Текст книги "Nostradormouse"

Автор книги: Chris Tinniswood

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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.

‘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!’

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.”’

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…