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.
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,
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…
‘Oh, yes!’ said Arvic, ‘can you make out what it is?’
‘Arvic, I’m scared. Hold me!’
Arvic put his arms round Clethrion and held her to him. It felt good to protect her. It felt natural.
There was a fluttering of feathers, and a young hawk surged out of the fissure and alighted on the large branch to the east of the tree. A gasp of wonder rippled across those gathered.
Nostradormouse stepped forward and said, ‘Tell us who you are, friend! Why have you come to The Great Woods?’
The Hawk replied, ‘My name is Spring! I bring you new life! Look to the tree and see what I have wrought!’
Another gasp came from those nearest the four branches, and every creature turned to see what the commotion was. Small flower buds were growing on them, which quickly opened into thick bunches of purple ash flowers. The hawk flapped his great wings, creating a wind which whipped up the pollen from the flowers, scattering it over everything. After the wind had died down, the hawk gave a cry and flew off into the east. When those assembled looked back at the branches, they saw the purple flowers wither and fall off, revealing beneath them feather-like green leaves, hanging from long stalks.
‘Look!’ said an excited pine marten, who was pointing to the main trunk, ‘there’s something else moving inside!’
As the assembled throng gazed in fascination, a stag leapt from the fissure and landed gracefully on the ground in front of the tree. It let out a triumphant cry, and the four stags gathered at each branch cried in unison. This stag was larger and more majestic than the others, and they bowed their heads to it in awe and respect as it moved to the southern branch.
‘My name is Summer!’ it said, ‘And I bring you the heat of the sun and the ripening of the earth! Look to the tree and see what I have wrought!’
Again, all eyes fell on the branches as black leaf buds sprouted from the wood. They quickly and gracefully opened up into beautiful, feathery light green pairs of leaflets with toothed edges. As they grew larger, they deepened in colour and grew stronger with each passing moment, until each leaf was revealed in all its glory. All those present felt warmer. The sun’s rays, filtering through the branches of the trees in the great wood, became more intense.
The stag gave another cry and galloped off into the south. Every creature listened to the sound of its hooves fading into the distance and felt a great longing for its return.
All eyes immediately returned to the fissure in the trunk, waiting for whatever would emerge next. For a while, nothing happened. Then, the light emanating from the cleft began to change in hue, growing dimmer and darker. As if in answer to this change from within, the air around the gathered creatures began to grow colder and fresher.
Once again, silence descended upon the clearing, and with it came a feeling of unease. Many creatures became agitated. Nostradormouse stepped forward into the clearing, yawning quietly to himself.
‘Do not fear,’ he said, ‘the waters of the four streams have stopped flowing, but it won’t last for long.’
Even as he spoke these words, the water began to flow again. A sigh of relief was felt all round the clearing, then a chorus of excited voices cried, ‘Its flowing the other way! The streams have changed direction!’
Then, with a blur of movement, something flipped out of the fissure and somersaulted through the air, landing with a splash in the stream that flowed past the western-most branch of the ancient tree. A head bobbed to the surface, and all could see that it was a salmon.
‘My name is Autumn!’ said the salmon, ‘and I bring you the harvest, and the approaching darkness. With me come shorter days and cold winds. Look at the tree and see what I have wrought!’
The circle of creatures looked to the branches and watched the leaves turn from dark green to yellow, then drop silently to the ground. The air grew colder, and for the first time, those gathered could see their own breath.
The salmon leapt up into the air and came down with a splash, then swam away to the west. Nostradormouse felt drained of energy and began to move back towards the crowd, but he never reached them. Instead, he sat down suddenly, and crawled up into a ball, falling into a deep sleep. Many other creatures followed his example.
Another rumble emanated from deep within the tree; it was a throaty growl, and those who had not succumbed to sleep’s comforting embrace watched as a great bear leapt from the fissure and landed on all fours in front of the tree. He paced across the clearing until he reached the northern-most branch, then stood on his hind legs and let out a roar. Every creature took a step back, fear in their hearts. Some scampered behind larger creatures, some hid their faces. All were in awe of the mighty mammal.
‘My name is Winter!’ said the great bear, ‘And I bring death and sleep, but also the promise of days to come! Look upon the land in my time and see what I have wrought!’
As he finished speaking, the sun disappeared behind the trees, leaving the clearing in darkness. Then, soft white flakes of snow fell from the sky in flurries. The awe-struck creatures of The Great Woods had never seen such a thing before and it filled them with wonder. The great bear let out another roar, and then something truly amazing happened. He simply burst into a shower of stars which flew in all directions, making shadows dance amongst the crowd. Then, they flew up into the blackness and became one with the night.
The tree groaned and creaked once again, and a glow radiated from the fissure, rapidly growing in intensity. Then, there was a flash of brilliance and the sun appeared once again in the sky, melting the snow and thawing the frozen heart of the earth.