Urchin and the Rage Tide (20 page)

“Hope and the moles are following it,” said Crispin.

“Shall I go back to join them?” asked Urchin.

“Yes, and warn them all of the next wave,” said Crispin. “At this stage only search inland, not near the coasts. Try the burrows we used years ago, when the landslide came. Round up any animals you meet on the way. Take warm cloaks. And, all of you, remember that your confidence will be the confidence of the island. Be strong, be cheerful, be confident. Juniper, your blessing, please.”

Juniper raised a paw. “May the Heart bring us from sorrow to joy,” he said. “May the Heart that broke with love and still loves us kindle love among us. Heart help us.” He took the bag with the Heartstone and lifted it over his head.

“Your Majesty,” he said, “I think you should carry it now.”

There was a moment of solemn silence. Everyone knew that they should leave the tower at once, but to move or speak too soon would seem disrespectful.

Fists hammered on the door. Scufflen, breathless, burst in.

“Beg pardon, Your Majesty,” he cried, “Mossberry’s escaped! And there’s smoke coming from the kitchens!”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EPIA HAD NO IDEA
where she might be, and with every second she cared less. All she wanted was for the pain in her head and limbs to go away, and the burning in her throat to stop. She curled into a ball, biting on her paw.

After the first wave of the rage tide had subsided and the sun had risen, she had found herself beyond the mists. Further than that, she had had no idea where she was. There had been no sight of land.

Rocking on the open sea, she hardly believed that everything she had ever loved was over. She could never go home to Mistmantle. There was no way back through the mists. She would either die on the open sea, or find another island where she could live. She would never in all her life again see her family, her home, her friends, her little choir. She would never again see the king and queen; and the children who had been in her care since they had been tiny; Padra, who had always been so kind to her; Urchin, Urchin. She bit her lip and told herself that crying wouldn’t help, but it was no good. Crying was all she could do.

She felt she had never really appreciated Mistmantle with its greenness, its cliffs, its shores and the jetty, and, most of all, the animals. She hadn’t even said good-bye. She would have given all her future to run through Anemone Wood again.

Take a few deep breaths, she had told herself. Then she had looked in the storage under the rowing benches and found, to her great relief, stores of fresh water, nuts, berries, and biscuits. The boat must have been prepared by Mossberry’s followers. There was hope.

She had tried not to think about Urchin, but when she did, she remembered that he had left the island and returned, flying on a swan. Perhaps she would find a swan to carry her home! She had no idea where to find one, but it was something to hope for. She took the oars and rowed as hard as she could, with no sense of direction.

She rationed the food and water, but days and nights had passed, and soon only a pawful of nuts and berries was left, and less than half a bottle of water. Hunger had gnawed at her, and at nights the cold had kept her awake so that she had rowed on, or lain tightly huddled up and shivering, hugging herself for warmth. When the food was all gone she had scooped up trailing seaweed and eaten that—it was nasty, but better than nothing. She had discovered too late that it made her thirsty. When rain had fallen, she tipped back her head to drink and caught as much as she could in an empty water flask, praying for food and land. With blisters on her paws, she had rowed on, not knowing where she was. At last, a dark rock had risen against the horizon.

Stiff, wet, and desperately thirsty, she had rowed the boat to shore and climbed out to pull it high onto the dry ground—but her legs buckled under her and she crawled exhausted from the sea. She was so weakened that she would have left the boat where it was, but she couldn’t risk it floating away on the tide. She had pulled, waded back into the sea, and pushed, and finally secured the boat in a high cave. Then, still wet, she limped and crawled across the sand and, at last, heard the sweetest music she had known in all her life. It was the sound of trickling water.

She followed the sound. Sparkling water danced downhill from a spring and spilled over into a stream. Leaning over it, she saw fish swimming, so it must be safe to drink, and she had been almost too thirsty to care. Scooping her sore, cracked paws into it, she drank deeply. Cold, clear water slipped down her throat.
Oh, that was good. Heart be praised.
She had crawled back to the boat, curled up in it, and slept.

If only this could be a dream, and she would wake up in a warm nest with breakfast to look forward to. She would help Princess Almondflower to dress, she would take her to play on the beach, she would sing with her choir, and her friends would be there. Urchin would be there. Was he thinking of her? Poor Urchin. He must be worried.

Throbbing pain in her head woke her, and spread down her neck and shoulders. She tried to raise her head, and couldn’t. She wondered if she might be dying.

If she must die, she would. At least the pain would go away. But to die here, all alone? Nobody would ever know what had happened. Urchin and her family would wonder and worry all their lives. A tear scalded her cheek.

Mossberry had, at last, wrenched away the bars from his window. He darted down the wall, found a ground-floor window that had been broken in the flood, and slipped through it. Fire, he needed fire.

The kitchen had been deserted and was now gray and cold with no fire in the grate, but dry flints and kindling lay on a shelf above it. All he needed now was oil, and it didn’t take long to find that. There was brandy, too, which suited his purpose perfectly. He laughed aloud. The Heart must have provided all this for him.

“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.”