The Silver Tide (The Dorset Squirrels)

by Michael Tod

  ‘That would make us now, as a mere planet in this Universe, be swimming outwards on a wave from the centre…’

  The voice stopped. Then –

  ‘Malin, some mammal is praying, we must help.’

  ‘You’re right, Lundy. Near Finfast Point amongst the rock pillars. Mammals – I sense them to be squirrels, like the ones we saw down the coast – in danger. Turn and follow!’

  A minute later, with the clicking and grunting now audible to all the squirrels, the heads of two dolphins broke the surface, one on either side of the Sun’s-child.

  Marguerite and Juniper had joined Tamarisk on the woodpile and looked with amazement at the strange creatures in the water.

  In her mind Marguerite heard one dolphin say to the other, ‘Underneath and nose away.

  An air of great peace and protection came over them. The dolphin’s blowholes closed, their black polished heads slid below the surface, and the Sun’s-child moved effortlessly away from the rocks and into the safety of the open Sea.

  The heads popped up again. ‘Where are you going?’ the soughing sound in her head asked, more or less in time with the movement of Malin’s mouth.

  Anywhere safer than this, Marguerite thought, but before she could speak the words, the dolphins seemed to understand.

  ‘We know a place where other squirrels live. By the Sea. Would you like to go there?’ A voice in her head asked.

  ‘What colour are they?’ Marguerite did not have to speak.

  ‘An animal’s colour means nothing to us, but their shape and size is the same as yours.’

  ‘Are their ears round or pointed?’

  ‘The same as yours.’

  ‘Then we would like to go to them.’

  Marguerite realised that she had not opened her mouth and the other squirrels were looking at her with puzzled expressions on their faces.

  The dolphins slid down and under the Sun’s-child and propelled it gently southwards, taking it in turns to rise for air, all the time soundlessly conversing with Marguerite.

  ‘We can’t take you all the way, but we can put you into currents that will. We will put you at the XX end of the current 3 and that will take you to 3 3 then 3 33. Current 4 will take you ashore.’

  ( is pronounced Zix-T.)

  The dolphins read Marguerite’s incomprehension. ‘Don’t worry, trust in your Sun. You will be safe.’

  ‘How can you be sure?’

  ‘Some of us have learned to ‘Look Forward,’ but we don’t often do that, it makes us sad. We learn to ‘Look Backwards’ even before we are born. We know the history of our race, back as far as when we lived on the land as you do still. Then we learn to ‘Look Round’ and find out all we can about Now and Here. Malin and I are studying ‘Look Out’ – searching way, way beyond this our planet ‘Water’. It is most interesting but can be brain-exhausting. We are on our way to meet others near the Goodwin Sands to share our ideas. We often school there together.’

  ‘Can you count numbers?’ Marguerite asked.

  There was a pause. Then, ‘Count yours to us.’

  Marguerite started, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 10. 11…’

  ‘Ahhhh, yes, Base Eight, humans use Base Ten now. When we first taught the Phoenicians they used Base like us. That would be 60 in human numbers and’ – there was a momentary pause – 74 in yours.’

  ‘Do you teach humans?’

  ‘We used to, when they would listen. We had high hopes for them. They still use our for counting their time and 6 for dividing up circles, but they have probably forgotten where they learned it. With ten digits on their hands, Base Ten is easier for most of them.’

  ‘Don’t they listen now?’

  ‘Sadly no, they have been conceit-deaf for more than of our generations.’

  The soughing in Marguerite’s head died away, and the Sun’s-child slowed to a stop. The dolphins’ heads appeared above the water.

  ‘We have brought you to Current 3. You will be with the others of your kind by dawn on the day following tomorrow. We must leave you now. Dolphins must always be on time.

  Punctuality

  Is vital. Other’s time wasted,

  Is stolen by you

  And can never be returned.

  Lost minutes sink forever.

  ‘Farewell, our friends, we are glad we heard your prayer.’

  They dived, then leapt together in a glorious arc through the air and swam off up-channel in the gathering darkness, followed by the unspoken but received thanks of Marguerite.

  After the dolphins had gone, she felt unutterably lonely despite the presence of the other squirrels, who seemed not to have understood any of the conversation. She tried to explain to them what the dolphins had told her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  The circle of silent Zervantz surrounding the body of Sallow widened to allow Next-King Poplar through. He ordered them to carry the flyblown corpse of his brother back to the Royal Macrocarpa Tree, following the cortege himself at a distance.

  Poplar, attending the Court at High Sun, had listened to the proceedings with dismay. Everything that he had heard and seen had been contrary to what he had been taught by Old Burdock during the previous year, when he had studied Squirrel Lore and Traditions with the incomers.

  Squirrels have the right

  To explain their own actions,

  Fully – in silence.

  Marguerite had not been allowed to do this. It was plainly unjust. Then there was:

  Punishment through pain

  Degrades the one who gives – more

  Than the receiver.

  His brother has been spared this degradation, thank the Sun. Now it was going to be up to him to tell the King- and the Kingz-Mate.

  These low-tailed zervantz were having the distasteful job of carrying his brother’s body the full length of Ourland because he, another squirrel like them, had ordered them to do so.

  Each squirrel is Free

  To choose its own root through Life –

  Guided by Kernels.

  Sallow’s corpse was laid at the foot of the Royal Tree and Next-King Poplar climbed up to tell his father of the circumstances of his brother’s death, as told to him by the zervantz who had been present.

  The King was silent for a while. He looked tired and old, all his pride and arrogance gone. He stared at his youngest son, sitting, head bowed and tail low, on the branch before him. For the first time in his life, he saw that Poplar was a fitter and better squirrel than Sallow had ever been.

  He looked out over the sea, then, appearing to have come to some great decision, called for his and the Kingz-Mate’s peacock feathers to be brought to them, together with one more. He stood to his full height, a Royal and dominating figure again, held his tail high and announced, ‘Uz lazt Decree iz thiz – uz giv’z up uz Kingz-zhip irrevocably and pazz thiz Name, the Dutiez and the Privilegez on to uz zun, King Poplar the Zixth. Long live King Poplar.’

  He bit through his peacock feather and let the pieces fall through the branches to the ground far below, then looked expectantly at the Kingz-Mate, who, with just a hint of reluctance, did the same with hers, watching the blue and green feather, gleaming bright in the evening sun, drift away on a light breeze.

  The Ex-King lowered his tail, handed the new feathers to King Poplar the Zixth and turned to leave. His head was aching and he wanted to lie down, away from the excited chatter that had followed his announcement.

  ‘Wait,’ commanded the new King. ‘Uz firzt Degree iz thiz. All zervantz are free,’ and, before any squirrel could realise the significance of this, he declared, ‘And uz second, and lazt Decree iz to abolish for ever in Ourland the pozition and rank of King.’ He bit through his feather and let the pieces drop.

  ‘In future uz am to be known as Poplar; not King Poplar, not even Ex-King Poplar, juzt Poplar.’

  In the chill of the following morning, Juzt Poplar crossed the west-east boundary, abolishing it with a flick of his tail to the cheers o
f a gaggle of adoring ex-zervantz who were busy trying to keep their tails in unaccustomed upright positions.

  Behind them came Ex-King Willow playing hide and seek in the bushes with the dreylings of the ex-zervantz, and a slightly huffy Ex-Kingz-Mate.

  ‘Uz haven’t enjoyed uzzelf zo much for yearz,’ he told her.

  Oak, Burdock and the rest of the exiles were in the trees above Woodstock Bay, looking out over the harbour.

  Tansy had seen the Sun’s-child leaving on the tide, and they were hoping it would return, unaware of what had taken place at Pottery Point, or later at the Royal Tree. They were now huddled together awaiting events when they heard the joyous group approaching.

  ‘Will you be our Leader?’ Juzt Poplar called up to Oak.

  ‘That depends,’ Oak cautiously replied, and came down the trunk to learn from Poplar of the unexpected and dramatic events that had occurred at the eastern end of the island.

  Old Burdock went across and brushed whiskers with Ex-King Willow and Ex-Kingz-Mate Thizle.

  ‘Long live a united Ourland!’ she said, and each squirrel repeated the words.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  Marguerite suggested to the squirrels below that they come up and lick some of the condensed dew from the Sun’s-child’s skin before the sun rose and dried it up. The sky was clear and it was going to be another hot day with no more water for them until nightfall.

  Just before dawn a sleek warship had passed at a distance, leaving her wondering what the straight horizontal branches were that she could see silhouetted again the sky. She marvelled too at seeing some of her numbers painted hugely on its side: F126. The F puzzled her, but the numbers were hers.

  The rubber dinghy was too small to show on the ship’s radar but the pinging of its Asdic transmissions, as it sensed for hidden submarines, was picked up by the squirrels’ sensitive whiskers, the pulses amplified by the inflated ring of the Sun’s-child.

  If it is trying to talk to us, thought Marguerite, I understood the dolphins better. Perhaps it’s a special language these great ships use to each other when they are offering help.

  Throughout the long day, the land to the north slipped past as they were carried along on the sea’s currents. Now and then the flow would appear to stop and the Sun’s-child would circle aimlessly for a few minutes, then they would be caught by another current and drawn off in a slightly different direction, sometimes close to the cliffs, sometimes well out to sea, but always westwards.

  Another night crept up on them from the east and the squirrels settled down to try and sleep. The sun had dried up the Sea-water that had splashed into the Sun’s-child before the dolphins came, so they were dry and more comfortable now, although very hungry. All of them, including Juniper, had adjusted to the rising and falling motion of the sea.

  During the night a wind from the south-west started to blow, gently at first, then growing in strength until, by midnight, it was driving them rapidly towards the shore. A fitful moon came out from behind the clouds and showed Marguerite the dangers that lay ahead. On Ourland she had often heard waves rushing at the shore and watched them curling over in a mass of white froth and bubbles. She knew that this was happening now, somewhere in front of them, and as the sounds were getting louder, she also knew that soon they would be in the breakers. ‘Trust in the Sun.’

  She turned to warn the others and found herself saying in a strong, confident voice:

  Be ready to swim

  Keep together. Fear nothing.

  We will all be saved.

  Juniper added. ‘Trust in the Sun,’ as a giant wave lifted the Sun’s-child, tipped it over in the surf and tumbled the squirrels into the cold water. Tamarisk, Spindle and Wood Anemone scrabbled and clutched at pieces of the driftwood thrown into the sea with them, while Marguerite swam directly to the shore.

  Juniper, struck on the head by the Woodstock as the craft overturned, sank, and then, when he had struggled to the surface, found that he was trapped under the upturned Sun’s-child, paddling round and round with no way of escape. In the blackness he felt the floating spiral of wood and grabbed at it in panic, his paws scratching and clawing at the smooth surface. He never knew which of Marguerite’s numbers he unwittingly drew in the confusing darkness, but a powerful burst of energy shot out of the Woodstock, ripping the skin of the Sun’s-child apart with an explosion that was heard by the other squirrels, now huddled together on the wet shingle further along the beach.

  Coughing and spitting salt water, he climbed through the hole in the wet rubber and, as the current drew the remains of the dinghy along the shore, he swam through the breakers to the land, guided by the weak moonlight.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  Juniper was lying exhausted amongst the seaweed on the high-tide mark. Near him were the remains of the Sun'’-child and at his side was the sodden Woodstock. A red squirrel with only a stump of a tail was shaking his shoulder. ‘Wake up, my friend, wake up,’ he was saying.

  He rolled over in the soft light of the early dawn. A herring-gull was calling from a rock and the sound of the breakers was faint in his ears. He could just make out a sucking sound as the waves of the ebbing tide drew the shingle back after the rush up the beach.

  Juniper coughed, tasting the salt in the fur around his mouth.

  ‘Where are the others?' he asked.

  ‘Don’t worry, they are all safe, further along,’ the stump-tailed one said. ‘That bossy female sent me to find you.’

  Juniper smiled to himself, then looked ruefully at the remains of the Sun’s-child. The stranger was nosing at the Woodstock. ‘Don’t touch that!’ Juniper called to him.

  ‘Poisonous?’ asked the stump-tailed one.

  ‘No. I’ll explain later, he said.

  ‘Could you take me to Marguerite, please?’ said Stump-Tail.

  ‘I think we’ve met before,’ Juniper said, as he limped stiffly along the beach. ‘Didn’t you come through our Guardianship with a group of refugees last summer? One of us, Clover the Carer, bit off your broken tail for you.’

  ‘Where was that?’ asked Stump-Tail. ‘My memory of that terrible journey is all mixed up in my mind. We came through many Guardianships to end up here.’

  ‘Mine was Humanside, at the Blue Pool.’

  ‘Not that beautiful place with water the colour of a summer sky? Your Council Leader asked us to stay but we came on. I remember it now. How is Clover? I didn’t see her with the others.’

  They joined Marguerite, Tamarisk and the ex-zervantz, who were sitting grooming themselves in the sunshine and talking to the refugees. They had washed away the salt and drunk deeply from a stream which ran down the valley before disappearing under the shingle at the top of the beach. Now their fur was nearly dry.

  Marguerite hopped over to Juniper and brushed whiskers with him. ‘Are you all right? She asked.

  Juniper looked around guiltily, lowered his voice and said, ‘I killed the Sun’s-child.’

  ‘You’d better tell me about it.’ Marguerite led him away to the stream and, as he washed and drank, she listened as he told her what he could remember of the incident in the surf.

  ‘I heard the noise as I came ashore. I wondered what it was, there was no thunder in the sky. That was the Sun’s-child dying?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Juniper. ‘It was an accident. I touched the Woodstock by mistake in the darkness. I would have drowned if I had stayed under there much longer.’

  You are forgiven

  The Sun’s-child died to save you

  Your life is needed.

  Marguerite looked around, as if to see who was speaking, then apologised to Juniper. ‘Sometimes it is as if someone else is speaking through my mouth.’

  Juniper looked at the bright-eyed squirrel with awe.

  Stump-Tail and his party were exchanging stories of hazardous journeys with Marguerite and her companions.

  Marguerite had counted the refugees. There was one lot of eight and four more – 14.

/>   ‘What are your plans now?’ Stump-Tail’s life-mate, Dandelion, asked.

  ‘We’ll rest for a while with you if we may, and work out what to do next. We didn’t plan this journey.’

  To make the Sun laugh

  You tell it, in detail, your

  Plans for your Future.

  They all smiled at this Kernel. Then she told the incredulous refugees of all that had happened on Ourland, culminating in their departure from there, and their arrival here, at what they learned was called Worbarrow Bay

  In turn, they heard of the adventures of the refugees when they had followed the Leylines to the coast.

  ‘We must get the Woodstock,’ said Tamarisk after they had finished, and he started off along the beach.