Urchin and the Rage Tide

by M. I. McAllister

  “I was all right, really,” said Needle, “and then I thought—I’ll have to make a Threading of…of Crispin, and he was so…” Her voice was drowned in tears, and Hope reached for fresh petals.

  “So she came up here,” said Hope. “I’ll look after her. And I’ve asked a mole to find my mum, because she’ll look after her, too. She always has done. So Needle’s all right, Urchin.” He removed a petal that seemed to have stuck to his claw. “What the king did was right, and it’s sad, but it’s good. You can sort of be very happy and very sad at the same time.”

  Urchin wasn’t sure how this made sense, but he didn’t want to ask questions about it now.

  “I’ve come for some lavender from the window boxes,” he said. “I don’t suppose Juniper will mind.”

  “I’m sure he won’t,” said Hope. “Especially if it’s for Sepia.”

  “She doesn’t know about Crispin yet,” said Needle. “It might be best coming from you.”

  Urchin leaned from the window to take a few stems of the mauve lavender, breathing in the sharp, sweet scent. Thripple was arriving at the turret as he ran down to Sepia’s chamber and knocked at the door, which was opened by the mole maid.

  “Miss Sepia’s already—oh!” she said, and curtsied. “Captain Urchin, sir! Miss Sepia already has a visitor, but I should think it’ll be all right for you to come in, seeing as it’s you.”

  Urchin looked past her and could see nothing but flowers, bright in the sunlight that filtered through the windows. There were pink and white roses, pale bluebells, trailing honeysuckle—so many flowers had been brought that a bower seemed to have grown around Sepia. A small squirrel peeped around from behind a sunflower, squeaked in surprise, and curtsied.

  “Hello, Twirl!” he said.

  “Urchin!” said a weak voice from the bed.

  A tingle of silver ran from Urchin’s ear tufts to his clawtips. It had been so, so long since he had heard Sepia say his name! It was like the taste of the first fresh berries after a long winter. As he stepped through the ranks of flowers he saw that she was sitting up, propped on the swansdown pillow with her ear tufts brushed and her claws clean and trimmed. Her face was still thin, but her expression was brightly, truly, thoroughly Sepia again. She held out her paws and he kissed her gently on the cheek, almost afraid of hurting her.

  “Look at Twirl!” she said. “She’s safe!”

  Of course she was safe, but Sepia hadn’t known that until now. She had known nothing of what had happened on the island since the night of the first rage tide. Twirl managed a nervous twitch of a smile at Urchin as if afraid that he would be angry with her for putting Sepia in danger all those lifetimes ago—or that was what it seemed like—when the rage tide had struck.

  “Yes, you both survived,” said Urchin. “And you were both worth saving. I’m glad you’re all right, Twirl.”

  “Twirl made me a bracelet,” said Sepia, and held up her paw to show a rattly little shell bracelet on her wrist. “Isn’t it beautiful? Urchin, what’s happened to your bracelet? It looks different—it hasn’t been torn or anything, has it?”

  “I’ll tell you later,” said Urchin. “Twirl, sweetheart, will you run to the pages’ room beside the kitchens and see if there are any vases left, to put this lavender in?”

  Delighted to be doing an errand for both Sepia and the new captain, Twirl ran from the room. Urchin sat on the bed.

  “Urchin,” said Sepia, “what is it that everyone’s not telling me? They all disappeared this morning for some meeting or other, all except two mole maids and they just said they didn’t know anything about anything. Now everyone looks solemn—everyone except Twirl—and I could hear crying. Has somebody died? Nobody’s telling me anything. I don’t even know how I got home. The last thing I remember I was in a cave, and everything hurt. What’s happening?”

  He would rather have put it off until she was stronger—but if she wanted so much to be told, he must tell her. He took her paws and told her all about Corr and Crown’s rescue of her, and, at last, of the prophecy and of what Crispin had done. Then he held her while she wept.

  “He shouldn’t have done that for me,” she sobbed. “Tell me again it was for the island, not just me. Not for me.”

  “For the island, and for you,” said Urchin. “That’s how precious you are. And you know—knew—Crispin. Nobody could have stopped him. Not even you.”

  When her family arrived, he left her. Anything else he had to say to her could wait until tomorrow, after a night that would bring more healing rest for her and a long night’s vigil for him.

  Prince Oakleaf climbed the hill to the burrow where Mossberry was held securely under guard. Before he reached it he heard sobbing.

  Mole guards stood on either side of the entrance. Between them, lying on the ground, sobbing, was Ruffle the hedgehog. Oakleaf knelt to put a paw on her head.

  “Has nobody tried to comfort her?” he asked.

  “Tried, sir,” said a mole. “There’s no comforting her. She never leaves that spot.”

  “Ruffle,” said the prince. “I’m Prince Oakleaf. Don’t be afraid, nobody’s angry. Nobody’s going to punish you. Will you talk to me?” When she did not reply, he went on, “Tell me about Mossberry.”

  She sat up, drying her eyes, and he thought he had never seen an animal look so wretched. Her eyes were small and red with crying, and her spines seemed limp.

  “It’s not his fault, sir,” she said. “He just went a bit all wrong at the end of things, sir. He’s not well.”

  “And he won’t be, until he learns to take his medicine, sir,” said the mole. “You can go in, sir, but he’s already got visitors.”

  “He doesn’t still have any followers, apart from this one, does he?” asked Oakleaf in surprise.

  “Oh, no.” The mole grinned. “Not followers, sir.” He opened the door.

  Mossberry sat huddled in a corner of his cell, hugging his knees, rocking, staring at nothing. Opposite him, wrapped in their warm woolen cloaks, with a basket between them, sat Apple and Filbert. They sprang up and bowed when Oakleaf came in.

  “Evening, sir!” said Apple. “Sir, I’m heart sorry about your father, we both are, aren’t we, Filbert? Never was a better squirrel on all the island.” She turned to Mossberry. “Look at this, Mossberry, look who’s come to see you!”

  Mossberry did not even look at Oakleaf.

  “He’s like this all the time, sir,” said Apple in what was meant to be a whisper. “But Filbert says to me, that Mossberry’s sick in his mind, has been for a long time, and he’s done terrible harm, but he’s sick in his mind, and he’s still an animal with four paws same as the rest of us, and he deserves kindness, so our Filbert came up here to give him a bit of company, bit of conversation, few biscuits, berries, nice drop of my homemade cordial. We come in most evenings, just for a little while, so he has company.”

  “We’ll be off now you’re here, sir,” said Filbert. “So sorry about the king.”

  Their kindness left Oakleaf almost speechless. He struggled to find the words.

  “You are so good,” he said. “One of the things my father loved about being king was meeting animals with hearts as good as yours. I wish he could see this.”

  “You’re welcome, Your Highness,” said Filbert.

  “Wouldn’t any animal do the same for any other poor animal, Prince Oakleaf, Heart love you,” said Apple, wrapping her shawl about her. “And you’re just like your poor father, Heart love him, except there weren’t nothing poor about him.”

  “No,” he said. “There wasn’t.” When they had gone, he took their place.

  “Mossberry,” he said, “you need help. You can have it, if you want it.”

  He stayed for a while, getting no answer, and no indication that Mossberry had even heard him. Wondering what was going on behind those staring eyes, he left. Perhaps the queen and Juniper could help Mossberry, or the patient kindness of Apple and Filbert, but he seemed beyond all else. Ruf
fle was still at the door when Oakleaf left.

  “Ruffle,” he said gently, “go home.”

  “No, sir,” she said. “I want to help him.”

  “You can’t help him like this,” he said. “Go home, sleep, have a good meal. You need to.”

  “Do as His Highness says,” said the guard mole.

  “And then,” he said, “go to the tower, after the king’s funeral. Talk to my mother and Juniper. They are good animals, whatever Mossberry told you. Together, you can all help Mossberry.”

  “If she won’t, she won’t, sir,” said one of the moles.

  Oakleaf left, feeling that he had done all he could. But perhaps there was hope. There seemed to be a new feeling about the island, as if more were possible than they had ever dreamed of. He turned around once more and saw Ruffle sitting up, rubbing her face, and accepting a biscuit from one of the moles.

  From sunrise, animals came to say their farewells to King Crispin. The Gathering Chamber windows were open, and a cool breeze brought the freshness of the sea into the chamber. Apple came in, dabbing at her eyes, supported by Filbert. Thripple and Needle came, leading Myrtle and Furtle and carrying Ouch, who was too young to understand much. Furtle asked to be lifted up so she could see the king.

  “What’s your best memory of him, Needle?” asked Thripple.

  Needle thought about this. “I don’t know,” she said at last. “There were so many good times. What about you?”

  “When he first came back to Mistmantle,” said Thripple promptly. “There was no more forced labor, no more need to hide Hope away. He set us all free, and Hope was able to stay with me after that. He remembered who I was, too. That afternoon, I made bark boats for Hope and we felt so free at last.”

  Myrtle’s head was full of stars and flowers. She had no idea whether or not they meant anything, but she knew she’d put them in her next Threading.

  Fingal took his place at the corner of the bier. He tried hard not to think of Crispin in case he broke down and wept, but he could not suppress the memory of breakfast in the Throne Room with Crispin, as if they had been old friends, and fighting by his side soon afterward. He remembered the king’s warmth and kindness and it made him smile, not weep. At the foot of the bier, Lord Crown of Swan Isle spread his wings and lowered his head.

  “King Crispin taught me of two sorts of kingship,” he said. “The king who wants the island to serve him and die for him, and the king who chooses to serve and die for his island. I will follow King Crispin’s way, though it is not the way of my ancestors.”

  When the other animals were gone, Oakleaf, Catkin, and Cedar approached Crispin one at a time.

  “I’ll do my best,” said Oakleaf. “I won’t let you down, Father.”

  “You haven’t really left me, have you?” said Catkin. “You’ll always help me. You must. You knew what to do, and I don’t.”

  The queen kissed him and said, “Thank you for every moment. Thank you, Crispin of Mistmantle.”

  Hope and Juniper stood in the Chamber of Candles, their hearts too full to speak. And, in the royal chambers, Mother Huggen lifted little Princess Almondflower onto her lap.

  “There was once a brave young squirrel,” she began, rocking her, “so bright and brave that he was soon made a captain, and his name was Crispin. He was a fine captain, and so was his friend Padra, who was an otter. But there was a third captain, and his name was Husk.…”

  Padra lay on his back in the sea, floating and watching the stars. He felt closer to Crispin here than in the Gathering Chamber.

  “It’s been good,” he said,with his face to the sky. “You’ve been a wonderful king. Mind, I always told you your dungeons were useless.

  “Crispin, you know what it’s like—of course you do, because of losing Whisper. So I suppose, when you lose someone you love, somebody who’s always been there, it’s like losing a limb. You never grow the limb back, but you find you can somehow manage without it. I suppose I’ll just have to find somebody else to waste time with now. There’s always Fingal. And I’ll keep an eye on the family for you, Crispin. Urchin, too. And Sepia—I suppose you must know this already, somehow—but she came through. I wish you could see her. Perhaps you can. Crispin, hasn’t it been good!”

  Urchin went down to the chamber by the Spring Gate. It was his own chamber, but, all the same, he knocked before going in.

  “Are you all right, Corr?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” said Corr. “I don’t believe it. Even though I’ve seen him dead, I can’t believe he’s not going to be here anymore.”

  “Mourning is always like that, Corr,” said Urchin gently. “Have you had anything to eat today?”

  “Arran brought me a fish,” said Corr, not sounding interested. “It’s all a bit too much, sir. When Crown and I got Sepia home we thought that would be it—all done. Then Crispin…I wasn’t ready for that. Nobody expected it.”

  “I know,” said Urchin. “Corr, the first thing to say is that what you have done affirms you as a true Voyager, and I don’t know if you feel like a hero, but what you’ve done…I’m astonished and impressed by it all. I hope you’ll tell me all about it, every detail. I want to hear everything. But for now, I think you’d feel better for a swim. Otters usually do.”

  As soon as Urchin said that, Corr knew that a swim was exactly what he wanted. Everything would feel better after a swim. In fact, he couldn’t wait to get into the water.

  “Padra’s down there,” said Urchin. “And the otters have finished their turn on watch, so if I know Fingal he’ll be on his way down, too. Oh, and Fionn’s down there trying to teach her frog to talk. Away you go, Corr.”

  So the animals watched, talked, prayed, swam, and looked after each other. Water still had to be fetched, food still had to be cooked. And as days passed, they understood what they had always known—that though Crispin was dead, the sun would still rise and set on Mistmantle.

  Juniper asked Fingal to row him around the island. The sun was bright on a calm sea. As the afternoon wore on, golden light filled the sky and the animals had to turn their faces from the power of the setting sun. All around the island, Juniper felt the change that had come since Crispin laid down his life. It was as if the brightness in the sky was alive and holy. There was a new freshness, a new clarity and openness, as if everything had been cleansed and renewed. There would be a golden age. Fingal must have felt it, because when they reached the jetty again he threw an oar in the air, caught it again, and somersaulted into the water for pure joy.

  “I’m alive!” he shouted. “I’m alive, and I live on Mistmantle! I’m an otter! Fish, friends, water! I’m an otter! Isn’t it wonderful!”

  Queen Cedar summoned Urchin to the Throne Room. She had placed Crispin’s crown in his paws and returned the circlet to Urchin, so he was wearing it when he arrived. Catkin looked tiny on Crispin’s throne with Cedar beside her.

  “We need to talk about the funeral,” she said as Urchin bowed. “Can you come here after mole watch this evening?”

  “Yes, of course,” said Urchin.

  “And we must talk about Corr,” continued Catkin. “As a Voyager I think he should be admitted to the Circle, don’t you?”

  “That’s what I wanted to ask,” said Urchin.

  “Do you want to tell him?” she asked.

  “I think it would be more impressive coming from you,” said Urchin. “And Lord Crown…”

  “We’re thinking about ‘Honorary Circle’ for him,” said Catkin. “Or, ‘Friend of Mistmantle.’ But we’ll do something for him. If Father hadn’t been sent into exile, Swan Isle and Mistmantle wouldn’t have come to support each other so much.”

  “One other thing,” said Urchin. “I had your father’s permission, but…”

  “Yes,” said Catkin. “I know. You don’t need mine, but yes.”

  So this was it. He bowed, left the chamber, smoothed his ear tufts, straightened his sword belt and circlet, and strode along the corridor.
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  Sepia was singing softly to herself. She was up, looking fragile, but far better than she had only days ago. Her fur had been washed and brushed, and she was taking dead flowers from the vases and putting in fresh ones.

  “Oh!” she said, and Urchin realized that she was looking at the top of his head. “They told me you’d been made a captain. Well done! It’s funny to think of it, really.”

  “Let me do that for you,” said Urchin.

  “No,” she said firmly. “I’m not that delicate. And I’m longing to get out to the fresh air. Can we go down to the sea? Don’t worry, I won’t blow away.”

  Urchin decided to put off his carefully prepared speech until they were on the shore. They sat on the rocks at low tide as they had so often before, watching anemones and sea urchins while Sepia dabbled her paws in the water. Finally he decided that his speech was ridiculous, and simply asked her to marry him.

  Urchin ran up the tower walls and tumbled in through a window of the workrooms, hugged Thripple and Needle (carefully), and ran down to the kitchens to kiss the cooks. At the Spring Gate he hugged Corr, Fingal, Arran, Tide, and Swanfeather, and a squirrel who just happened to be collecting water. He ran up the tower walls to find Juniper, knocked him off his paws with joy, and hugged Hope. He ran to Anemone Wood, where he turned cartwheels, danced Apple until she was breathless (which didn’t take long), and finally ran to the top of his old favorite tree, looked over the whole island, and shouted at the top of his lungs, “Lady Sepia!”