But before it could say anything more, there came a loud rumbling from the undergrowth and four deer came striding out of the woods from four different directions. They stopped in unison when they saw the tree and looked at each other; they seemed to be communicating without speaking a word. Then, again in unison, they walked towards the four enormous branches that trailed along the ground. When they reached them, they bowed their antlers and began to strike them against the wood. The sound echoed through the clearing, gaining momentum with every strike, until it sounded like a battle was raging.
Every creature in The Great Woods paused for a moment, listening to something in the distance, something that seemed to draw them towards the centre of their world.
The root-dweller, the Nidhog, was right.
It was starting.
It was late one evening when the salmon arrived at the lake. It had swum up-stream for many days, returning to its birth-place one final time, and it was exhausted.
The mouse was scampering about on the ground, collecting hazel nuts that had fallen from the tree in a storm the previous night. They weren’t at their best, as he much preferred them green and juicy, straight from the branch, but food was food.
His wife called out from the branch above him. ‘Look, dear! Look who it is!’
The mouse watched as the salmon wearily swam past him into the pool, where it could rest at last. The mouse dropped the nuts it had gathered and raced up the trunk of the tree and into the hollow, where his wife was already preparing to leave. As he entered, she turned to him and said, ‘This is so exciting! We’re going to see our son!’
‘We can’t go yet,’ he said, ‘it’s not time.’
‘It isn’t?’ she replied, looking crestfallen.
‘No,’ said the mouse, ‘not yet.’
‘But I want to see our son!’ she exclaimed.
‘I know. I do, too.’
They came out of the hollow to watch the sun set behind the canopy of trees that framed their home. They stood there, together, arm in arm, as the daylight faded. As they glanced down at the pool beneath them, they saw the salmon circling its birthplace, swimming faster and faster. Soon, it had created a whirlpool, and the waters churned excitedly. Then, the salmon leapt up from the centre of the vortex, and the waters followed it. The mice watched in amazement as the salmon landed on the ground, and the waters flowed over him, following a dip in the earth that they were sure had not been there before.
They looked at each other and laughed with joy.
‘Now can we go?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘ Nowwe can go.’
Without bothering to take anything, they scampered down the trunk of their home and began to follow the waters as it made its way relentlessly towards the centre of The Great Woods.
Chapter Seven
A great migration gathers pace beside new banks;
During this journey a new partnership is made,
Comforting words are overheard
And four seeds come close to full term.
Have you seen it?’ cried the badger, ‘have you heard it?’ asked the mole. ‘Have you tasted it?’ said the beaver, ‘have you swum in it?’ asked the vole.
These were just some of the questions that the growing crowd of pilgrims asked each other as they followed the waters of the lake towards the centre of the forest.
Word of the extraordinary phenomenon had spread quickly. Soon, others joined the two mice. A family of shrews were the first, and they were soon accompanied by two raccoons. By the next day, a party of natterjack toads were swimming in the stream; the young ones were carried along by the current, and two old terrapins swum lugubriously alongside them.
Just out of sight of the main party, a pack of wolves followed at a safe distance, and, at their own pace, three young lynx kittens tried to stay a few steps ahead of their parents.
Many species of birds joined the caravan of creatures. In the tops of the trees, all manner of creatures scampered and scurried, and in the evening the frantic fluttering of many bats could be heard. A pair of peregrine falcons flew ahead of the main party and returned excitedly to report what they had seen. It appeared that this was not the only stream to snake its way towards the heart of The Great Woods; no less than four new streams were flowing towards a single source. Nothing quite like this had ever happened before, and the other streams had gathered their own pilgrims.
By now, all had heard of Nostradormouse and his healing prowess, not to mention his prophetic abilities. Many tales about him rapidly grew in stature and length in their retelling. Many claimed to have met him, and not a few professed to have been cured by him, but none could say where he was. A family of rabbits insisted that he had saved them from a pack of hungry wolves; this had provoked disbelief in many, and ridicule by the rest. The father rabbit was adamant that Nostradormouse had walked with them for a while, but (conveniently, some said) he had not stayed for long. It was as if he had vanished into the night, content to let his reputation take his place on the journey.
Of course, there were many times when various parties stopped and set up temporary camps beside the stream, in order to rest and gain strength for the next leg of their journey. You could always find at least one group asleep whilst others continued on. A great camaraderie was created between the cosmopolitan creatures; even the predators presented no physical threat to their prey. When questioned, they chose to remain silent on the matter, but the word was out; they were fasting for the foreseeable future.
It was on one such occasion, when a party of nocturnal animals had bedded down in a vacant rabbit warren, that Nostradormouse’s parents had a chance meeting. They had just settled down together when they overheard a vole boisterously trying to impress a young female of his kind with a tale about their son. Now this had happened many times before, and they had always dismissed the stories as, at best, invented and, at worst, absurd in the extreme. But this particular tale had more than a ring of truth to it.
‘…and he says to me, he says, “What can I do for you, Arvic?” Just like that. And I didn’t even have a name until that point! I knew then that he was something special.’
The two mice peered cautiously over the mound of earth that separated them from the two voles, and listened intently to their conversation.
‘So I ask him how he knew my name, and he says, “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.”’
The two mice saw the expression on the young female change from bemused to surprised and then quickly to embarrassment.
‘But, Arvic, that’s my name!’ she said.
Arvic froze in mid-flow, his tiny eyes widening at the realisation of who he was talking to. He laughed nervously, suddenly becoming very bashful.
‘Oh, my!’ he said, ‘And I didn’t even introduce myself properly! What must you think of me?’
‘I think you’re perfectly lovely!’ said Clethrion, ‘and you simply must finish your story. What else did Nostradormouse say?’
‘Well now, let me see,’ said Arvic, having quite lost the rhythm of his tale, ‘where was I?’
‘Meeting me and falling madly in love,’ declared Clethrion, smiling coyly at her new acquaintance.
‘Oh, yes!’ said Arvic, hands shaking, ‘So I was! Well, now. Em. Yes. So he says, “you will soon need the help of your cousin, Pitamus, and that your debt to him will entail you travelling a long way. I know, also, that this will not be our last meeting.”’