Urchin and the Rage Tide (28 page)

Crown had already fallen asleep. Corr found the pot of honey, dipped a claw in it, and stroked it onto her tongue.

“Honey from the Queen of Whitewings,” he said. “It’s making you well. Think of Urchin.”

Against the kind welcome of death, Sepia felt something was calling her back. The flowery sweetness of honey was on her tongue again. It tasted of everything she loved about summer. One by one, notes of music played in her head.
Summer, honey, Mistmantle, music, Urchin…
it was as if they were fighting death over her.

Evening gathered around Mistmantle. Urchin, not knowing where to go or what to do, paced the tower from Juniper’s turret to the Spring Gate. It was no good. He couldn’t just let Crispin go and never see him again. He had no idea which way to go, but the watchers on the shore were still gazing out for any trace of Sepia, so of course Crispin wouldn’t have left the island that way, where the crowds were. His tail flying out behind him, Urchin turned and dashed the other way.

Juniper and Padra were walking slowly toward him. In the fading light their faces were unclear, but their slow walk and bowed heads were enough to tell Urchin what he needed to know. Breathlessly, he stopped in front of them. The bag containing the Heartstone hung around Juniper’s neck.

“He’s gone, Urchin,” said Padra, and caught Urchin’s paw before he could rush to the sea. “Don’t try to stop him.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

HAVE TO GO TO HIM,”
said Urchin. “I must. I won’t try to stop him.”

He ran along the shore, watching the darkening sea. There were lights on the boat. Realizing that he didn’t know what to say and that it didn’t matter, he waded out and swam.

In the long, steady twilight of his journey to the mists, the sea gentle and the waves glossy with moonlight, Crispin heard the far cry.

“My king! Crispin! My king!”

Crispin shipped the oars and waited, leaning forward in the boat as the bobbing head, dark with water, came nearer. He stretched forward as Urchin’s paws reached up to the bow.

“Don’t capsize me, Urchin,” he said, and smiled.

“I won’t,” said Urchin, gasping with the effort of the swim.

“You can’t come with me,” said Crispin. “You do understand that, don’t you?”

“Yes, I know,” said Urchin. “But I had to see you again, to tell you that I understand what you’re doing—or, at least, as far as any of us can. And maybe you wanted to go away without being thanked, but you can’t. I need to thank you—for my life and my name, and for all you’ve done. For all you’ve been. For the king you’ve been. And for Sepia.”

“Thank
you
, Urchin of the Riding Stars,” said Crispin. “Thank you for your company, especially now. Urchin, you remember Whisper?”

“Of course I remember her, sir!”

“Good. Keep remembering her. Urchin, I believe that Sepia will come back, and I hope that she’ll survive. But if she doesn’t, you have to know that you can live without her. I had to live without Whisper, and you can live without Sepia, if you have to. It won’t be easy, but you can. I hope you don’t have to. You were the only one from Mistmantle who ever met Whisper, so please, for my sake, remember my Lady Whisper.”

“I will, Your Majesty. Always,” he said, and realized that there was nothing more to say. It was time to turn around and swim back to shore. Delaying the moment would be like breaking the rhythm of a dance.

“Heart keep you forever, my king,” he said.

“Heart keep you forever, Urchin of the Riding Stars,” said Crispin, and Urchin swam to shore, pushing hard against the tide, not looking back until he had waded shivering to the sand, and the lights on the small boat had disappeared altogether.

Juniper wrapped a cloak around him.

“Get warm and dry,” he said. “He’ll be all right.”

“I know,” said Urchin.

Night fell around Sepia’s boat as it waited beyond the mists. Corr tried to stay awake, but found himself slipping in and out of dreams. In them, he was safe and warm in his rooms at the Spring Gate. Sepia was running across the sands, or waving from a tower window—all was well. Then he would jerk awake and know that he was still on the sea, still beyond the mists, and still becalmed, far from home. He would listen for Sepia’s breathing, open the bottle of Spring Gate water to drip a little into her mouth, and tuck the cloak around her, hugging her for warmth. He thanked the Heart for that cloak.

“Corr!” whispered Crown.

Corr realized he had been dreaming again. He sat up, felt for Sepia’s pulse, and listened again to her breathing.

“Did you see it?” asked Crown.

“See what?” His eyes still wanted to close.

“Something silver,” said Crown. “It moved in the mists. No—sorry—it’s gone now. You go back to sleep. I’ll watch her.”

Crispin rowed steadily on, thinking of the first time he had rowed a small boat through those drifting white wreaths, and how bleak and wretched everything had seemed. At the thought of all that had happened since, how much and how good it had been, he was astonished. He could not have imagined such wonderful years. Every dip and swish of the oars in the quiet night water took him deeper into the mists, and with every stroke he knew that what he was doing was the right thing, the only thing to do; and his heart became more and more at one with the Heart that made him.

Stroke by stroke, with each creak and splash, the mists grew denser around him. He could see nothing else.

Feeling rested at last, Corr woke and found he could stay awake. He decided he might as well try rowing again. The sky was just a little lighter, and the tide would soon turn, so, with a yawn, he stretched the stiffness from his arms and took up the oars. Crown spread a wing over Sepia, to keep her warm.

“How’s your other wing?” asked Corr.

“I think it’s mending,” said Crown. “It doesn’t hurt so much now, I think the moss helped. I’ll see if I can fly a little today.” He extended the wing, then gasped.

“Did that hurt?” asked Corr.

“Corr!” cried Crown. “We’re moving! We’re going into the mists!”

Juniper, leaving Urchin, would have climbed up to his turret, but he saw the glimmer of a light behind the windows. Hope must be there. That was good. Somebody should be there just now, and his own heart was restless. The Chamber of Candles seemed to call him. It would still be dark and damp from flooding, but it was the right place to be. With a lantern and a basket of candles he hurried alone through the tunnels with his lopsided limp, as Brother Fir had done long before, glad of his cloak, for these tunnels were damp. He opened the Chamber of Candles.