Urchin and the Rage Tide (22 page)

“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.

At times like this it was good to touch the bracelet made from his mother’s fur. He curled his paw over it and closed his eyes.

“Heart, look after Sepia,” he prayed. “Heart help her.” He thought of his parents, the father who had been killed before Urchin’s birth, the mother who had died giving birth to him.

Can you see her? Mother, Father, can you see her? Can you help her? Mother, will you look after her?

Singing reached him, and he sank his head into his paws. Those were the songs Sepia had taught, and he could hardly bear to hear them. He was glad when it stopped, but then a shuffling of paws told him that they had company. Dutifully, not wanting to speak, he raised his head—but it was only Apple, his foster mother. Her familiar voice, her walk, and the green cloak were comforting.

“I thought Brother Juniper would have found you somewhere nice and quiet, and I was right, he has,” she said, sitting down beside him and wrapping the cloak around herself. “I’m getting too old for all this coming and going, Urchin, and mind, we’re all having a good sing in there, but, ooh, I don’t know what sort of a state our homes will be in when it’s all over, if it ever is over, makes you wonder. And that little Twirl, do you know what she’s saying? She’s saying she wants ’em all to sing for Sepia when she comes home, and Princess Catkin says she’ll organize it all, and there’ll be all Sepia’s little choirs all singing to welcome her back.” When Urchin didn’t respond, she went on. “She will, you know, your Sepia, she’ll get back. She may look like a little thing that’ll blow away in a high wind, she may be as gentle as a blossom in spring, but you know what? Are you listening, you know what? She’s as tough as a tree root, your Sepia. Tough as oak. Didn’t she warn the king against that traitor hedgehog, and stand up to him, too? And she were just a little bit of a lass then. Didn’t she rescue the princess when she were a baby, and when them ravens attacked, didn’t she do her bit? And hasn’t she survived? She’ll survive this, too.”

Apple was only prattling on as she always did, but she could be right. Urchin began to feel encouraged.

“You’ve served the island well,” she said. “I’m right proud of you. And here’s Juniper, looking after you. Give me a paw up, Juniper, I’ll leave our Urchin alone, but I had to come and see him. Thank you, Juniper, Brother Juniper, I should say.” And she waddled away.

“I don’t want to give you false hopes,” said Juniper, “but I think Apple’s right. Sepia’s alive. I told you before, it was as if she were tugging and calling for help, as if she’s out there somewhere like a light bobbing about. The light hasn’t gone out.”

“How do you mean?” asked Urchin.

“It’s hard to explain,” said Juniper, “but I worked with Sepia a lot when she helped to look after Brother Fir, and I have a sense for her spirit, just as I have for yours. There’s a shining quality to Sepia, and I can feel it’s still there. I think I’d feel the emptiness if she no longer existed.”

“She may never get home,” said Urchin.

“Maybe not,” admitted Juniper.

“I just wish we knew something,” said Urchin. “There’s been no word from Corr.”

“I know,” said Juniper. “That’s hard. But I do believe she’s alive.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

N DARKNESS AND POURING RAIN
, Corr and Crown fought to keep the lurching boat from sinking. There was land close by, but no hope at all of turning the boat to reach it. In the relentless rain and waves, they were barely staying afloat.

“Heart help us!” yelled Corr, and hoped that the Heart heard the crying of his own heart though the fury and crash of the waves drowned out his voice. The boat lurched and tipped, water swirling around Corr’s paws. He bailed furiously. Crown’s strong beak held the tiller as the little boat pitched. A wave flung itself over them. Spray blinded Corr. A second wave hurled him into the water and threw him back against the boat, knocking the breath from him. Gripping the side with both paws he heaved himself back in, tumbling onto the soaked benches, and when he raised his head he saw something he had never seen before, and would never forget.

The sea advanced like the charge of an army. At first, it looked like a great wave building up behind them, gaining on them, faster and faster. Then it reared up, roaring like a great wild creature, ready to devour them. They could either ride this wave, or disappear beneath it.

“Turn the boat!” he yelled.

Against the bullying of the sea, Crown wrenched the tiller. The boat turned.

“Now
fly
!” shouted Corr. “Let me take the boat! Fly home! There’s no point in both of us dying!”

Maybe Crown hadn’t heard—but there was no time to think about that as the monstrous wave rose, roared, and swept them up. All Corr knew was that he was sinking under its power, then flung up like driftwood and tossed backward and forward. He was under the water, over the water—the boat was there, but it was upside down—now it was right way up—he had no idea what had happened to Crown. The sea caught him again. This time, it flung him onto shingle that bruised him, grazed him, and knocked the breath from his body. The next wave washed him like seaweed farther onto the shore.

Battered and half drowned, he crawled farther inland. He didn’t get far. Exhaustion overwhelmed him, and he slept.

Sunrise woke him. He tried to sit up and found he was almost too stiff and sore to move, but the pain of the bruises reassured him that he was alive.

“Thank you, Heart,” he whispered.

Gradually, he managed to sit up, scent the air, and look about him. The sea was flat, calm, and sparkling, as if trying to convince him that it couldn’t possibly have wreaked destruction the previous night. The land was almost completely bare. A few thin trees sprouted and a stream ran down the hillside, but there was no sign of any living creature. A black mountain towered above him. Putting out a paw to the nearest rock, he found it smooth and shiny.

“Corr! Corr!” The thin croak was barely recognizable, but it was Crown’s voice. Corr struggled to stand, and hobbled painfully across the shingle as the cry came again.

Crown lay sprawled in the shelter of a rock, one wing tucked in and the other spread out behind him. Beyond him, scattered across the shore, was all that remained of their boat.

“Crown!” Corr knelt painfully beside him. “Can you get up?”

Crown raised himself a little, and collapsed again. “Most of the boat broke around me,” he said, and his voice was low with pain. “I think my wing’s broken. I need you to look at my foot, there’s something digging into it.”

Corr examined Crown’s foot. The sight of the splinter that had driven through the web made his stomach churn.

“I can pull it out,” he said, “but it’ll hurt.”

Crown gave him a stern look to remind him that he was the son of the great Lord Arcneck. Corr gritted his teeth, braced his back paws against a stone, gripped the splinter with both forepaws, and pulled. There was one low moan through a tightly clamped beak from Crown, and it was out.

“I’ll try to find something to bandage it with,” said Corr. “If our supplies have survived at all we should still have some mendingmoss.”

“That’s for Sepia,” said Crown. “Salt water will heal it.” He limped slowly to the water and floated in the shallows, his broken wing trailing. Corr followed him in case he collapsed again, then surveyed the wreckage of the boat.

The food had been wrapped in moss and dock leaves and wedged under the stern seating, and most had survived. The water supplies were intact, too, as well as the mendingmoss and the honey from Whitewings. But the boat itself—Corr tried to work out a way to make a raft from what was left of it. It would depend on what he could find on the island, but it didn’t look promising. There didn’t seem to be anything much here. He stepped back to take a good look upward, and turned hot and cold when he realized exactly what he was looking at.

“Corr!” he shouted, and stumbled down the shore. “This island! It’s been destroyed by fire! That’s a fire mountain! We’re on Ashfire!”

Sepia slept and woke again and drifted from one to the other, not always sure if she was sleeping or not. Now and again a wave of peace would sweep through her, and it seemed as if death were wrapping her in a bed, rocking and soothing her. Then she would remember that she had to live, even though she didn’t know why. In her clearer moments she remembered Mistmantle, Urchin, the tower, her music, and her friends, but those moments were fewer all the time. When she did wake, she found the pain in her paws had gone. That was a lovely feeling. She wasn’t even sure where her paws were anymore. Little by little, it seemed that her body had stopped working. Her eyelids did not want to open.

“Crown!” yelled Corr. “I’ve found her! Sepia, wake up!”

She heard someone calling her name, and thought it was the voice of death. Death had been calling to her all night. But the voice of death in the night had been gentle and soothing, and this voice disturbed her peace, dragging her back from her deep, dark rest.

“Sepia!” called Corr. “Can you hear me?”

With an arm behind her shoulders, he sat her up. He knew a few moments of wonderful, triumphant joy as he found her sleeping in the boat. He had done what he had come to do, he had found Sepia. He could bring her home, and all Mistmantle would celebrate. But she lay motionless and didn’t respond to his call. Sickeningly, he thought she was dead, but at a second glance the pulse showed clearly in the pitifully thin wrist. Sitting her up, he saw that her eyes were still closed, and her face haggard.
Don’t die. Please, please. You mustn’t die, not now.