Текст книги "Nostradormouse"

Автор книги: Chris Tinniswood

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Nostradormouse Chris Tinniswood

Published:2009

Tag(s):"salmon of wisdom" Fantasy animal children anthropomorphic magic celtic norse myth mouse dormouse

Preface

Nostradormouse

Chris Tinniswood

First published in 2009 by Histrionic Downs

Text and illustrations copyright © Chris Tinniswood 2009

The moral right of Chris Tinniswood to be identified as the author of this work

has been asserted by him in accordance with the

Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons (or animals!),

living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,

stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means,

electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise,

without the prior permission in writing of both the copyright owner

 and the above publisher of this book, nor be otherwise circulated

in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published

and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

www.histrionicdowns.com

ISBN: 978-0-9561611-0-9

Designed by Chris Tinniswood

Portrait of Author by Sally Tennant

For Paula

Prologue

The hooded mouse treads a solitary path;

The pack-mind catches the scent of prey.

The largest shall bow to the smallest’s will,

And the youngest will identify the prophet .

Wrapping his hooded cloak tightly about him, the dormouse pressed on through the darkened forest. The wind was blowing hard against him, but his will was fierce and so, undaunted, he continued his way towards the centre of The Great Woods.

The moon appeared briefly through a gap in the trees. It should have been a welcome relief for him, but instead it brought fear; for although it lit his way, it also revealed shapes in the bushes; shapes which he had glimpsed before. They barely made a sound, even when the wind was not howling through the branches and whispering nightmares into his ears. They were his constant companions these past few hours; if they were friends, why did they not reveal themselves? If they were enemies, why did they not strike?

The dormouse paused for breath against the roots of a silver birch. Its bark was smooth to the touch, and he could smell the earth beneath his feet. It gave him some small comfort, which he craved. He sighed heavily, and sat down to rest, grateful for the shelter against the wind. He had come a long way these past few moons, but he knew that he still had far to go. He wished that he was safely back at home with his parents, but knew that it could never be. If only he hadn’t eaten that nut. But he had, and that one meal had changed his life forever.

A shriek pierced the night, and the dormouse sprang up onto the root, his head darting back and forth, his whiskers twitching as he strained his ears to detect the source of the sound.

There it was again! He paused, suddenly aware that whatever danger was out there, he was just one solitary mouse. What could he do? His instinct told him to run and hide, and yet he felt a compelling urge to help. He knew he could make a difference. And so, despite the fear he felt and the knots in his stomach, he sprang off the root and ran towards the source of the shrieks. He was someone’s only hope.

Just ahead of the dormouse was a small clearing. The trees cast long shadows across it, and leaves whispered in the wind like soft applause. In the centre of the clearing was a family of rabbits. They huddled close together; not against the cold, but in fear of their lives. Surrounding them, and closing in, were a pack of hungry wolves. Their mouths slavered with the anticipation of the meal to come. Again, the rabbits shrieked, and the wolves snarled viciously in reply.

The dormouse did not hesitate; if he had, things may well have turned out very differently. He ran straight under the wolves and skidded to a halt in front of the rabbits. Gasping for breath, he smiled timidly at the astonished animals, and then turned slowly to face the common enemy.

The wolves stopped; their hackles rose, and the tone of their snarls changed. The leader of the pack sniffed the air; he detected the smell of fear, and the dirt, and the rabbits. These smells he welcomed, but the smell of this rodent was something he couldn’t quite grasp. It was not that of just any mouse; it was a smell he’d been tracking for some days. He looked down at the dormouse and a look of amusement grew on his face. He watched his tiny chest rise and fall. The wolf chuckled, and his chuckle turned to laughter; it rippled across the others in his pack as if they were sharing an unspoken joke. This was, in fact, exactly what they were doing; these hunters had a unique bond which they called the pack-mind; it allowed them to speak to each other in complete privacy by thought alone.

The mouse thinks himself a hero! thought the leader, but I reckon he’ll make a tasty starter! Again the wolves laughed.

The dormouse cleared his throat, and said, ‘Don’t come any closer, or I’ll…’

‘You’ll what?’ replied the wolf, lowering his head towards the dormouse, ‘Squeak at us?’

The pack leader could see the fear in the dormouse’s eyes. This will be too easy, he thought. Then, something shifted, and the wolf saw the terror disappear, to be replaced by something else; something that terrified him. This tiny, cloaked creature was no longer afraid. Indeed, he was now looking at him as if he was an equal. This he could not tolerate. The pack-mind met in silent conference; What are you waiting for? Attack! Kill them! The other wolves couldn’t understand the delay. They were hungry and impatient. This insolent mouse thinks he’s as good as us!

The leader took a step forward, even though the fear he now felt was painful. The wolf took another faltering step and then stopped. He could go no further. He looked into the eyes of this strange mouse, and saw at once all the selfish and evil things he had ever done reflected back at him. If the wolf had possessed an ounce of conscience, it would have sent him mad. Then the dormouse spoke these words, and his voice was heard in the hearts and minds of all hunters everywhere:

‘All pilgrims on this path may pass without hindrance;

From the smallest to the largest, their way shall not be barred;

For those whose hunger ends the life of another, know this;

Until their journey is done, they shall not eat of flesh.’

Something changed within the wolves at this moment; the craving in their bellies ceased, and a calmness silenced their growls. The hunting instinct left them, and their pack-mind agreed that the importance of the journey overcame whatever selfish desires they had. Reluctantly, they backed away from their prey, their gaze never leaving the dormouse for a second. The pack leader saw him blink twice, and knew that whatever it was that spoke through him had left as suddenly as it had arrived. The dormouse looked as surprised as he was that they weren’t attacking.

Silently, the wolves trotted away, but their pack-mind was feverish with thoughts: What’s going on? Does this mean we’ve got to go vegetarian?

Just before the forest consumed them, the leader turned back to face the dormouse.

‘You have made an enemy of the wolves,’ he growled. ‘The next time we meet you will not be so lucky.’

The dormouse gulped. This was not good. He had left home reluctantly; he didn’t want these powers, but they had been thrust upon him. Now he had enemies, and he would always be looking over his shoulder. Then, something whispered to him, and he knew that there was one thing left to do.

‘Go well, Remus,’ he said.

‘What did you call me?’ replied the wolf. ‘I have no name. We wolves do not need names.’

‘Nonetheless, you have earned your name this night.’

Remus considered this for a moment. The pack-mind was silent. Finally, he said, ‘Then Remus it is, but you will get no thanks from me.’

‘And I expect none,’ replied the dormouse.

Remus turned back to his departing companions and trotted after them. The woods swallowed them up and the clearing was left in silence.

The dormouse turned to the family of rabbits and smiled sweetly at them.

‘Everything is okay now,’ he said, ‘they won’t bother you again.’

‘How did you do that?’ asked the father, ‘I’ve never seen anything like it!’

His wife nodded her head in agreement.

The dormouse thought for a moment before answering. ‘To tell you the truth, I’m not sure I know. I really thought I would be eaten, but it’s as if there’s something inside me that takes over. It’s still me, but it’s also something far bigger than me. I can’t explain.’

One of the three children tugged at the mother’s forearm and she bent down to hear what he had to say. The child whispered it to her and she nodded.

‘My son wishes to know if you’re the mouse everyone’s been talking about?’

‘What mouse is that?’ he replied.

The little rabbit looked at him, and gained some courage.

‘The mouse that heals,’ he said, ‘The mouse that tells the future.’

‘Ah, that mouse!’ came the reply, and he chuckled.

‘You are, aren’t you?’ the little rabbit said. ‘You’re Nostradormouse!’

‘At your service!’ he said, and his eyes twinkled like dancing fireflies.

‘Would you care to travel with us for a while?’ said the father.

‘It would be an honour,’ came the reply.

And so, the family of rabbits and the hooded dormouse set off into the woods. The rabbits felt safer with their companion beside them, and Nostradormouse was glad of the company. They all knew where they were going, but only the dormouse knew why. He could hear a pulse, like a heartbeat, coming from far off in the distance. It summoned him with the promise of wonders. Once or twice, he caught the father rabbit looking at him, and he could almost taste the thoughts from his new friend: Who are you? Where did you come from? How can you know the future?

By rights, the dormouse should not have been aware of his beginnings. And yet, he did know the truth of his origin and the future that was yet to come; it was an enormous responsibility, and it still scared the little dormouse. But still, he soldiered on towards the centre of The Great Woods, and the pulse grew ever stronger.

His story begins many moons ago, at the shores of a deep lake, and that is where we will start…

Chapter One

The tail begins to grow;

From nine, only eight shall pass through.

One shall never reach the up-streamer,

And the smallest shall begin a big sleep.

Long ago, when the Earth was young, there was only one continent, covered almost entirely with trees. It was known to its inhabitants as The Great Woods. There were no seasons, and the animals that lived there had yet to earn their names. Although they could speak, they had no wisdom to utter and no knowledge to tell. At the centre of these woods stood an ancient tree; nothing grew under its branches, which remained leafless and lifeless.

Several leagues from this ancient tree was a deep lake. One morning, as the rising sun sparkled on its surface, a stag appeared out of the mist, and drank at the water’s edge. A salmon bobbed to the surface, and welcomed him.

‘Hello, Fintan,’ replied the stag.

The salmon was somewhat surprised. ‘Why did you call me Fintan?’ he asked.

‘Because it’s your name, of course!’

‘It is?’ said Fintan.

‘It is!’ said the stag.

‘Oh! So what’s your name then?’

‘I’m Find.’

‘I didn’t ask how you were,’ said Fintan, who was now thoroughly confused.

‘I said Find, not fine!’

‘Oh. Right. Sorry,’ said Fintan. ‘How do you know this?’

‘Because,’ said Find, ‘I’m the spirit of wisdom.’

Fintan grew quiet for a moment. ‘Are you sure?’ he said at length, ‘you look like a stag to me.’

Find laughed. ‘What should I look like, then?’

‘I don’t know,’ replied the salmon, ‘you’re the wise one!’

Find was not used to being spoken to like this, but decided to ignore it, as the salmon didn’t know any better.

‘Why are you here?’ asked Fintan.

‘Watch and learn,’ replied Find, and with a graceful sweeping motion, he lifted his head and then shook his antlers. Thousands of bright sparks flew off in all directions; many of them dissipated into the air, others fell into the water, and some floated upwards into the sky. Nine of them, however, floated off on the breeze which blew in unexpectedly from the South. They coasted on the air current and then dropped out at intervals, as the wind whipped round the lakeside. The earth seemed to swallow them whole, and then the wind died down as fast as it had arrived.

‘What was that?’ asked Fintan.

‘You’ll see,’ said Find.

The earth trembled, which sent ripples all around the lake. Then, nine green shoots sprouted out of the ground where the sparks had fallen only moments before. They grew rapidly upwards and outwards until nine Hazel trees stood proudly at the lakeside. Find addressed them all.

‘I charge you with a most sacred duty,’ he said, as his voice carried out over the lake. ‘You must all grow one special hazelnut, unlike any you will ever grow again, and you must drop this nut into the lake.’

The trees shook the leaves on their branches to indicate that they understood. Find turned back to the incredulous Fintan.

‘And you,’ he said, ‘must eat these nuts.’

Fintan stared at Find for a few seconds.

‘Do I look like a mouse to you?’ he said, fins akimbo.

Find didn’t smile this time; he was deadly serious. Fintan gulped.

‘Eek?’ he said, and then disappeared into the depths of the lake with a splash.

Find’s plan was simple; once Fintan had eaten all nine nuts, he would be the wisest creature on Earth. He could then swim out of the lake into the rivers, spreading his wisdom to the world as he swam.

One by one, the Hazel trees did as they were told, and Fintan ate the nuts as they fell, becoming wiser as he did so. And as he ate them, bright spots appeared on his body, until there were eight.

One Hazel tree, however, would not give up its nut. Fintan grew anxious, and summoned Find to the edge of the lake.

‘What is it, Fintan?’ said Find.

‘I’ve eaten eight nuts,’ said Fintan, ‘but this tree won’t give me the ninth!’

Find turned to face the tree. Its leaves started to shake nervously.

‘Why do you not do as I asked?’ he said.

Fintan was amazed when he understood the tree’s reply. ‘I cannot,’ it said, ‘for it is no longer mine to give.’

Find grew angry, and was about to tear the Hazel tree out by its roots, when a mouse emerged from a hollow in the Hazel’s trunk.

‘Please don’t hurt the Hazel,’ said the mouse, ‘it’s been very kind to my family. It was me who took the nut;  I wanted to make sure my family have enough to eat.’

‘Where is it?’

‘It’s with my horde,’ the mouse replied, fearing for its life, ‘And I don’t know which one it is.’

Find considered the situation carefully; maybe eight hazel nuts was enough? After all, whoever shared his wisdom wouldn’t miss one nut, would they? After much thought, he realised what would happen, and saw there was much to be said in letting the mouse keep his pickings.

The stag called out over the lake, and Fintan bobbed to the surface, looking a little agitated.

‘So?’ said the salmon, ‘what’s your decision?’

‘Patience is a virtue, my friend,’ said Find.

‘I know,’ said Fintan, irritably, ‘and so is kindness and humility. I have eaten eight nuts of knowledge, you know!’

‘And you’ll have to make do with that,’ said Find. ‘Now go; swim out of this lake and spread your knowledge and wisdom.’

‘Finally!’ replied Fintan, and leapt with joy. ‘No more waiting!’ He swam round the lake, leaping up out of the water to say goodbye to each hazel tree. Then he headed out into the river, and with a final swish of his tail, he was gone.

Time passed. Find stayed in the Hazel grove to think about the meaning of these events.  He lay at the base of one of the nine Hazels, and was gazing at the sun’s reflection on the lake, when he felt something bounce onto his head and then to the ground. He looked down and discovered it was the shell of a Hazelnut.

Immediately, he knew this had been the ninth nut of knowledge. He rose to his feet and called up into the tree. A young mouse, trembling with fear, timidly made its way out onto a branch.

‘Did you drop that shell on my head?’ asked Find. The young mouse nodded silently.

‘And did you eat the nut that was inside the shell?’ he continued.

Again, the young mouse nodded without saying a word. At that moment, the young mouse’s father emerged from the hollow in the trunk. He gasped when he saw Find.

‘It appears your son has eaten the ninth nut of knowledge,’ said Find. ‘Such an important event carries with it enormous responsibility.’

The two mice exchanged nervous glances, then looked back at Find. The young one opened his mouth as if to say something, but instead an enormous yawn came out. Neither mouse knew what a yawn was, for until that moment, no mouse had ever felt tired, much less needed sleep. After all, there was always food to be gathered and homes to be maintained.

All that was about to change.

‘Your son,’ said Find to the father, ‘Will need to sleep for quite a while after that sort of meal. In fact, to call it sleep would be something of an understatement. I think ‘dormant’ would be a better word.’

‘Dormant?’ repeated the father, not quite grasping the meaning of the word, ‘My son’s going to be a dormant mouse?’

‘Yes,’ confirmed Find, allowing a soft chuckle to emerge, ‘A sort of Dorm-mouse, you might say.’

‘Oh,’ said the youngster, and with a final yawn, promptly fell asleep in his father’s arms.

‘When will this ‘dorm’ cease?’ asked the father, as he carried his son towards the hollow.

‘Your son will remain asleep for six moons. On the seventh moon, he will wake. Listen carefully to the words of wisdom he speaks at this time, for all that he utters will surely come to pass.’

Chapter Two

The prophet’s words are disbelieved;

The restless one shall make a fateful decision.

In the centre of things, one barren sleeper

Shall be strengthened by rumours of spring.

For six moons the parents of the first dormouse kept watch over their son, and on the first crescent of the seventh moon, they watched with tears of happiness as his little eyes blinked open.

He sat up in his bed, yawned, and stretched his limbs. Both parents gazed at him as he rubbed his eyes. The dormouse looked at them, blinking, trying to focus. He wore an expression of complete confusion. Then, a quiet voice in his head whispered to him. Do not fear, little one, it said, the nut has given you a wonderful gift. Let my voice of wisdom speak through you. The voice calmed the dormouse, and his senses became filled with the knowledge and understanding of Find. His parents saw that something had shifted in their son’s eyes. It was as if the night sky were alive in them. They listened closely for his first words, and then he said:

‘The tree that has been dormant will thrive again.

Its roots will slither & four branches will see the forest king’s mark.

Golden feathers will adorn its crown & the dray-dweller will move upon it.

After three moons, the giver of nostrums will reside over the spring.’

The dormouse let out a deep sigh, and the sparkle dimmed, his eyes returning almost to the way they were. He shook his head, and twitched his whiskers.

The parents looked at each other in confusion. Surely this was not their son speaking? How did he know such language, and more importantly, what did it all mean?

‘Are you okay, son?’

‘I think so, Papa,’ replied the dormouse. ‘That was strange!’

‘I don’t like it,’ said the dormouse’s mother, ‘I don’t like it at all!’

The young dormouse’s prophecy spread quickly to all the creatures that dwelt in The Great Woods. The rabbits, squirrels, beavers and rats laughed to hear that a mouse would dare to try and tell the future. Such gifts were not given to rodents. The bears, wolves, badgers and boars barely even listened to such rumours, as it was beneath them to do so. The lizards, snakes, frogs and toads blinked in surprise before dismissing such idle talk. Only the deer stopped to think a moment, as their kind were wiser than most.

The moon waxed and waned and life went on in The Great Woods, but in the grove of nine hazels, all was not well. The young dormouse was restless. He sat in deep thought, often refusing to eat, or paced the hollow, stopping now and again, a frown on his face. His parents became more worried with each passing day.

‘He’s too young for all this worry,’ exclaimed his mother. His father nodded in agreement. This wasn’t right.

As night approached, the parents of the first dormouse were sitting on the branch outside their hollow, hand in hand, watching the moon rise over the lake. Their son came out and sat down in front of them. The moon was full, and it framed his head like a halo.

‘Mama? Papa?’ he said, his whiskers twitching.

‘What is it, son?’ said his father. His mother knew what her son was about to say, and she’d been dreading it for days.

‘I have to go on a journey,’ he said, but his mind was in turmoil. Is this the right thing to do? Am I ready?

His mother began to weep, and his father comforted her, tears welling up in his eyes.

‘I’m sorry, Mama,’ said the dormouse, ‘I don’t really want to go, but… I have to. It’s hard to explain. I just know that if I don’t go, something bad may happen.’

‘Is it to do with that strange voice thing?’ asked his father.

The dormouse nodded. ‘I think so.’ Then tears welled up in his eyes, and his mother held him close and gave him a hug.

‘It’s all that stag’s fault,’ she said, rubbing his back, ‘him and his bloomin’ nut knowledge!’

The dormouse laughed, and his little shoulders shook. Then, he wiped his eyes and stood up. He kissed both his parents and turned to leave.

‘You’re going now?’ asked his mother. ‘So soon?’

‘I can’t put it off any longer, Mama. I’m sorry.’

‘Wait just a moment, dear,’ she replied and hurried off into the hollow. Presently, she returned with a bundle in her hands. She handed it to her son, and he opened it eagerly.

‘It’s a cloak,’ said his mother, ‘I made it myself; it’s to keep you warm on cold nights.’

The dormouse put it on. It fitted him perfectly. It felt snug and reminded him of home comforts.

‘Thanks, Mama,’ he said, and gave her another kiss. ‘How did you know I’d need it?’

His mother winked at him. ‘A mother knows these things,’ she said.

He looked at his parents one final time and they saw in his sorrowful eyes that he would never return. He paused for a moment, a frown on his face; then a wave of calmness came over him again. He smiled, and his eyes lit up as if the sun had just come out from behind the clouds. He said:

‘Three moons shall pass before word reaches you of my journey.

The salmon will swim upstream, returning to the wisest lake.

Its waters will likewise journey to the well-source of all life.

Follow this stream to find me & you shall witness a wonder.’

His father squeezed his mother’s hand tightly. For a moment, they had both thought that they would never see their son again, but now, a glimmer of hope had entered their lives.

‘Goodbye, son,’ said his father.

‘Goodbye Papa. Goodbye Mama. I love you!’

With that, the young dormouse stepped out of the hollow and was gone.

Several leagues from the grove of hazels, in the centre of The Great Woods, stood the ancient tree. It is said that this tree had roots that stretched to the very centre of the Earth, and that its branches stretched into the heavens.

No creature in The Great Woods knew what kind of tree it was, as it had lain inactive for longer than memory. Its trunk was smooth, and had no markings to reveal its name. Its branches, four of which were so large that they now trailed on the earth, had not held leaves for many moons.

The tree was the subject of many myths and legends in the animal communities. Some myths said that the tree was the tree of all life, and would miraculously bloom again when the Earth was ready. But such stories are for the young, and the tree was dead. Wasn’t it?

But now there were stirrings in the undergrowth, and the words of the first dormouse grew in strength with each retelling. And, deep inside the trunk of the ancient tree, four seeds trembled with the promise of life.