‘What can I do for you, Arvic?’ he asked, without stopping.
There was a splash from behind him and a spluttering sound. He turned towards a large vole, who was struggling out of the water, an astounded look on his face.
‘What did you call me?’ he said.
‘Arvic,’ replied the dormouse. ‘It’s your name.’
‘It is?’ said the vole. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure. Say it to yourself and see.’
Arvic considered this for a while; he felt a warm glow whenever he thought the name.
‘How did you know?’ he asked, and added, a little sheepishly, ‘…when I didn’t?’
‘I know many things, Arvic. I know, for instance, that you will meet a lovely young Vole called Clethrion, fall madly in love and have a large family. I know that you will soon need the help of your cousin, Pitamus, and that your debt to him will lead to you travelling a long way. I know, also, that this will not be our last meeting.’
‘Oh,’ said Arvic, thoughtfully, ‘Well, that told me, didn’t it?’
The dormouse smiled. I’m getting the hang of this prophet lark,he thought, and turned back to continue his journey.
‘So how come this Clethrion already has a name?’ asked Arvic.
The dormouse continued walking, but raised an eyebrow, and said, ‘because I just named her.’
‘But,’ said Arvic, determined to catch him out, ‘she won’t knowit’s her name, will she? She wasn’t here to hear you say it!’
The dormouse still didn’t stop, but quite enjoyed the challenge. ‘She’ll know in her heart, just as you did.’
‘So, what’s your name, then?’ asked Arvic, ‘So I may greet you properly when we meet again?’
‘My name?’ said the dormouse, halting in his tracks. He turned his head and looked the Vole in the eye. ‘My name… is Nostra.’
‘And what manner of creature are you?’ continued Arvic.
‘I am a dormouse,’ he replied, ‘the first of my kind.’
‘I see,’ said Arvic. ‘Well, then, Nostra Dormouse, I bid you farewell until we meet again.’ And with a quick flick of his tail, Arvic Vole slipped silently back into the river, leaving his new acquaintance to continue his solitary path.
For a while, he was content to listen to the sounds his feet made on the soft earth, and the gentle whisper of the wind in the willows, until presently he stopped and peered at his reflection in the river. He bowed, as if meeting someone important for the first time, and said to his watery alter-ego, ‘Good Morrow, Sir. Permit me to introduce myself. My name… is Nostradormouse.’
He chuckled to himself, and then continued on his way.
Chapter Five
Across the tree-tops leaps the dray-dweller;
As the feathered bard spreads wide his song,
So each visionary phrase becomes valid
And his wisdom is wisely employed.
I f Nostradormouse had looked up into the branches high above, he would have noticed a reddish-brown creature with a long, bushy tail watching him. She gazed down through the foliage, her four limbs gripping the branch she was perched on tightly. Every now and again, her head would dart from side to side, nervously keeping watch.
With a swift, graceful movement, she scampered from one branch to another, then one tree to the next, running down the thinnest of branches, not caring how much it bowed under her weight.
For days she had been heading deeper into The Great Woods, feeling drawn towards something she didn’t fully understand. Quickening her pace, she leapt from branch to branch, tree to tree, continuing her fateful journey, pausing only briefly to eat a nut, or to hide in a hollow trunk for a moment’s rest.
And then, suddenly, there it was. It stood alone in the middle of a clearing, lifeless yet majestic. Nothing grew around its edges, and all the trees that surrounded it seemed to shrink from its touch. She scampered down the trunk of the tree and, looking nervously all around her, scurried into a hollow.
The third guardian had arrived.
One sunny morning, a small, black-feathered bird with a yellow beak alighted on a hazel tree and started to sing. A mouse came out of the hollow in the trunk of the hazel, and listened for a few moments. Then, he called to his wife, who joined him at the entrance to their home. They looked at each other in surprise, not quite believing what they’d heard.
The black bird finished his song and was about to leave, when he noticed his audience and turned to greet them.
‘I’m dreadfully sorry,’ he chirped, ‘I didn’t notice you there. How rude of me!’
‘Oh, that’s no bother,’ said the mouse, ‘but could I ask you to repeat your song? It was so lovely.’
‘Why, thank-you!’ exclaimed the bird, ‘I would be honoured to repeat it!’ Proudly, he puffed out his chest, and began his song again:
‘I sing in praise of the healer of voles,
Of beavers and foxes and badgers and moles,
This giver of nostrums will know of your plight
And come to your aid when the moon shines its light.
With flowers and herbs he will mix you a drink,
Be you lizard or rabbit or turtle or mink,
And when you are well he will slip from your house,
The most humble of healers is Nostradormouse.’
‘I reckon that’s our son!’ said the mouse to his wife.
‘Do you really think so?’
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I do. Well, would you believe it?’
The black bird listened intently to what the mice were saying. ‘There is another verse of my song,’ he chirped. ‘Do you wish to hear it?’
The mice nodded vigorously, and so the black bird continued;
‘I sing in wonder, for this healer can see
What the future may hold, both for you and for me.
Ask him the question that troubles your mind,
And he will reach into the future and find
An answer to query, question or qualm,
Which he will deliver with unruffled calm
So you may rest easy, be you pheasant or grouse,
A venerable seer is Nostradormouse.’
‘You’re right!’ said Mother, ‘Isn’t that wonderful?’
‘I knew he’d do all right!’ Father replied.
They thanked the black bird profusely.
‘Oh, think nothing of it!’ replied the bird. ‘That’s what I’m here for. Now, I must bid you farewell. There are other ears to fill with sweet song!’
With that, he took to the air in search of new audiences. When he was gone, they gave each other a long hug.