Clethrion was clearly impressed by this last statement. ‘You mean that you’re going to meet him again?’ she asked.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Arvic, casually, ‘I have to. You see, I need to give him this,’ and he picked up the staff that Pitamus had made for Nostradormouse and proudly showed it to Clethrion.
‘That’s beautiful!’ she said, ‘I’m sure he’ll be very pleased with it.’
‘I hope so,’ said Arvic, thoughtfully, ‘it took Pitamus ages!’
The two mice exchanged happy glances and then laid themselves back down on their bed of soft earth, content that their son would have such a reward for his kindness.
Arvic and Clethrion chatted long into the day, gazing into each other’s eyes. Both quickly became entranced by the other, and thereafter became inseparable.
And the legend of Nostradormouse grew ever stronger.
Ratatosk was beginning to tire of the constant stream of insults being traded between the Nidhog and the golden-feathered bird at the top of the ancient tree. It wasn’t that she was particularly bothered whether they liked each other or not; it was just that she had become their sole means of communication. Between racing up and down the trunk carrying insult after insult, and the wearisome noise of the stags’ antlers striking the four branches, there wasn’t time to rest, eat, or sleep.
Also, she had noticed a change in the shape of the trunk, just above the base. It seemed to be bulging, and reminded her of her mother when she was carrying her sister.
It was almost as if the tree was about to give birth…
Chapter Eight
From North, South, East and West they come;
The dormant one quenches an ageless thirst
A generous gift proves most fortuitous
And the end of eternity arrives, bathed in light.
After many days and many nights, journey’s end approached the weary but excited travellers. From all four corners of The Great Woods they came, following their respective streams. As they grew nearer and nearer to the centre of the woods, and the rhythmic striking of the stags’ great antlers grew ever louder, an eager yet oddly reverent hush overtook even the noisiest of creatures.
As the first animals arrived at the edge of the clearing where the ancient tree stood, the stags raised their heads and let out a great, triumphant cry. Then, with one last, mighty sweep of their heads, they struck their branch one last time, shattering their antlers to a thousand pieces. The sound echoed round the clearing for what seemed like an eternity, then a silence, deeper than any silence before or since, descended over those gathered.
The waters from each stream continued their journey towards the tree, passing beside the four branches, until they reached the roots. The tree drank greedily as the water sank into the earth around it.
As the minutes passed into hours, more and more creatures of all shapes and sizes gathered at the edge of the clearing, and all waited without uttering a word.
Ratatosk peered out from her hollow every now and again, and quickly withdrew into the darkness of her home on seeing the crowd. The Nidhog kept absolutely still, pretending to be a root. The golden-feathered bird sat motionless, proud and regal upon his tree-top perch. The four stags stood with heads bowed, the fragments of their broken antlers all around their hooves.
After several minutes, a low rumble came from deep within the ancient tree. It grew steadily louder, and the ground began to shake. The rumble turned into a roar which was accompanied by a thick, heady scent, and each creature felt as if their skull would split.
Abruptly, the sound ceased, and all was silent once more. No animal dared to move. Then, a small mouse wearing a cloak and hood stepped forward into the clearing and walked slowly towards the tree. An excited murmur passed over the crowd. A wolf gave a low growl, and his pack echoed him. Nearby, a small family of rabbits nervously edged away from them, but couldn’t quite hide their excitement at seeing their friend again.
The rodent made its way to the foot of the enormous trunk and then stopped. Slowly, he removed his hood, and each creature gathered at the edge of the clearing knew that it was Nostradormouse himself who stood before them.
It had been exhausting these past few days, and Nostradormouse was ready to drop. All his limbs ached, and his feet were sore from walking. He so desperately wanted to rest, but Find whispered in his head, keep going, my friend. This is it now. This is your time.
He extended his left hand outwards, as if to ask for something. He turned his head slowly in the same direction and his gaze fell upon two voles, one of whom held a staff in his right hand.
Arvic suddenly felt all eyes upon him and looked at Clethrion nervously. She let go of his hand and said softly, ‘I think he needs his staff. You’d better go and give it to him.’
‘Oh! Yes, of course,’ murmured Arvic. ‘His staff. Yes.’
Warily, Arvic made his way over to Nostradormouse, who smiled at him warmly.
‘Good to see you again, Arvic,’ he said. ‘I hope Clethrion is well.’
‘Oh yes,’ replied the vole, ‘She’s lovely. Thank-you.’
The two stood there for a few moments, Arvic’s awkward smile fading fast. Then, he realised that he still held the staff.
‘Oh! The staff!’ he exclaimed, and passed it to Nostradormouse. ‘It’s from-’
‘Pitamus and Piney,’ said Nostradormouse. ‘Yes, I know. You must give them my eternal thanks. Without this staff to aid me, I would not be able to do this.’
He walked boldly up to the roots of the tree and tapped one root with the end of the staff. Immediately, the root sprang to life. Arvic backed away when he realised it wasn’t a root at all, but a serpent. The Nidhog’s forked tongue flicked in and out of its mouth, but it didn’t strike the rodent. It simply bowed its head so Nostradormouse could climb on top. Then, its head rose several feet in the air and turned towards the trunk.
Nostradormouse raised the staff in both hands and struck the trunk at the centre of the bulge. It split open, and a bright, white light emanated from within. The Nidhog lowered his head to the ground and Nostradormouse stepped off, backing slowly away from the tree…
Chapter Nine
Four directions has The Great Woods;
Four Branches has the ancient tree,
Four seasons burst upon the earth
And bring an end to eternity.
The tree creaked and groaned, as if it was trying to talk to the gathered animals. The fissure in the trunk grew larger, and light continued to flood from its heart.
‘I can see movement in there!’ exclaimed Clethrion, clasping her hands to her mouth.
‘Oh, yes!’ said Arvic, ‘can you make out what it is?’
‘Arvic, I’m scared. Hold me!’
Arvic put his arms round Clethrion and held her to him. It felt good to protect her. It felt natural.
There was a fluttering of feathers, and a young hawk surged out of the fissure and alighted on the large branch to the east of the tree. A gasp of wonder rippled across those gathered.