Urchin and the Rage Tide (3 page)

“Are you all right, Arran?” asked Crispin.

“I’ll do, sir,” she said. “This paw’s never been the same since we saw off those ravens.”

“Still, the ravens came off worse,” said Crispin. “I’ve sent the others away because we need to talk about captains. Decisions like this should be made before or after a rage tide, not in the middle of one, so I don’t want to appoint any new captains yet—but we need to consider who they’re going to be. We’ve already decided that we should have a captain for each of our four species.”

“Except that, if we do that, we might not be able to promote the best animals for the job,” Needle pointed out. “What if you had no animals in one species who are good enough, and two very good, um…”

“Otters?” Crispin smiled.

“You could always sack me, sir,” said Arran hopefully.

“Nonsense!” said Crispin. “We could have more than four captains, if it came to finding a place for an exceptional animal. Spade is utterly reliable. It’s time we had a mole. I know the moles haven’t wanted another mole captain for years, because nobody felt able to follow Lugg. But perhaps they’re ready for it now. Spade is sensible, good-hearted, and gets things done.”

“And I meant what I said, Your Majesty,” said Arran. “Padra’s a natural captain, but I’m not, and things have changed since I was appointed. Tide’s training as a priest, and I’d like to support him more, and I’d love to have more time with Fionn when she’s little.”

She didn’t mention the other reason, which was that her health had never fully recovered since the Raven War. Even the painful hind paw was something she rarely spoke of. But Crispin understood.

“I know your reasons, Arran,” he said, “but you’ve earned your circlet. Retire if you like, but you’ll still be known as a captain. Now, we need a squirrel. We have three excellent squirrels, Russet, Heath, and Urchin. Russet and Heath are older and have been in the Circle longer, and either of them could have been promoted years ago, but they’d refuse because neither of them wants to be promoted over his brother. We’d have to appoint both or neither, and at heart, I don’t think either of them want it. I think they both want Urchin to have it.”

“They do and he should, Your Majesty,” said Needle firmly.

“Ever since I first met Urchin on Whitewings, I’ve known he was exceptional,” said the queen. “Yes, he should be a captain.”

“I’m sure we all think so,” said Arran. “But look at us! Needle and Juniper are his best friends, Whittle and Urchin have always got on well, Crispin, you rescued him and took him under your protection, Padra trained him. You yourself wouldn’t be on Mistmantle if not for Urchin, Queen Cedar. We’re all biased, aren’t we?”

“Yes, but we’re right,” said Needle.

“Absolutely,” agreed Crispin.

“I’m only concerned that he’s young,” said Padra. “It’s a big responsibility for him.”

“He’s not much younger than I was,” said Crispin. “Look at all he’s done and all he means to the island, and let that speak for him. But I’m not going to promote him just before a rage tide. That wouldn’t be fair to a new captain. So we promote Urchin and Spade when all this is over, and in the meantime we don’t tell them. Are we agreed?”

They were. Crispin nodded.

“One other thing,” he said. “Corr has completed his training, and he’s turned out extremely well. Those who know him best have agreed that it’s time to tell him who he is. Juniper and Urchin will see to that. Animals of the Circle, you may go. Heart keep you.”

Padra had stayed behind to talk to Crispin, when there was a knock at the door. Scufflen, Needle’s brother who had just become a tower squirrel, came in and bowed.

“There’s a squirrel waiting to see you, Your Majesty,” he said. “His name’s Mossberry.”

“Mossberry,” said Crispin. “Thank you, Scufflen. I’ve promised Oakleaf a fencing lesson, but I’ll see Mossberry after that. Tell him to come back about midday, please.”

On the shore, Fingal sat on an upturned boat with Urchin and Corr, scenting the changes in the sea air. He knew that this was a vital moment and he should concentrate, but it wasn’t easy when the threat of a flood tide was about. The currents and winds were confusing. Juniper limped down the beach toward them.

Corr, feeling strangely small and uncomfortable, swung his paws uneasily. With Urchin on one side looking out to sea and saying nothing, and Fingal fidgeting on the other, he could tell they had something important to tell him, and wished that they’d get on with it. Now Brother Juniper had turned up, too, and seated himself on a nearby rock. The priest! It must be something serious.

“Now, Corr,” Urchin was saying, “let’s go back to basics. What’s the first thing we learn about the mists?”

That was too easy. Every infant on the island knew it.

“The mists are given by the Heart to protect the island,” said Corr. “Very few ships get through them. And when anyone who truly belongs to the island leaves by water, they can never return by water.”

“But some have left the island and returned,” said Urchin. “The king’s done it twice, and so have I. Juniper and Captain Lugg came back once—some guidance or special gift of the Heart has always brought us home. But nobody has ever, ever left three times in any way, and returned a third time, except…?”

“A Voyager,” said Corr, wondering where this was leading. Urchin was doing what he always did—asking him easy questions. Then they’d get harder, and he’d have to think out the answers. Sooner or later, there’d be one that was too difficult and Urchin would help him to understand it. That was what usually happened.

“A Voyager, yes,” said Fingal. “An animal who can come and go through the mists at will. Usually an otter. There hasn’t been one since before our great-great-great-grandparents’ time. I think it’s every young otter’s dream, don’t you? I used to wish I could be a Voyager.”

Corr didn’t think an answer was required, so he didn’t offer one. Then Urchin said, “Have you ever thought it strange, Corr, that you can stay underwater for so long?”

“No,” said Corr. He just could, that was all. Some otters were very fast swimmers, some had a good eye for fishing or a good paw with boats, like Fingal. In Corr’s case, he could swim long distances underwater. That was all.

“In the Raven War you swam right under the raven boats,” said Urchin. “No other otter could have done that.”

Corr felt himself blush, and shrugged to try to make light of it. He had scarcely left his home in a quiet little bay when he had been caught up in the terror of the Raven War. Remembering it made him proud and scared at the same time—it was as if it had all happened to another animal, not himself. Praise embarrassed him.

“How do you think you managed it, Corr?” asked Urchin gently. “Haven’t you ever wondered?”

That was it—the question he couldn’t answer. Urchin would help him out, as usual.

“Didn’t you see anything strange when you came up for air?” he asked.

“No,” said Corr. “I couldn’t see anything, it was always foggy.”

“Foggy,” said Urchin, “or misty?”

Corr’s paws and tail tingled. He tried to say, “I don’t know,” but his voice came out in a whisper, because at last he could see what Urchin was getting at. He felt hot, then cold, and was glad he was sitting down, because his paws felt wobbly. Brother Juniper was coming to face him.

“Corr,” said Brother Juniper, firmly, but kindly. “Look at me.”

Reluctantly, Corr did.

“Those raven ships were not
in
the mists,” said Juniper. “They were beyond them.”

“No,” said Corr. “They can’t have been.” It was impossible, because if those ships were beyond the mists, he must be…

Urchin laid a paw on his shoulder.

“Corr,” he said, “Mistmantle has a Voyager again.”

There was a long silence. Corr couldn’t very well tell Urchin and Brother Juniper that they were wrong.

“Don’t look so worried, Corr,” said Fingal.

“We knew you were a Voyager by the time the war was over,” said Juniper, “but you were too young to be told.”

“Please,” said Corr, “who’s ‘we’?”

“A pawful of us from the Circle,” said Urchin. “And King Crispin and Queen Cedar, of course. We kept it quiet. There’s no need to tell the whole island before you’ve gotten used to the idea.”

“Couldn’t there be a mistake, sir?” asked Corr. He looked out at the mists and thought of how far away they were.

“Absolutely
not
,” said Juniper.

“Then, Urchin, sir,” said Corr, “may I go away by myself for a little while, please?”

“Of course you may,” said Urchin.

Corr walked slowly along the shore, his paws behind his back. When he was a long way from the others, he slipped into the water and floated, looking at the sky.

He hoped that Urchin and Juniper were wrong, and knew in his heart that they were not. As a young otter cub of no importance, he had dreamed of traveling to strange countries beyond the mists.

So why, he asked himself, wasn’t he enjoying this now? As Fingal said, it was the dream of every young otter to be a Voyager. It was
really
being a Voyager that was too much. Voyagers were heroes and heroines of the past, rarer than kings and queens. Songs were sung and stories were told of them, and their pictures were in panel after panel of the Threadings. But he was only Corr, who had helped his aunt to smoke herrings until the day he had patched up an old boat and sailed to find the tower.

“Give him time,” said Fingal as he, Urchin, and Juniper walked back to the tower. “If someone told me I was a Voyager it would knock the backbone out of me.”

Urchin, feeling that someone was watching him, looked up and saw Sepia at the top of the stair leading to the Main Gate. As he’d just been thinking about her, he was pleasantly surprised—but who was that squirrel with her? Whoever he was, Sepia didn’t look happy.

“I beg your pardon, Sepia of the Songs!” said the squirrel, but he said it as if he were making a grand announcement, and not begging her pardon at all. “Most gracious Miss Sepia! You are greatly valued by the king and queen, I know.”

“Good morning,” said Sepia, and took a step away from him. His fur was very glossy and bright, his ear tufts soft, his eyes deep and dark, his face elegantly shaped, and his tail full and graceful. His eyes were strangely bright. She felt he was looking at her as if he wanted to eat her.

“Can I help you?” she said, keeping her distance.

“My name,” he said, leaning earnestly toward her, “is Mossberry. You may have heard it before.”

She hadn’t, but she vaguely remembered seeing him. He wasn’t a squirrel you’d forget easily, and just now, he was too close for comfort. She took another step backward.

“Dear beloved of the king and queen,” he said, bowing with a flourish, “I am awaiting an audience with His Majesty.”

“Oh, then hadn’t you better go?” she said.

“The king wishes me to wait until noon,” he said, and frowned up at the sky as if he were impatient with the sun. “I must speak with him most urgently, but perhaps the Heart will graciously allow us until noon. I have a heavy responsibility.”

Sepia could tell that she was supposed to ask him what this heavy responsibility was, so that he could tell her all about it, but she wasn’t going to ask any such thing. She felt she’d much rather get away from him as quickly as possible, and was about to pretend she had to take a choir practice when she saw Urchin coming toward the tower.

“Oh!” she said. “There’s Urchin. I have to speak to him.” She turned to run down the stairs, and was flustered to find Mossberry following her.

“Urchin of the Riding Stars!” he said. “You
must
introduce me!”

“Oh! Not now!” she gasped, and, speaking much too quickly, went on, “Prince Oakleaf needs him at once, it’s most important, and it’s confidential, please excuse me!” And she fled.

“What’s the matter?” said Urchin as she ran to meet him. “Has that squirrel said something to upset you?”

“No, he’s just a bit strange,” she said. She took his paw and led him toward the Spring Gate. “And I’ve been telling lies, so would you like to go and see Oakleaf? Because if you do I won’t be telling so many lies. Or at least, not such big ones. But we’ll go by the Spring Gate, not the main stair.”