag and popped it into Mossberry’s mouth. “Eat that and be quiet.”

  “What is it?” asked Crispin as they walked.

  “Toffee,” he said. “Crackle makes it and it’s really good. Well, I thought, the storerooms will either flood or catch fire, and if Mossberry very sensibly rescued the brandy, I should rescue the toffee on my way out. Don’t worry too much about kitchens, sir, they’re sure to be flooded in no time. It would be a crime to let it be swept away to sea. Wouldn’t be good for the fishes. Anyone else want a toffee?”

  “Urchin,” said Crispin, “find my family, please, and make sure they’re safe. Fingal, haven’t you always been told? Always show courtesy to an animal who can’t defend himself.” But from the tightness of his voice and the quickness of his speech, Urchin knew that, in spite of the situation or perhaps because of it, the king wanted to laugh. He bowed, and ran off in search of Cedar.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  S NIGHT FELL, the wind grew stronger and colder. Urchin worked his way uphill, wrapping his cloak around him. The swishing of the sea below usually sounded like a mother shushing a child. Now it was snarling. Scrabbling uphill, leaping over fallen branches, he ran on. Trees swayed and creaked, and Urchin swerved to avoid an ancient birch tree as the trunk bent and splintered. Tail and paws outstretched, he ran until the sound of voices far off made him stop.

  He sat up to listen, his ears twitching, distracted by the screeching wind and groaning trees. The voices were coming from farther uphill on his right, and he followed the sound—the queen’s voice and the tearful whimpering of a young squirrel. He dashed at full stretch toward them.

  “It’s Urchin!” called Whittle. “Over here, Urchin!”

  As he drew nearer, he could see what was happening. A tree had fallen, and a small squirrel, squeaking in fear and distress, lay trapped underneath a huge and heavy branch.

  “Twirl!” he said. It was the little chorister Sepia had rescued that night. Catkin, Whittle, Oakleaf, and Cedar were there; Queen Cedar talked to the squirrel as the others heaved at the branch.

  “Urchin, you’re just the animal we need,” said the queen. Her paws and fur were smeared with mud, and she held firmly to Twirl’s paw. “We have to move this tree, quickly, and it’s solid. There’s no time to look for an ax to cut it.”

  Urchin joined the others in heaving at the splintered branch, but it wouldn’t move.

  “Why weren’t you in a burrow, Twirl?” he asked.

  “I just came out for a little look,” she said, her voice high and tight. “I thought the wind might blow Sepia home. I want her to come home.”

  “So do I,” said Urchin. “And if she were here she’d want you to be warm and safe in a burrow. After three, everybody heave. One—two—THREE!”

  The branch moved a little and Twirl tried to wriggle free, but it wasn’t enough. Straining with all their might they tried again, but it was no use.

  “It’s not going to move, Your Majesty,” said Urchin. “We could scrabble the earth away from around Twirl and underneath her.”

  “We’ll have to take care how we do it,” said Queen Cedar. “There might be people sheltering underneath, but only an inch or two might make all the difference. She’s little, she might be able to wriggle out. One more try. Come around this end. The leverage might be better.”

  This time, the branch moved a little more. Twirl shrieked.

  “Stop!” cried the queen. “It’s hurting her. Right, Urchin, we’ll get digging. Just a little at a time.”

  “Catkin, come on this side with me,” said Urchin. He and Catkin dug the earth free at one side and Whittle and Oakleaf at the other, while Queen Cedar scraped at the soil around Twirl’s head.

  “Can you shuffle to your left a bit, Twirl?” the queen was saying. She was still calm for Twirl’s sake, but Urchin knew that the time was short. “A bit farther. Good girl. I think we can get you out now. Now, all of you, just get your paws under the branch and lift it as much as you can. Ready?”

  With all their strength, the squirrels hoisted the branch upward. It was too heavy to lift more than a few inches, but it gave Cedar the room she needed to slip her paws under Twirl’s shoulders and pull.

  “She’s still not free,” said Cedar, “but she’s moving. Hold on to the branch.”

  Twirl was pushing her feet against the earth, trying to heave her way out. There was sweat in Urchin’s fur, and pain burned in his shoulders. Catkin’s paws were shaking.

  “Deep breaths, Catkin,” he gasped.

  “And…out!” cried the queen in triumph as, with a heave and a wriggle, Twirl was free. “Well done, everyone!” They dropped the branch with a rustling crash, and the queen helped Twirl to stand up, brushing dust and debris from her fur. “Now, everyone into the burrows! Twirl, take my paw!”

  “Oh!” squeaked Twirl. The queen was already reaching for her paw, but it was too late. Twirl had vanished.

  “The ground gave way!” cried the queen.

  “Ouch!” said Twirl from underground.

  “Oh!” said a little voice. “Hello!”

  Furtle and Ouch had no idea that the play palace had crumbled behind them. After much wandering underground, eating worms, and getting lost, they had found a pleasant little burrow. It even had bedding in it. There were biscuits, but they looked old and not very nice, and they agreed that they’d rather have fresh earwigs than stale biscuits. They enjoyed a supper of beetles, and Furtle had been wondering whether to go farther or settle down for the night. It looked cozy. In fact, she was just thinking of shaping the bedding into a comfortable nest around Ouch and telling him a story when Twirl fell through the roof.

  Looking up, Furtle saw a lot of anxious faces looking down at them. There was a lady squirrel who had dirt on her face, but she looked so kind and so like somebody’s mommy that Furtle realized all of a sudden how much she missed her own mother. It was as if she hadn’t missed her until now, but now several days’ worth of missing rushed on her at once.

  “This looks like one of Linty’s hiding places!” said Urchin.

  Cedar dropped into the burrow. “I’m Queen Cedar,” she said. “Are you Furtle?”

  “Yes,” said Furtle, “and this is my brother Spirtle—we call him Ouch…and we want our mommy.” Then they both began to cry, quietly at first, then very loudly.

  “Come with us and we’ll find her,” said the queen gently. She lifted one tearful hedgehog, then another up to the waiting arms of Urchin and Catkin. Finally, she lifted Twirl to the surface. “Oakleaf, give me a paw up, please.”

  “Just in time,” she whispered as they pulled her out. “After the tree fell, the entire roof would have caved in. Let’s get them to a safe place quickly, and hold on tightly to their paws so they can’t lose themselves again. Oakleaf, run ahead, find a messenger—let everyone know they’re found. Tell them to look out for the search party.” She bent down to Twirl. “Sweetheart, are you badly hurt?”

  “I can walk,” she said, but a sudden gust nearly blew her over. Urchin took off his cloak and wrapped it around her, and the wind, sharp as knives, cut him to the bone. He reached down into the burrow, brought out the blankets, and wrapped them around Furtle and Ouch. With the queen and Whittle carrying a hedgehog each, and Twirl on Urchin’s back, they all bent their heads against the storm and struggled uphill.

  By the time they reached the burrows, news that Furtle and Ouch w
ere safe had spread among the crammed animals. Lanterns were lit at all the entrances to welcome them. Paws reached out to receive them. Furtle and Ouch’s parents had been sent for, and a rush of little girl squirrels ran to meet Twirl.

  “Keep an eye on her, Catkin,” advised the queen. “She’s already been rescued twice.”

  “They’ve got a lovely fire going in there,” said Whittle. “Urchin, aren’t you coming to get warm?”

  “In a moment,” said Urchin. The wind was merciless, but he felt he couldn’t face the chattering excitement in the burrows just now. Mistmantle animals could make anything into a party—even though they were squashed into hilltop burrows in a crisis, they had begun to sing. There would be hot spiced drinks soon. Somebody would find currants for Furtle and Ouch.

  Behind him something roared, and as he turned, the wind threw him against the hillside, knocking the breath out of him. The second wave! The sea roared, surged, and lifted, as if the waves, goaded to fury, had reared up on their hind legs to leap on Mistmantle and tear it to pieces. Over trees, rock, and moss, the second wave crashed and broke into wild spray. Higher and higher it rose, crashing over homes, flinging down trees before it. As he watched, the sea overwhelmed his island, while behind him the animals laughed, sang, hugged each other, and passed hot drinks around. Rain lashed into his face, and he pulled his hood closer.

  “Urchin!” called a voice. “In here!”

  “Juniper!” said Urchin. “How did you get here?”

  “We’ve secured Mossberry under extra guards in the highest burrow, and the king said we should come down here. Urchin, you’ve had enough for one day. Get in here.”

  Juniper took his arm and pulled him into a simple, bare chamber hollowed out from the hillside. At once, everything around him was still. A few candles burned and, slowly, a kind of peace settled in Urchin’s heart. He couldn’t be happy knowing that Sepia, if she were alive, must be at the mercy of that wild sea, but he could at least be quiet. He longed for the sanctuary of the Chamber of Candles or Juniper’s turret. Those places were out of reach now, but he was glad to be in this still place with its earth-smelling walls and candlelight. Suddenly, he was so tired.