‘Do you think he’s okay?’ said Mother.
‘I hope so,’ replied Father. ‘I do worry about him.’
‘Me too,’ said Mother. ‘But I’m so proud.’
Arvic Vole was not feeling too good. For a day or so now, his limbs had seemed heavier, and his breath came in short, rasping gasps. He felt both hot and cold in turn, and would shiver and sweat in the same breath. But when his appetite dwindled, and he could no longer stomach even the simplest of meals, he decided that enough was enough. Something was most definitely wrong with him, and it needed to be fixed. But how? The one animal that could aid him had left many weeks ago, after helping his cousin Pitamus to cure his family.
Pitamus! Maybe he had some of that Nostrum stuff left? It was worth a try. Wearily, Arvic raised his aching bones from his chair and made his way through the labyrinth of tunnels that lay under the pine glade.
Pitamus’s wife, Lina, met Arvic at the entrance to their Burrow and immediately guessed what was wrong.
‘Oh, dear!’ she said, ‘you poor thing! Come in at once and lie down on our bed. Pitamus! Pitamus! Come quick!’
‘What is it, my dear?’ said Pitamus, hurrying in from another tunnel, closely followed by Piney. When he saw Arvic lying on his bed, he knew without being told. ‘Oh, dear… Oh, deary me!’ he muttered, ‘What are we to do?’
‘Well, husband,’ began Lina, ‘you can start by collecting these plants,’ and gave him a list describing each herb that Nostradormouse had given them.
‘Where did you get this?’ asked Pitamus.
‘Where do you think?’ Lina replied.
Pitamus hurried out and quickly gathered all the herbs on the list. When he returned, the copper pan was already heating the water, and Lina was dabbing a wet cloth on Arvic’s forehead.
‘Don’t worry,’ she whispered, ‘We’ll have you up and about in no time.’
After taking the newly made nostrum, Arvic slept soundly for two days. When he awoke, he found Pitamus sitting beside the bed in his favourite armchair, whittling away at a long slim piece of wood with a knot near the top.
‘What’s that?’ he asked.
‘Oh, hello Arvic,’ replied Pitamus, looking up from his work, ‘It’s just a small gift to say thank-you.’
‘Oh, you shouldn’t have!’ said Arvic, ‘I don’t deserve such a gift!’
‘No, you don’t!’ came a voice from the entrance to the Burrow, ‘Not after hogging our bed for two days!’ Lina entered, carrying the smaller of her two children. ‘It’s for our mutual friend, not for you!’
‘Oh, of course!’ said Arvic, ‘I was just testing!’
‘How are you feeling?’ asked Pitamus, blowing away a few wood shavings from his carving.
‘Never better!’ said Arvic, confidently.
‘Good,’ said Pitamus, ‘because I need you to do something for me.’
‘You want me to take that gift of yours to Nostradormouse, don’t you?’ he said.
‘Now who’s the prophet?’ said Lina.
Arvic smiled, and then addressed his cousin once again. ‘At a guess, I take it that your gift is a staff of some kind.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Pitamus, holding the staff at arm’s length to admire it. ‘I’ve been working on this since he left.’
‘And I have, too!’ said a small voice from behind Lina.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Pitamus, ‘And so has Piney!’
‘I must admit, it’s rather a fine piece of work,’ said Arvic. He looked gratefully at Pitamus, then turned and smiled at Lina and Piney. ‘I should be proud to take this to our friend,’ he said.
Chapter Six
Eight horns herald the new world’s arrival;
As insults are hurled twixt sky and earth
The wise swimmer returns to his birthplace
And sacred waters are summoned to the well.
A t the foot of the ancient tree, a coiled root stirred, then two eyes looked out upon the early morning. The creature’s head turned from left to right, as if trying to pinpoint something it had sensed. It settled on one direction, then another, then another. There was definitely something on the way, it thought. Maybe several things: Things with limbs, things that could run.
High up in the topmost branches, a golden-feathered bird lifted its head from its breast, and fastened its two beady eyes on the woods below. It, too, sensed something approaching.
A head popped out from a hollow in the trunk of the tree, nervously looking this way and that. The reddish-brown creature scurried out onto a branch and looked around.
‘Itsss ssstarting!’ said a voice from below it.
The creature scampered back into its hollow in fright. When nothing followed, she emerged cautiously from the safety of her hiding place.
‘Who said that?’ she asked.
‘I have no name asss yet, nervousss one, but I live down here!’ came the reply.
She followed the sound of the voice and was amazed to see one of the roots of the tree talking to her.
‘Come clossser, bushy-tail,’ it continued, ‘I won’t harm you.’
Suddenly, from high above, came a shriek and the beating of powerful wings. The two creatures looked up, startled. Neither were aware that anything else was living in their tree. The creature with the wings cried out something that neither of them could quite hear.
‘What did it sssay?’ asked the root-dweller.
‘I don’t know,’ replied bushy-tail. ‘Hold on a moment, and I’ll find out!’
She quickly scurried up the trunk towards the higher branches. As she neared the top, she gazed in awe at the sight of the enormous golden-feathered bird sitting on the top branch.
It looked at her and said, ‘Don’t trust that slithering creature. I’ve been watching it down there since I arrived, and I don’t like what I see.’
‘It seems harmless,’ she replied. ‘How do I know that you are more worthy of my trust than it is?’
The bird flapped its enormous wings again and looked hard at her. ‘Do you have a name, nervous one?’ it asked.
‘No, I’ve never needed one,’ came the reply.
‘Then I shall call you Ratatosk,’ said the bird, ‘for in the language of my kind, it means ‘she who scurries’.’
‘Thank-you,’ she said, ‘…I think.’
‘You can tell that root creature, that ‘Nidhog’, that I have my all-seeing eyes on it. But don’t get too close. It will have you for its supper. Consider that your one and only warning.’
Ratatosk scurried back down the tree trunk and delivered the message immediately. There was something about the way in which the enormous bird spoke, which filled her with respect and awe. Following his advice, she made sure she didn’t get too close to the creature, which was just as well, because it took the message badly.
‘How dare he criticissse me?’ it raged. ‘I don’t know what a Nidhog isss, but I know an insssult when I hear one! Well, if thatsss the way he wantsss it, then thatsss the way itsss going to be!’