Urchin and the Rage Tide

by M. I. McAllister

  As they walked down to the bay, Urchin saw how right Fingal had been about the mess. Trees had fallen, some onto burrows, leaving scattered nests. Broken plates and bottles lay where the storm had thrown them. Hedgehogs were clambering up and down the rocks, gathering up furniture to be repaired and clearing away debris. Tide, Swanfeather, and other otters were swimming to the shore with pots and pans, cloaks and crockery, rescued from the sea. Fionn sat in a rock pool, happily playing with her pet frog. Servants scuttled up and down the main stair of the tower with mops and buckets. Faces appeared at windows. Hope’s eager face looked out from Juniper’s turret, and he sniffed at the window boxes.

  “He won’t fall out, will he?” asked Urchin.

  “No, he’s perfectly safe,” said Juniper. “He knows what he’s doing. I should go and help him.”

  “And I should be helping to get the tower back together,” said Urchin. “I don’t suppose the Spring Gate’s dried out yet, but I should go and see what the damage is.”

  “And I should get out there with the otters,” said Fingal. “Race you down—what’s that? Urchin, look!”

  “Where am I supposed to be looking?” asked Urchin.

  “Out to sea!” said Fingal. “Right out against the mists!”

  They watched. The bobbing head of an otter drew gradually nearer. They began to make guesses and tried not to, because it probably wasn’t—

  “It is!” cried Urchin. “It’s Corr! Tell the king!” And he ran as he had never run in his life.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  INGAL PUSHED OUT HIS BOAT and rowed out to collect Corr—And tell him to keep his head down in the boat, Crispin had ordered. We don’t want all the island thronging around him. Bring him in quietly, by the Spring Gate.

  By the time Fingal’s boat came ashore, a small number of animals had been summoned discreetly to the Throne Room. King Crispin was there, Queen Cedar, Princess Catkin, Docken, Arran and Padra, Juniper, Urchin, and Needle. They waited nervously, nobody saying much, until otter steps were heard in the corridor and Padra opened the door for Fingal and Corr.

  “Well done, Corr,” he said, putting a paw around Corr’s shoulders. “Come to the king.”

  Urchin knew that if Corr had to go straight to the king, he must not interrupt. But his heart went out with care and gratitude to his page, who looked so worn, thinner than he had been, with weariness and the signs of hardship on his face. But there was a look about him, too, that Urchin had not see before. He looked, not only more grown-up, but wiser and stronger. There was a new nobility in Corr as he knelt before the king.

  “Welcome home to Mistmantle, dearest Corr, brave Voyager, and well done,” said the king, and raised him. “There is food and wine here for you, and we will hear your news.”

  “I’ve found Sepia, Your Majesties,” he said, and, to the gasps of joy from every animal, glanced over his shoulder at Urchin. “She’s very ill, sir, but she’s alive.”

  Urchin put his paws over his eyes, aware of the press of Padra’s paw on his shoulder. She’s alive. Nothing else matters. She’s alive. Needle hugged him.

  “I’ve brought her as far as the mists,” said Corr, “but I can’t get her any farther—and she’s very ill, Your Majesties.”

  “But alive!” said Crispin.

  Urchin’s mouth was dry, and he could hear his heart beating hard and fast. “How ill, Corr?” he asked.

  “Tell us everything, Corr,” said the king.

  Corr told them, being as quick as he could without leaving anything out. When he came to the part about the Fire Island, the queen leaned forward, her claws clasped together and her face sharply attentive.

  “We’ve kept her alive with water and honey, and something made out of mendingmoss,” he said. “But the mists won’t let us through, Your Majesty, and Crown won’t be able to fly himself over, let alone Sepia. He’s stayed with her; he’s looking after her now.”

  “Then, Corr, you’ve done all you can for now,” said Crispin, “and done it well. Take refreshment. Then, I’m afraid, we must ask you to set out again. Row to Swan Isle and ask, for the sake of Mistmantle, for another swan to come and carry her home.”

  “Pardon me, Your Majesty,” said Corr. “They were all in a bad way when I was there, and that was before the second wave. I don’t know if we could find one who could do it, especially one who could carry two—and Sepia couldn’t go alone. She couldn’t even hold on to a swan, not the way she is now.”

  “There isn’t time to find out,” said Cedar. “I’m sorry, Crispin. Corr, you said that when you found Sepia on Ashfire she was already ill?”

  “Yes, madam,” said Corr. “I thought it might just be hunger and thirst, but she still shudders and cries out.” Needle held Urchin’s paw tightly.

  “And”—Urchin noticed that the queen’s claws were clasped very tightly now—“had she drunk any of the water there? Did you bring any of that water with you?”

  “We didn’t need to, Your Majesty,” he said. “We had plenty of fresh water with us. There was a stream on the island, but I don’t know if she ever drank from it.”

  “She did,” said the queen firmly. “I guessed it, as soon as you mentioned the island.”

  “Is it poisoned?” asked Crispin.

  Urchin couldn’t move or speak. No, no, no, filled his head. Needle folded both her paws over his. Across the room he felt Juniper’s strong, steady gaze.

  The queen took a deep breath, and sighed. “I can’t remember much about the island,” she said, “but I know what I was told by my parents, and”—she glanced at Urchin—“by Almond of Whitewings. Ashfire water is dangerous to all living things who don’t come from there. Whatever poison it contains, Fire Islanders are born immune to it. I could drink it, it wouldn’t do me any harm. But Sepia couldn’t.”

  “Will she die, Your Majesty?” asked Urchin. He had to know the worst.

  “There is a cure,” said Cedar, “but it will take more than a day to infuse. The water and honey that Corr and Crown are giving her have kept her on this side of death, but I don’t know how much longer that will work. I can prepare a drink for her that will give her my immunity, so she can fight back, but it takes time to become strong enough. We need to keep her alive until it’s ready—then we must either get Sepia to the medicine, or the medicine to Sepia.”

  “I’ll take it as soon as it’s ready!” said Corr.

  “Thank you, Corr,” said the queen, “but sooner or later, we have to get her back. If she’s as weak as you say, she needs the best care we can give her. Excuse me. I’ll start making the infusion at once.”

  “Can I help?” asked Urchin.

  “Bring a pitcher of water from the Spring Gate,” she said briskly. “Bring it to the royal chambers, as quickly as you can.”

  It was like being a page again. Urchin dashed to the kitchens, grabbed a pitcher, waded through floodwater to fill it, and ran back up the stairs. The queen was kindling a fire in the hearth. Small colored glass bottles were lined up beside her, and he watched her heat the water in a saucepan, adding a drop of this, a sprinkling of that, and a spoonful of something with a strong, warm scent. There was angelica in it, he could smell that. Not wanting to break her concentration he stayed still and silent, watching, desperately wanting to help.

  “The blue bowl from the cupboard beside you, Urchin,” she said, not taking her eyes from the saucepan.

  Urchin took the blue bowl and set it down beside her.

  “Hold the pan,” she said. “It’s just about hot enough.”

  Urchin took the handle and held the saucepan steadily over the fire. Cedar, still watching it, pinched a tuft of fur on her arm. With a sharp twist and a tug she had pulled it out, and dropped it into the blue bowl. A little pink patch showed on her arm.

  “Your Majesty!” cried Urchin.

  “It’s only fur,” she said. She tweaked out another tuft, this time from her shoulder, and dropped that, too, into the bowl.

  “Nearly r
eady now,” she said. “Now pour the infused water over the fur until it’s halfway up the side of the bowl.”

  Urchin poured it. The tufts of fur floated to the top. The queen stirred it, pressing them down with the back of the spoon.

  “Is that it?” asked Urchin.

  “Not quite,” she said. “It needs to mature, and I’ll have to keep adding to it. If she isn’t back on the island by the time it’s ready, Corr can take it out to her, but I’d rather have her here. She needs nursing.”

  “Will it need more of your own fur?” he asked.

  “Maybe,” she said. “It’s because I’m a native Ashfire Islander, so from tail to ear tufts I carry immunity. Something in me can fight the poisons in the water. By using my fur, I’m passing on my protection to Sepia.”

  Here, at last, was something important he could do for Sepia. “Use my fur, too!” he said. “My mother was a Ashfire Islander, so I must be immune!”

  She did not answer at once. “Please, Your Majesty!” he said. “I’m safely on the island, Sepia’s out beyond the mists and she could die. This is the only thing I can do for her, to make a difference!” But he could see from her eyes that it wasn’t so simple. He resented it. He didn’t want to be told that he was no use.

  “I’m sorry, Urchin,” said Cedar. “It wouldn’t work with your fur. Your father came from Whitewings, and this only works with pure Ashfire fur. If we can get it into her she stands a reasonable chance of recovery, as long as Corr and Crown can keep her alive until it’s ready.”

  “Then I’ll go to her,” said Urchin. “I can take her water from the spring, and cordials.”

  “No, don’t,” said the queen, so firmly that he knew it would be a mistake to argue. “You know perfectly well that you’ve left the island twice, and nobody’s ever returned a third time. How would it be if we got Sepia back, but not you?”

  Urchin didn’t want this to make sense, but it did. He bowed as the king came into the chamber.

  “Pray and wait,” said the queen. “I know waiting is hard, but sometimes it’s all we can do.”

  “We don’t have time to wait!” insisted Urchin.

  The king sat down. He looked solemn, but calmer than he had been for some time.

  “The important thing is that we know where she is,” he said. “There is more happening now than any of us fully understand. The Heart will not fail us. Wait, Urchin. It won’t be for long.”

  Urchin nodded and, as he did so, caught sight of the bracelet on his wrist. He pulled at the knot with his claws, but it was tied tightly and would not be undone, so he plucked at the hairs.

  “What are you doing?” asked the king.

  “Urchin!” said Cedar. “Your mother’s fur!”

  “Yes,” said Urchin. “She was pure Ashfire Islander, wasn’t she? Won’t her fur work in the medicine? Cedar, can you get a few strands out for me without spoiling it?”

  With great care, not wanting to spoil the precious bracelet, Cedar pulled out a few hairs and dropped them into the pan. “That’ll help,” she said. “Another layer of immunity can only do good, and it may speed up the process.”

  The hairs had darkened and coarsened over the years. Urchin watched as she crushed them into the medicine.

  “Thank you, Urchin,” she said. “Now that’s all you can do.”

  It was something, at least, and better than feeling helpless. He felt he had given part of himself for Sepia’s healing.

  “Shall I at least row as far as the mists?” he urged. “Then as soon as she does get through—and she will, won’t she?—I’ll be there to meet her and bring her home.”

  “No, Urchin, you may not,” said Crispin firmly, and there was something in his voice—sorrow and peace at the same time—that Urchin couldn’t understand. “I know that’s not what you want to hear, but you will be needed here before she gets back. If she does get through, the otters will be fighting for the chance to bring her boat in, and woodland animals would only be in the way. Go and see what Oakleaf’s doing, please.”

  There was no point in arguing, but Urchin yearned to do something to help Sepia. He bowed and left reluctantly, knowing that the king probably wasn’t at all concerned about what Oakleaf was doing. It was just a considerate way of dismissing him. Oakleaf was doing what most of the young squirrels were doing, cleaning up the wreckage of the tower. Urchin went to the bay Fingal had told him of, where soft white swansdown lay in foamy drifts on the dark damp sand, and carried armfuls of the feathers up to the workrooms. Hedgehogs, struggling up the stairs with Threadings in their arms, stood to one side to let him through.

  Sepia would either be home soon, or—he had to face the truth— she would be dead. If she lived, she would have the softest pillow the island could give her. Needle, repairing a damaged Threading, saw him coming.

  “Any more news?” she asked. Urchin told her of the conversation with the queen, and about the medicine that could save Sepia’s life. “Then Crispin came in,” he said. “There’s something different about him.”

  “There’s been something different about him for a long time,” said Needle.

  “A new sort of different,” said Urchin, and Needle shrugged.

  “I think it’s his old wound,” she said. “He doesn’t want anyone to see that it hurts.”

  “Everyone says that,” said Urchin irritably. “It’s more than that. He makes me uneasy.”

  “Well, you’re making me uneasy, so stop it,” snapped Needle. “What are those feathers for?”

  “Can you make a pillow?” he asked. “Or—it might be better—help me to make one?”

  Needle stretched up to a shelf, pulled down a length of soft white cotton, and unfurled it so that it floated in the air before settling on her table. “That’ll do to make a pillowcase,” she said. “We’ve got some lace I can put around it.”

  “That’ll be wonderful,” said Urchin.

  “And I can put lavender in it,” said Needle. “It’s for Sepia, isn’t it? She’ll sleep better with lavender.”

  “I’ll get it,” he said. “There’ll still be some in Juniper’s window boxes.” Sepia might die, but he needed to behave as if she’d live. He ran up to Juniper’s tower. But he heard voices—Juniper’s and the king’s—so he ran back down again. He mustn’t interrupt them.

  Crispin sat where he had so often sat before, opposite Juniper, on a low stool in the priest’s chamber, which had hardly changed since Brother Fir’s time. It was still simply furnished, clean and airy, with logs in the hearth and a saucepan for heating cordials. A shawl that had belonged to Juniper’s foster mother, Damson, lay across the bed. Crispin held a cup of berry cordial in his paws, and was turning it around and around. He was taking in every detail of the chamber, as he did with so many things these days.

  “The queen believes that Sepia can’t hold out much longer against the effects of the poison,” he said. “It’s only what Corr and Crown are doing that can keep her alive, and they might not be able to keep her going until it’s ready—and it certainly won’t be ready today. The water, honey, and mendingmoss are just helping her to hold on to life, but they can’t make her better. What we really need is to get her through the mists. As soon as possible isn’t enough. It has to be sooner than possible.”

  “And if we can’t?” said Juniper.

  “We could put the medicine in a bottle and give it to Corr to take to her. But the medicine isn’t enough. She’s so weak that she’ll need good nursing care for a long time afterward. She’ll need warmth, rest, good feeding, and ideally, Cedar. We have to get her home. I thought of a way, but it doesn’t seem to fit.”

  Juniper’s gaze rested on the velvet bag still around Crispin’s neck.

  “Are you thinking of the Heartstone?” he asked.

  “I’m trying not to think of the Heartstone,” admitted Crispin. “Let’s look at the facts. Husk tried to get rid of it by sending it away, but it kept returning to Mistmantle until it returned forever. When it finall
y did come home, you, Urchin, Cedar, and Lugg came with it. The Heartstone brought you through the mists. It could bring Sepia, too. But it’s not that simple, is it?”

  “No, it isn’t,” said Juniper. “The Heartstone is far deeper and more complex that any of us can ever know.”

  “I couldn’t help wondering,” said Crispin thoughtfully, “if we kept the Heartstone in its bag so that Corr could take it, he could row the boat home with her in it, and put it around her neck, so that she’d get through. Simple. But it’s as if there’s something I’m not seeing.”

  “Oh, yes,” said Juniper as if he were talking to the empty grate. “There is.” He looked up into the king’s eyes. “It’s the Heartstone, Your Majesty, not a magnet. Sepia once came to me to tell me about something she’d done. It’s not something I’d normally tell you, but in the circumstances, and in the strictest confidence, I will. That night when she rescued Catkin, she came up here intending to take the Heartstone so that she could be sure of getting them both back safely.”

  “Sepia did that!” exclaimed Crispin.

  “Yes, Sepia,” said Juniper. “She was afraid of being carried off through the mists and she knew that the Heartstone had brought Urchin and me home, so she thought it would do the same for her. But she never got a paw to it. Brother Fir woke up, and she told him what she meant to do. He was very understanding, the way he was about most things.”

  “Yes,” said Crispin. “He would be. But it’s hard to believe that Sepia did that.”

  “There you are,” said Juniper. “You know in your heart that it’s not an acceptable thing to do. Sepia had to learn that the Heartstone isn’t something we can use, or just pass from paw to paw. It’s not a magic charm or a tool to get us through the mists. We have to treat it with respect. It’s a gift, but a powerful one. We don’t have the right to make use of it.”

  Crispin finished the cordial and put down the cup. His paw rested on the familiar shape of the sword hilt at his side, and it occurred to him that it was a long time since he’d had a fencing match with Urchin. It would be good to do that again.