‘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.
