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,
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without the prior permission in writing of both the copyright owner
and the above publisher of this book, nor be otherwise circulated
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and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
ISBN: 978-0-9561611-0-9
Designed by Chris Tinniswood
Portrait of Author by Sally Tennant
For Paula
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:
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…
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.