Urchin and the Rage Tide (8 page)

“Off the island?” exclaimed Urchin. “Where to?”

“Plague, lice, and fire!” exclaimed Fingal. “They can’t be mad enough to follow him!”

“They can,” said Padra. “We’ve seen him in action. He inspires them.”

“According to Mossberry, the Heart doesn’t approve of the king, the queen, the captains, the Circle, Brother Juniper, or anybody else except himself,” said Longpaw. “He says the Heart has told him that the rage tide is a punishment against the island.”

“For what?” asked Fingal.

“Heart knows. He says his followers can escape if they follow him through the mists to safety.”

“Plague and fire!” repeated Fingal.

“Then, he says, he can lead them back home through the mists. And they believe him.”

“Plague! Where are they now?” demanded Padra.

“He told them to get to the shore by sheltered routes, going underground where they could, so they wouldn’t be seen. It seems they plan to get out by Arder Bay.”

“Not far from where we saw him,” said Padra.

“There must be a way around the underground lake,” said Fingal. “Or over it.”

“Straight to Arder Bay, then,” said Padra. “Longpaw, tell the king we’re on our way.”

Fingal, Urchin, and Padra turned back toward Arder Bay. Steep rocks on either side sheltered them, but Urchin knew that soon, they would be on the open shore.

“If they absolutely insist on following Mossberry off the island,” said Fingal, “if they can’t listen to sense, how can we stop them?”

“We can’t, if they absolutely insist on going of their own free will,” said Padra bluntly. “But they do need to realize what they’re doing.”

“Killing themselves is what they’re doing!” insisted Fingal.

“That’s why we need to break the hold Mossberry has over them,” said Padra. “The waters will soon be chaotic, and if they think they’re just going to float back home through the mists because Mossberry says so, they’re dangerously mistaken. And they must
not
drag their children along with them.”

“It’s insane!” exclaimed Fingal, and muttered something about the rain. “To try to go through the mists? And tonight! Not even an otter would take the water tonight! Hail and fire, how can they do that to their children?”

“They’d go through fire and water for Mossberry,” said Padra. “He’s like Husk—bit of character, bit of dash, bit of something else, and some silly animals believing all he says. And he’s not at all sane.” He stopped suddenly, and pointed. “There!”

Below them, where the cliffs became shallower and the paths wider, a small trickle of animals could be seen winding their way down the rocks toward the coast. Fingal, turning his head away against the rain, said softly, “Look! The king’s sent reinforcements.”

Urchin turned to look. Here and there, in twos and threes, half hidden by the rocks, were small bands of animals. At this distance and in the shadows it was hard to tell who was who, but he could recognize Tipp and Todd among them, and Russet and Heath. He could just make out the outline of small boats drawn up at the water’s edge.

“Come on, then,” said Padra. “Crispin’s reinforcements are all keeping in the shadows, so it seems we’re not meant to be seen. I suppose the idea is not to cause a panic. So we get down to the shore quietly, around by the headland, and get there before the Mossberryists do.”

Fingal and Urchin followed him through narrow, rocky paths until Urchin felt sand under his paws instead of rocks, and the cliffs towered above him. The three of them pressed their backs against the rocks, staying in shadow. At a subtle movement beside them, all three reached for their swords.

“It’s only me,” said a low voice.

“Crispin!” whispered Padra. “You shouldn’t be here!”

“I’m not staying in a warm burrow while you’re down here,” whispered Crispin. “I need to be here.”

A small figure stood beside the king, and a little behind him. When Urchin saw who it was, his heart seemed to shudder and hurt.

He was usually glad to see Sepia, but he didn’t want her to be here, in the most dangerous part of the island, when all the other animals were safe. He wondered why King Crispin had let her come here—but Padra had just said that animals might be willing to take their children beyond the mists. There was the little squirrel they had met on the hill, for a start. All the very young animals, especially Sepia’s choristers, adored her.

He could see now why the king had brought her. She had asked to be there as someone for the little ones to run to, and Crispin had agreed.

“There,” whispered the king. “That cleft in the rock. That’s where Mossberry intends to bring them out. I don’t want to lose a single animal tonight, but if Mossberry insists on throwing himself to the waves, he will. I just don’t want him taking whole families of deluded animals with him.”

Sepia watched the opening in the rock, and Urchin watched Sepia. Once, she looked up suddenly as if she felt she was being watched, caught his gaze, and gave a nervous smile.

“Take care,” he mouthed at her, and she nodded, still smiling. Not knowing whether she had understood him or not, he leaned his head back against the cliff. He’d been meaning to ask her something so important—in fact, he’d been putting it off and waiting for the best time—but he couldn’t very well ask her anything here and now.

In the shadows, Crispin turned his head.

“Ready,” he said, “but don’t move until I do.”

CHAPTER FOUR

ROM THE SHADOW OF THE CLIFF
, a figure stepped out—a hedgehog, glancing one way and another. A squirrel followed him—Urchin remembered her from his childhood. They glanced over their shoulders as if looking to someone for guidance. Mossberry must be there. Two or three at a time, more animals came out—two moles, three hedgehogs, and a number of squirrels, some of them carrying little ones or leading them by the paw.

Urchin watched steadily, his claws curling with tension. He understood why Crispin waited, but even so, he wished he’d do something. Every one of Mossberry’s followers had to be out in the open before Crispin would move; otherwise they would retreat into the hill. Once in the maze of tunnels on a night of flooding, they might never escape.

The animals were shuffling forward now, nearer to the lapping edge of the sea. Some glanced nervously at each other or hung back, but others had the same look of wild intensity that had been so disturbing on Mossberry’s face. Finally, as one squirrel tentatively put her clawtip into the waves, out from the hillside strode Mossberry. He walked proudly, his head high and his back straight, his cloak thrown back from his shoulders.

“Mossberry! Mossberry, our master! Brother Mossberry!” cried the animals, but their voices faded away as Crispin stepped from the shadows.

“Good evening!” he said calmly, and nodded to Urchin and the others, who took off their cloaks and stepped forward. “Were you all lost in the hill? It’s easily done. We came down to check if anyone was still near the coast. Good thing we did, you’re not safe here. We’ll take you to the burrows where you’ll come to no harm.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty!” said a hedgehog eagerly, who was immediately glared at by the squirrels gathering around Mossberry. Two more hedgehogs shuffled, almost imperceptibly, toward the king. Urchin was sure they knew that Crispin understood all about Mossberry’s plans. By pretending to think they’d been lost in the hill, he was offering them a way out of an awkward situation. Many of them would be glad of it.

Sepia stifled a gasp. “There’s little Twirl!” she whispered. “Her aunt has brought her here!”

The voice of Mossberry rang out, clear, strong, and passionate.

“Dearest animals!” he cried. “Stand fast, stand with me! Did I not tell you that this very thing would happen! They will not give you your freedom so easily! Have faith in me, and let me lead you to the true freedom that lies beyond the mists!”

“If you choose to leave the island,” said Crispin firmly, “you may do so, but I urge you not to attempt it tonight. Even the strongest of otters wouldn’t attempt to swim against this tide. I would be sad to lose any of you, and I can’t protect you if you go beyond the mists. You all know that if you leave you will never return.”

“That is the old lie!” cried Mossberry. “It’s the lie that they tell you to keep you imprisoned on this island! The Heart speaks to me, and the Heart has told me that we can travel freely in and out of the mists, even by water!” He whirled around to point at Urchin. “Hasn’t
he
done it?”

“That was an exception,” said Urchin.

“We are
all
exceptional!” cried Mossberry, stretching out his paws as if he wanted to embrace every one of them. “The Heart will protect us! Come to the boats, dear animals of Mistmantle. Let me lead you through the waters to the joys beyond the mists!”

“Islands with swans, islands with snakes,” said Crispin. “Other islands, much like this, but not so happy nor so pleasant. That’s what you’ll find beyond the mists.”

“The king and I have been there,” insisted Urchin. “We know!”

“They are lying!” cried Mossberry. “They have always lied! To the boats!”

Padra and Fingal had been turning this way and that, their noses and whiskers twitching. Padra turned to the king.

“Your Majesty, we don’t have long,” he said. “We have to move.”

Glancing around the gathering, Urchin saw that some animals were edging away from Mossberry. They trusted the calm and reassuring presence of the king, Padra, and Fingal. And, of course, there was Sepia.

“Come, good animals,” said Crispin gently. “I will not shout or scream at you. I will lead you and safeguard you, as I have before. Come with me.”

“Trust the king!” Fingal urged them as a hedgehog took a few steps toward him. “Hasn’t he risked his life for you in the past?”

From the corner of his eye, Urchin saw someone move. Twirl had taken advantage of the fact that her aunt was still gazing up at Mossberry intently. She had let go of her paw and, little by little, was edging toward Sepia. In a tiny movement, Sepia held out a paw to her. Urchin didn’t dare look at them directly. Even a look could give them away.

“If you must depart through the mists, I can only urge you against it,” said Crispin. “The decision is yours. But tonight, of all nights! The rage tide is coming, and you won’t survive it! Mossberry, do you care about these animals? If you lead them to the water tonight, you will be taking them to their deaths, every one of them!”

“Then we choose to die with Mossberry!” cried Twirl’s aunt.

“And the children?” demanded Crispin. “Do the children choose?”

A very young hedgehog began to cry, a thin little whimper as if it were trying hard not to cry at all. But that whimper was enough. A squirrel began a long, high wail, and another—then the voices of Padra and Fingal rose above them.

“The sea!” they shouted. “GET BACK!”

As Urchin looked up, the sea rose up as if it wanted to swallow Mistmantle. The waves became a towering wall rushing to overwhelm them. Crispin called on the Heart as he scooped up every infant he could reach and ran toward the cliffs. As the water surged over Urchin’s head, he saw Sepia snatch Twirl into her paws—then all he knew was cold and helplessness as the immensity of waves swept him up and flung him against the cliff.

With water pounding in his mouth and ears, Urchin scrabbled to find a clawhold on the cliffs. Fingal, fighting the current, felt the breath knocked out of him as he hit the rocks. Crispin, pain scorching through his old wound, bent over the screaming infants huddled in his arms.

“Heart keep me!” The cry was deep within Urchin, though he could hardly find the words—but the wave was retreating, and his head was above water. He gulped down the air, and tried to see where everyone was. Russet and Heath were higher up the cliff than he was, reaching down paws to help him up. Padra was beside him, and he could see Fingal struggling to push a shivering little hedgehog into Russet’s paws.

“Where’s Sepia?” he gasped, and looked down over his shoulder. “Sepia!”

He could see her, but she was still near the bottom of the cliffs, gasping and bedraggled. Twirl still clung to her. Urchin turned, and edged his way cautiously down the cliff.