Quest for the Faradawn

CHAPTER XI

When Brock had turned the corner of the yard he had waited until Nab was at his side and then they had both run without looking back until they reached the edge of Near Wood at the side of the field and they waited there, at the same tree where the animals had gathered on their way to rescue Nab, until Sam and Perryfoot joined them. There was no sign of Bruin or Warrigal. They waited, huddled up against the oak tree for shelter from the biting wind, but as time went on their hearts began to get heavy with the awful realization that something terrible had happened. Eventually out of the darkness they could see, to their relief, the shadow of the owl gliding towards them. He flew down and perched on a low branch.

‘They killed him,’ he said simply, as the animals looked up at him. ‘I stayed behind on one of the roofs in the dark where they couldn’t see me and saw everything. He died so we could escape.’ Warrigal told them what had happened by the farm door and in the yard. When he had finished they all remained silent for a long time, nursing their grief until Warrigal roused them out of their state of shock by reminding them that they were still far from home and much too close to the farm for safety when dawn arrived. Wearily the animals started to walk along the side of the wood, back the way they had come earlier that night when Bruin had been with them. Contact with the Urkku had left them all emotionally shocked and the loss of Bruin had been the final horror. Brock, of course, felt his grandfather’s loss more keenly than the others but he had been an extremely popular and highly respected member of the wood and none of them could grasp the fact that he was dead. And Rufus, killed as well, two of the most important members of the Council lost in the space of a day. As the animals trudged slowly homeward each became lost in a fitful daydream in which confused visions of Rufus, Bruin, the farmhouse, the doors and the Urkku all became jumbled together into a waking nightmare. Brock, Nab and Sam were also badly injured; Brock from his pads which were now so numb he could hardly feel them except for the fact that the blood made them stick to the grass as he walked, Sam from the blow on his head which was now throbbing painfully in the cold wind, and Nab whose arms and shoulders had great open cuts in them. For Nab, the joy he felt at seeing the animals again and his immense relief at being free were overshadowed with sorrow at the loss of Rufus and Bruin, both of whom, he realized, had died for him. As the sun began to rise in the grey wintry sky they were by the pond: they could see the familiar trees of Silver Wood and they began to realize that, despite the death of Bruin, they had been successful in a venture that had seemed almost impossible when they set out. Soon they were crossing the field, which was covered in a sprinkling of frost, and when they had crawled under the fence into the wood, they gathered outside Brock’s earth under the Great Beech. Warrigal said that he must go off and tell Wythen but that the others should get some rest. They would meet again at dawn the following day.

‘Where shall I stay?’ asked Sam. They had forgotten that it would be quite impossible now for him to go back with the Urkku; he would have to remain in the wood. It was decided that the best place for him, at least temporarily, was in Nab’s rhododendron bush. The animals then dispersed; Warrigal to the Great Oak, Perryfoot out to the hedge in the field, Sam and Nab to the rhododendron and Brock down the earth to face Tara with the sad news of Bruin’s death but also to give her the good news of Nab’s safe return. When he told her of the boy’s injuries, she took Brock back up with her and the two badgers joined the boy and the dog. While Nab was sleeping she licked his wounds clean and then carried on licking so that they would heal more quickly.

The animals slept all that day and all the following night and, as they still showed no signs of waking at the appointed time, Warrigal, who had gone into the bush to see where they were, let them sleep on until the evening, by which time Brock and Sam were awake and stretching themselves to try and ease their aching limbs of the stiffness which had come over them. Sam’s head and Brock’s paws still hurt but now that they were refreshed after their delicious sleep they felt far more able to cope with their injuries. Just then Perryfoot came in to join them and Brock went over and licked Nab’s face. The boy sprang up in fear but when he realized where he was he almost cried with joy and he went round greeting all the animals in turn and thanking them for rescuing him, for he realized he had not had time before. He told them everything that had happened from the time he and Rufus had spotted the Urkku in the wood until he’d heard the knocking on the window and opened the curtains to see, to his amazement and relief, Warrigal perched outside.

‘I have called an emergency Council Meeting for tonight,’ said the owl when everyone had settled down. The wood must be told of events; rumours are going round already of a mass slaughter of all the Council leaders. No Urkku have been seen near the wood since we got back so it would seem that, for the time being at any rate, you are safe here, Nab. Wythen has been to see the Elflord and he has indicated that the time has now come for you to meet him. Brock will go with you and I will take you there. I have been once before, as is the custom when an owl reaches his maturity, and my father feels that, as he is getting older, I should make myself better acquainted with the Elflord. We will set out immediately after the Council Meeting.’

So, thought Brock, this was the time he had been dreading ever since Warrigal had told him that the Elflord was involved. In fact it came as something of a relief in a way, that the moment had finally come. Nab was extremely excited at the prospect although he also felt little butterflies of fear fluttering in his stomach, not so much at the prospect of meeting the Elflord but at the thought of what might be revealed to him about his future. Ever since he could remember veiled references and allusions had been made about his part in the destiny of the animals and how he was the fulfilment of a legend. Now perhaps he would learn what they all meant.

Warrigal interrupted their thoughts.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘It’s time to go.’

Most of the animals had already arrived at the familiar semi-circle on the far side of the little stream, eager to learn the true story of what had happened two nights ago for fantastic tales had already begun to circulate about the rescue. The Council were all sitting in their places along the far side of the old fallen tree trunk although the vacant places at the end of the log where Bruin and Rufus usually sat made it painfully obvious that the events of that night had been fatal to two of the most respected members of the wood.

Everywhere was covered with a silver coating of ground frost which winked and sparkled in the moonlight and made the dead bracken on the ground hard and crunchy so that as Brock, Tara, Sam, Perryfoot and, last of all, Nab, walked into the meeting the sound of their footsteps made all eyes turn towards them and a sudden murmur of conversation rippled among the animals. Feeling very embarrassed, the animals sat down just to the left of the entrance in a space hurriedly vacated for them by some rabbits at a sign from Pictor. Warrigal had flown into the clearing over the top of the bushes and was perched on a silver birch branch to the right of the log. Wythen’s head turned slowly round until he saw his son and then he looked back at the semi-circle where all the woodland animals were now waiting expectantly for him to open the meeting.

‘Welcome to you all,’ he said, as he always did whenever he first addressed a meeting. ‘I have called this emergency Council together so that the wood may be informed of certain dramatic, and indeed tragic events which took place two nights ago. In the broadest terms they concern the capture and, as you can see, the successful rescue of Nab from the hands of the Urkku.’ He waited until the shuffling of the animals as they all turned to look at the boy had stopped and then he continued. ‘As you may also see, these events led to the deaths, caused by the Urkku, of Bruin the Brave and Rufus the Red, both of whom will be sorely missed, both by myself personally for they were my friends, and by the wood as a whole. I feel sure, however, that their names and exploits will live on for ever in the annals of legend and myth so that they will never die and their spirits will watch over us.’ He paused and there was an expectant hush. ‘I will now call upon Nab to give an account of his capture and the killing of Rufus.’

The events of the past two days and nights had been so swift moving and shattering that Nab was still half-dazed by them and, when Brock pushed him forward, he had no time to be nervous and gave a vivid account of everything that had happened since he and Rufus first spotted the Urkku outside Silver Wood. Indeed, as he was recounting the events he began to live through them again so that the story became alive and at the end when he’d finished there was silence.

As he sat down again, exhausted with the emotional effort of reliving that night, Brock, Perryfoot and Sam were almost speechless with amazement at the full realization of what had happened and at the part they had each played. When everyone had calmed down, Wythen called on Sam and Brock to relate their sides of the story and finally Warrigal gave an account of Bruin’s brave death. The picture was now complete and the tale would become legend as it was told and re-told in burrows or earths, holes or nests on balmy summer evenings or on wild winter nights. It would lose something in the telling but it would also gain something and the animal who told it would be proud to say, ‘I knew Sam,’ or ’Brock and I used to have long talks together.’

When Warrigal had finished speaking, Wythen, sensing that there was no more to be said, slowly turned away from the meeting and flew up to join his son. All the animals, at this sign that the meeting was over, then began to disperse. They were lost in thought, each with his own private ideas, but when they returned to the privacy of their homes there would be endless discussion and analysis of the story and of the serious consequences to which it might lead. When Nab had first come to the wood many of them had felt that they were on the threshold of history and some of them now believed that this was the beginning.

Warrigal flew down while the rest of the animals were making their way back through the entrance or through the trees and told Nab and Brock that Wythen wanted to speak to them under the silver birch at the edge of the semi-circle and that then they would have to leave. The badger and the boy sadly turned to the others to wish them farewell. Warrigal then said that the whereabouts of Brock and Nab should be kept secret at all costs; it was a matter that must not be disclosed until the time was right. Brock and Tara rubbed noses affectionately; she was very proud of him now as he was about to leave the wood to meet the Elflord, and she was pleased for him that his disappointment with himself in not preventing Nab being captured seemed to have gone. He was back to his old self; confident, a little arrogant, and full of excitement about the future. Nab then came up to her and, putting his hands deep in the fur around her neck, he rubbed his forehead against hers. She was full of apprehensions and fears about the safety of this boy, whom she loved dearly. All the early times in the wood; when he had been little and they had played together and she had told him stories as she held him in her forepaws; they all seemed so long ago now. The prophecies of legend and the paths of destiny had then seemed to belong to another world. Now it seemed that world was coming closer to draw them in and there was nothing she could do about it; the stage was set and the actors already chosen and all she could do was watch and play her part as best she could.

After what seemed a long time but was in fact only a few seconds, Nab let go of her fur and stroked Sam and Perryfoot before turning away and walking off towards the birch with Brock and Warrigal. The dog and the hare also felt an affection for Nab which they found hard to explain; they had already risked their lives once to rescue him and they knew that they would do it again and again if necessary without a thought. They would dearly have liked to go with the others but Warrigal had told them that Wythen had been given precise instructions by the Elflord as to whom he wanted to see and that they were to remain in Silver Wood in case they were needed.

When Brock and Nab arrived at the silver birch where they were to meet Wythen they stopped and looked back across the empty clearing to see the others standing by the entrance gazing over at them. For a second the two groups stared at each other and then, with Perryfoot leading, the three turned away and disappeared through the gap in the trees. Suddenly Wythen appeared with Warrigal at his side. He spoke very slowly and his clear voice had an almost mesmerizing effect, as if he was willing his audience to remember every word.

‘I have given Warrigal directions and he will take you. None of you has been to Tall Wood before. It is where the Elflord resides. In the language of the old ones it is named Ellmondrill, the Enchanted Forest. It is not a perilous place but for the first time it may be frightening in that all is not what it may seem. Do not be afraid; once you are there you are safe. The Urkku do not go into the wood for it has the reputation amongst them of being a dangerous place; those that have ventured in have come out with their minds turned for the Elflord works strong magic to retain his refuge. It is now Moon-High; if you travel carefully, keeping well hidden, you should arrive on the outskirts of the wood by dusk tomorrow. Do not hurry; it is vital that you are not seen by anyone, for the suspicions of the Urkku must not be aroused any more than they already have been. Now, farewell.’

They turned and walked slowly away through the wood, their minds preoccupied with Wythen’s words. Warrigal of course knew all of what his father had just said for they had been talking almost continuously since he had returned after the rescue of Nab. Although the young owl had possessed a vague knowledge of these affairs before (and had pretended he knew more), this was the first time that Wythen had spoken to him directly about Elvenlore in a deliberate attempt to pass on his knowledge. The fact that Wythen was not going himself with Nab and Brock was a further indication that he appeared to be sharing the Patriarchate of the Owls with his son. Warrigal was flattered and pleased but also a little afraid at the thought of his new responsibility.

For Brock and Nab, walking together through the moonlit wood, the references to danger and the innuendoes of magic and legend had served to strengthen the grip of the apprehensive fears they both felt.

It was a wonderful night; the air was full of the keenness of the frost and all the damp leafy smells that frost brings out. Nab breathed it deeply and became almost intoxicated by it so that his whole being hummed with vibrant excitement and his mind seemed to float. All the excitements and tragedies and pain of the past few days came together in a confused blur that filled him with a feeling of limitless energy which seemed to fit perfectly the spirit of the journey they were now making. He looked at Brock and, as he watched the wonderfully familiar black and white figure plodding along beside him, his nose snuffling along the ground, lost in the smells of the night, he felt the warm glow of love surge through him. Suddenly in a burst of exhilaration he fell on the badger and they wrestled together joyfully on top of the frosty bracken which crunched and crackled under them. Then Warrigal’s hooting from an oak tree at the edge of the wood reminded them that they should be on their way and they raced each other to where the owl was sitting perched on an exposed length of root, watching them and chuckling quietly to himself with pleasure at seeing his old friend so full of fun again after the sadness of his self-recrimination when the boy was captured. Something about the night and the sense of adventure they felt about the journey they were on had affected them all.

The badger and the boy crawled under the bottom strand of old rusty barbed wire which fenced off the wood and then they were out on to the moonlit fields, walking up the slope at the back of the wood and following the silent shadow in front of them as he turned and flew along the top of the rise. Every so often Warrigal would stop at a convenient tree and wait for the others to catch up and then they would move on again through the night.

As the first rose-pink streaks of dawn appeared on the lightening sky the three were down by the big stream, near the spot where Nab had met the girl. For a time he walked along in silence thinking of her and wondering whether he would ever see her again and then slowly he realized that the countryside around him was strange and new and with a thrill it occurred to him that he was now outside the boundaries of his previous experience. This was further than he had ever been before. He looked around him intently as the morning sun slowly came up beyond the hill away to his left and filled the sky with a brilliant mass of orange and dark flaming reds. The steep-sided valley through which they had followed the stream had now gradually opened out so that they were in a shallow basin with the fields sloping away upwards very gently on either side. There were not many trees now to break up the rolling meadows: only the thick thorn hedges dividing the fields into squares or rectangles and providing refuge and a home for birds and sometimes rabbits. The stream on Nab’s right had now widened slightly and it meandered less, running along its sandy bed almost straight for a while until suddenly for no apparent reason it began once again to twist and curve and water willows sprang up at either side growing thick and dense along the banks. Warrigal stopped at one of these and showed the others where two of the trees had fallen across the stream and so formed a convenient bridge.

‘We go across here,’ said Warrigal. ‘Then we cross two fields and make for that belt of trees you can see straight ahead. Behind those trees lies Ellmondrill. I think you two should stay at the side of the hedges where possible from now on; Urkku may be around and we can’t be too careful. There’s a farm on top of that hill to the right. Can you see it?’

They looked and saw a collection of buildings clustered around the top of the rise in the distance. Then they gingerly inched their way across the fallen willows and set off along the far bank of the stream until they came to a thick hedge which ran in from the field to meet it, and then they turned and moved along the side of this as it took them out into open country.

They travelled like that for the rest of the short winter day, keeping well under cover of hedges and moving slowly, constantly looking round and sniffing the air for scents of danger. The sun shone brightly out of the clear blue sky and the early morning frost soon disappeared, giving way to a day that was so warm that the animals occasionally had to think twice to remind themselves that it was the middle of winter. The feel of the sun and the smells that it produced as it warmed up the ground filled them full of yearning for the spring and, as they walked, Nab and Brock chatted quietly about past springs and their times together. Nab also asked the badger to tell him once again the story of that night so many years ago when Brock had found him in the snow; he never tired of hearing it and it sounded different every time it was told. And when the story was finished there were always endless questions of detail, particularly about the two Urkku who had brought him. Somehow the story always made him feel secure and warm and comforted him whenever he was anxious or worried. It had that effect now and the nervousness which had been building up inside him as they got closer to Ellmondrill subsided and was replaced with a feeling of quiet confidence and certainty.

Around the time of Sun-High they were delayed by a flock of sheep. They had been walking quietly along the hedge of the field in which the sheep were grazing when suddenly, hearing strange sounds and seeing the badger and the boy, they had bolted and an Urkku had come down to the field from the farm on his tractor to investigate. They squeezed through a gap in the hedge and watched him as he drove around the field. His tractor chugged loudly and pushed out puffs of grey smoke which hung in the still air for a long while after he’d gone, growing bigger but less dense so that in the end they became so thin that they disappeared completely.

He drove around the field two or three times and then, having satisfied himself that there was nothing to worry about, he turned his tractor around and drove back up the fields to the farm.

The travellers waited a short time to make certain he wasn’t coming back and to let the sheep settle again, and then they resumed their journey. They had been walking towards the distant trees since early morning and had seemed to be getting no nearer, but now, as the afternoon wore on and the blue sky began to turn grey and wintry, the trees became clearer and more distinct even though a mist had appeared which filled the fields with a grey haze and blurred the outlines of the hedges. The fields now seemed to be smaller and the hedges thicker and soon they found themselves walking along a narrow path bordered on either side by hedges which were so dense that they could see nothing through them. They walked on as if they were in a tunnel towards the patch of grey they could see at the far end until, suddenly, they were out in an open meadow, standing at the top of a steep slope and looking down at a stream which moved restlessly along at the bottom. It chattered and gurgled in the stillness, and beyond it stood Tall Wood, shrouded in the evening mist, dark and impenetrable except for the occasional burst of gold as the evening sun, perched just above it, managed to breach the blanket of mist. The trio stood for a long time, gazing in awe and wonder at this magical sight, until finally Warrigal broke the silence.

‘Come on, ’ he said. ‘We must cross the stream before it gets dark so that we can spend the night in the wood. Once we’re there we are safe and the elves can contact us. Wythen said that we don’t go to them; they will find us. All we must do is simply to be there.’

The owl took off and flew slowly down the slope and the others followed him, too exhilarated to be nervous. As they walked towards the wood the trees loomed out of the mist and seemed to grow taller. It was very damp and the stream rushed along so loudly that they had to shout to be heard. Warrigal was looking for a fallen oak that Wythen had said could be used to get across. They waited while he flew along the stream and then walked along the bank to join him when he indicated that he’d found it. Nab went first, sitting astride the tree and shuffling along with his hands in front to support and steady himself. When he was halfway across he looked down at the stream below him; it was very full after the recent rains and it swirled and eddied along with furious determination and purpose. Then he looked back up and stared into the darkness of the wood ahead of him before gingerly inching his way across the last half of the slippery bridge; the constant damp from the stream had coated the tree with patches of slimy green mould and the mist had made them extremely treacherous so that once or twice the boy almost slipped, but his strong legs managed to hold him on. Finally, with great relief, he arrived on the far bank and stood watching Brock, who was looking extremely precarious as he approached the halfway stage. Brock’s claws would normally have been a great help as they would have sunk through the slimy surface into the bark of the oak but they were still sore and he found it difficult to use them properly. Suddenly, on a particularly bad patch, he began to teeter and in moving his feet to try to obtain a better grip he fell over and plunged with a loud splash into the stream. The sight of the badger toppling into the water struck Nab as so funny that, against all his better instincts, he was unable to stop himself laughing and, when he clambered down the bank to help the badger out of the water and saw the thick coat plastered down around his body, the boy’s laughter only increased until the tears came to his eyes. In fact, he was so busy laughing that he failed to notice the badger manoeuvring himself into position at his side so that when Brock began to shake himself vigorously the first shower of icy cold water that hit him came as a complete surprise and he stood still in a state of shock while Brock soaked him; much to the amusement of Warrigal, who was still standing on the far bank laughing to himself.

When Nab had got himself as dry as possible by rubbing his body with some old ferns that he gathered from the bank and by jumping up and down, the three animals turned their faces to the wood and began to make their way through the undergrowth which consisted of the debris from last year’s summer: dead bracken and ferns and briars that scratched Nab’s legs and made them itch. The floor of the wood was a thick carpet of rotting leaves; not golden and crisp as in the days of autumn but black and slimy as they began to decompose.

Every three or four paces about them, on every side, was a tree, tall and black, and sometimes an elder or a small holly would bar their way so that they were forced to go round. Warrigal flew low from tree to tree and the badger and the boy followed. They hadn’t gone far before Nab looked back to the stream and was surprised and a little dismayed to find that he could not see it. He could not even see where the edge of the wood was, for in no one direction was there any more light than in any other. With a little jolt of fear he realized that, if he had wanted to go back the way he’d come, he wouldn’t have been able to. They were totally lost. He listened for the stream but could hear nothing; everywhere was completely still except for the gentle rustling of the tops of the trees as they swayed in the wind high above them and the sound of their footsteps as they padded over the damp leaves or occasionally cracked a twig. Even these sounds were quickly absorbed by the silence so that they appeared muted. After a while another thing struck Nab; there were no animals or birds anywhere to be seen and the only indication that there might be any living creatures in the wood at all were the huge, squirrels’ dreys way up in the tops of the trees. He began to grow a little afraid; it was no wonder that the Urkku never approached Ellmondrill.

As they walked on through the mist Nab became aware that the undergrowth, which normally reached no higher than his knees, was brushing against his chest and, rather than walk through it or over it, it was easier to go under. He stopped for a second and looked up; he could hardly see the tops of the trees now and the sky appeared as little specks of grey between the distant foliage. When he looked back down at the trunks of the trees, they seemed enormous and he found himself staring at the protruding roots which were as high as he was. In desperate panic he looked for the others; Brock was still walking slowly and calmly along at his side while Warrigal was perched on top of a huge fern ahead of them. He thought of Wythen’s words before they left; ‘all is not what it may seem; do not be afraid’, and resolved to try not to show his fear.

Further and deeper into the wood they went and Nab wrestled more and more to keep his panic under control. The trees now seemed altogether different as he walked in a subterranean underworld where the woodland fungi reached to his shoulders and the chewed-up remains of the nuts from a squirrel’s hoard presented an obstacle which could only be clambered over with difficulty. The huge oaks and elms, towering way above, seemed to be watching him as the gods watch the creatures on earth; the furrows and cracks on their bark looked like deep valleys cut into them, each one unique in its pattern and colour and each with a different character. Nab also grew aware of the silent sound of the earth; a constant whisper and hum as if it were the noise of life itself.

Then the character of the wood changed, the undergrowth stopped and instead they were walking on a carpet of pine needles and the smell of fir was all around. This was a different world where the trees were always green and the changing seasons left no mark; a constant world of twilight. Here, even their footsteps could not be heard and the wind seemed unable to penetrate the hushed atmosphere. Nab began to feel tired but his fears were subsiding as he grew more used to the wood. Warrigal had perched on an exposed tree root and was staring in front while Brock and the boy caught him up. The owl’s eyes were shining, unblinking and filled with a strange light that they had not seen before.

‘Ellmondrill,’ he said slowly under his breath, and then he repeated the word louder, taking a long time to say it and intoning it as if it were a magical chant. They stood still for a while; the owl looking straight ahead and the other two behind him, neither wishing to break the silence and content to let their minds wander where they wished. After a period of time which would have been impossible to measure in the world outside the wood, Nab became aware of Brock whispering fiercely at his side.

‘Look, look ahead,’ he was saying, and he pointed in the direction that Warrigal was facing. Nab did not find it easy to collect his thoughts and focus his eyes but when he looked hard he could just make out in the far distance, through the mist and the gloom, two bright lights like stars, silver and twinkling, and moving towards them slowly.

‘It’s the elves,’ Brock said, and there was wonder in his voice.

The two silver stars bobbed and weaved towards them and then suddenly they were directly in front. Warrigal turned to the others.

‘We have to follow them,’ he said, and, as if on a word of command, the lights moved back again into the distance. Mesmerized, the animals set off after them. Soon they left the area of the pines and were in a part of the wood which was more open and less cluttered than that which they had so far gone through. The undergrowth here was a mixture of mosses and ferns and grass and the trees seemed very old. Often they came across a huge fallen trunk and had to decide whether it was easier to climb over it or go round while Warrigal perched on top patiently. The two lights always seemed to stay the same distance away and sometimes they would appear to be chasing each other round and round in the air as if playing a game. Watching them closely Nab sometimes thought that he could make out little figures inside the lights but then, when he blinked, they vanished until he screwed his eyes up so as not to be dazzled by the brightness and once again the figures would appear. He became completely engrossed in this and his tiredness and fear were forgotten. Brock, at his side, was caught up in the wonder of it all and seemed fired with a hidden energy that he had not known since he was a cub. They had no idea how far they were walking nor how long it was taking them; time seemed to have been suspended ever since they entered the wood and the deeper they had gone the more difficult had it become to imagine any world outside. It seemed an eternity since they had stood at the top of the slope in the field and looked down for the first time at Ellmondrill.

The lights had now stopped and were dancing in front of a belt of trees which seemed so thick to the animals that they were unable to see how they could get through; the trees were so close to one another that the trunks almost met. The lights then began to move slowly off to one side and the animals followed until after a short distance they stopped again and Nab could just make out a gap between two great oaks. The lights disappeared through it and then Warrigal indicated to Nab that he was to go first. The boy got down on his hands and knees and began to crawl slowly along what was in fact a tunnel between the trees. Inside it was dark, but the light that came from the far end enabled him to see where he was going and to make out very dimly the dark polished wooden sides. Under his hands the wood felt smooth and reminded him of the roots around the inside doorway of the sett in Silver Wood: worn smooth by generations of use. The light behind him was cut off as Brock and then Warrigal entered the passage and the three animals shuffled slowly along; the sounds of their breathing echoing loudly inside it.

Soon they emerged from the darkness of the tunnel and found themselves in a large clearing. The belt of trees continued all around it and the edge of the clearing was filled with lights similar to those which had guided them, all dancing and leaping around and through the air. The floor was covered with mosses and lichens, merging and blending into one another so that they formed a continuous carpet of velvet so soft that Nab’s feet sank in it up to his ankles. Mist lay everywhere but unlike the mist in the rest of the wood which had been grey and swirling this was still and golden as if the evening sun were shining through it and it blurred the edges of the trees and grasses with a soft, gentle haze.

In the middle of the clearing was a pond, dark and black as night, whose waters shone like a jewel and, at the very centre of the pond, stood a small island on which stood a huge oak tree whose gnarled fingers swept low over it, casting their shadows in the deep waters.

Nab looked at his two companions, who were standing at his side entranced by the sight, and laid a hand on Brock’s head. He felt in need of some reassurance that his body had not melted away in the golden haze all around.

Two lights suddenly appeared in front of them again, although Nab could not be sure whether or not they were their guides. He could see the elves inside quite clearly now and realized that the light was simply the silver glow which came from their bodies.

‘Come, the Lord Wychnor awaits,’ said one, and in a flash it had vanished down to the shore of the pond. The animals walked slowly and carefully through the moss, which grew spongy as they approached the water so that at times they were afraid of sinking. Nab noticed that even Warrigal was walking; a sight he had never seen before, and he guessed that the owl had not taken to the air out of respect.

At the edge of the pond floated what looked to Nab like a huge brown oak leaf which bobbed gently up and down on the water and whose edges curled up slightly.

‘Please step in,’ said the elf. Overawed as they were by their surroundings and impressed as they were by the elf this was a request which the three animals were extremely wary of complying with. They guessed now that the Elflord dwelt on the island in the middle of the pond and that somehow they had to get there, but the thought of floating across those black waters on the flimsy looking vessel that the elf had indicated was a prospect which they did not relish.

‘I am not going over the water in that,’ whispered Brock fiercely to Warrigal. He had had quite enough of falling in water for one day, and besides, the stream was only narrow compared to the size of the pond they had to cross now. Warrigal, however, appeared less than sympathetic to the badger’s fear and told him to get in.

‘Come on,’ he said to the badger, and Brock, using extreme caution, clambered reluctantly into the vessel and settled down on one side.

‘You next,’ Warrigal said to Nab, and the boy, whose fears equalled his excitement, climbed in the other side and then Warrigal followed him and settled down in the rear. Finally the elf hopped in and went to the front, where he stood with his face raised to the sky and began to sing in a strange voice which seemed to fill the clearing.

The language was one with which the animals were completely unfamiliar, although Warrigal thought that he recognized some of the sounds from the words that Wythen sometimes used in conversation.

‘It’s the language of the Old Ones,’ he said quietly to the other two, who were staring at the elf, completely enraptured.

The song ceased as abruptly as it had begun and the animals saw a large ripple moving across the water from the far side of the pond. They watched as it came nearer until finally it stopped at the front of their vessel and the elf leant over the edge and busied himself with some activity in the water. Finally he finished and turned around to face the animals, at which point the leaf started to move slowly and steadily towards the island.

The elf smiled at them. ‘In return for taking us across the water he demands a song,’ he said, and the three animals nodded in understanding, none of them wishing to show his ignorance by asking who exactly it was that demanded a song.

‘Who does he mean?’ whispered Brock to Warrigal, but the owl pretended he hadn’t heard. Nab looked over the side into the black depths beneath them and thought he could make out a large oval shape under the water moving along with them, but he couldn’t be sure and it may only have been a reflection.

Soon they were right out in the middle of the pond and a long way from the shore. Now that they had settled down the animals felt safer, and had begun to enjoy the feeling of being afloat, an experience none of them had ever had before. What they found particularly strange was the feeling of moving while sitting down and doing nothing. They were travelling quite fast now and, although it was so still in the clearing, their speed gave the sensation of a light breeze which ruffled Warrigal’s feathers and blew through Brock’s fur; Nab turned his head directly into it so that his hair was blown back from his face and when he closed his eyes his mind seemed to float away behind him. Then when he opened them again and looked back at the shore he got a shock when he saw how far away it seemed. He watched the wake which the leaf left behind it; a series of little waves which disturbed the smooth calm surface of the water for a short time and then slowly disappeared as the pond became still again. He looked over the side and delicately put a finger in so that it cut a bubbling gash in the water, the crest of which danced with little silver jewels before they melted back into the pond. Looking up he saw that they were now very close to the island and the leaf seemed to be slowing down. Suddenly they were shaken by a series of little judders as it came to rest in the shallows; the elf once again leant over into the water and then the ripples moved away to where they had come from on the far shore.

They got out of the leaf with a strange feeling of regret that the journey was over, for contrary to all their expectations they had enjoyed it. It had also taken their minds off the meeting with the Elflord, about which they were extremely apprehensive. Now that they had finally arrived they began to grow afraid.

‘Follow me, ’ said the elf, and he walked up the short bank from the pond towards the huge oak. Unlike the far shore the ground here was covered in a mass of dead leaves all of which were the size of the one that had served to carry them across the water. When they were almost at the foot of the tree the elf told them to wait and went out of sight to the far side of the trunk. The three animals turned back to look across the water at the clearing. It was growing dark now and on the opposite shore the silver lights of the elves showed up clearly as hundreds of little stars, like the dew sparkling on an autumn morning. The mist had gone now and the patch of sky which they could see above them was turning from light to dark blue; it was that indefinable magic moment when a winter evening becomes night. Soon the elf was back.

‘Come with me,’ he said, and they followed him round the trunk of the tree.