THE BLACKBERRY WITCH: chapter 6

Link to chapter 5

VI. Nightfall

Thomas awoke to the sensation of a tiny warm weight resting on his neck. It startled him in his half-dreaming state, but he had enough presence of mind to remain where he was without jerking about. Instead, he glanced down, tilting his head at an odd angle to try to see what the weight was.

Thomas caught only a glimpse, a bare perception, of gently swaying whiskers and perhaps a tuft of grayish-brown fur, but of course that was enough. He tipped his head back onto his satchel and stared up at the tangled dome of vines and brambles that formed the ceiling of the den. The light in the den was noticeably darker than it had been before Thomas fell asleep; by his best guess, based on the remaining pale light that managed to pierce the thick briars and the canopy of trees above, Thursday’s sun had set and dusk was just now settling in over the hills.

That meant that Thomas had only slept for perhaps two hours, given what he knew about mid-autumn sunsets. He felt more refreshed than he’d expected, though it took a few solid blinks and a surreptitious rub with his knuckles to clear the bleariness from his eyes. Even once he was fully awake, Thomas took care to remain as still as possible lest he disturb Cathán’s sleep.

He glanced up at the hole and the dim gray of the world beyond. He could still hear some rustling in the briars, though it sounded different than before: more muffled, lower to the ground, softer. He could also hear the faint squeaking snores of the Mouse Knight. That sound, at least, brought a smile to his face.

Thomas decided to wait. There was a rock poking into his side, but otherwise he was fairly comfortable stretched out on the floor of the den. He closed his eyes and listened to Cathán’s snores and to the intermittent rustling outside and to the sighing of the wind in the leaves.

A few minutes passed. Abruptly, the snoring stopped, and Thomas heard the clearing of a small throat. Then the weight on his neck shifted, bunched up, and in the place of warm fur he felt two cold paws and the smoothness of a tail. Finally, Cathán tapped him, gently but decisively, on the nose.

Thomas opened his eyes. Cathán remained on his neck only long enough to see that Thomas was awake; he then leapt from Thomas’s neck to his side, scampered up his leg, and then jumped from his knee up to the brink of the den. There he peered out into the dusk, whiskers twitching.

Thomas sat up as best he could. “Thanks for letting me sleep, Cathán,” he said, stretching out his limbs. “Did anything happen? It sounds like the boar’s still trudging about out there. I can’t image what he’s doing.”

“No,” replied Cathán, “the boar shuffled away about an hour ago. I kept watch until he left, left the den for a few minutes to ascertain his tracks, and then came back. I’m fairly certain he wandered off to sleep. So I came back here to do the same.” He spared Thomas a quick glance and gave him an apologetic wave. “I may have dozen off on your neck. Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” Thomas said, touching the still-warm spot on his skin. He sat up a little more. “So the boar’s asleep? Shouldn’t we go see if we can get a bit of his tusk now? Seems like that’d be easier than while he’s away. Maybe he even left some behind—”

“No,” said Cathán again, shifting from paw to paw, his little nose twitching at the dusk beyond the den. “Yes, the boar is sleeping, but we can’t go after him yet. Not just yet. I promise we will. I’ll help you get the tusk. But first—do you hear those noises?”

Thomas nodded. “That’s not the boar, then? What is it now?”

Cathán paced a little. He didn’t look worried to Thomas, nor afraid, but filled with a restless energy instead. After a moment, he turned back to Thomas, but before he could respond, a new noise crashed through the bramble-patch: a shriek and a roar at once, the howling of some terrible monster very near and very angry.

Thomas jumped. “What was that?!” he cried.

Nimbly, Cathán leapt from his perch, snatching a vine-leaf at the apex of his jump. He landed on Thomas’s chest and swiftly pressed the leaf against Thomas’s mouth. “Quiet,” the Mouse Knight whispered, holding the leaf in place.

Outside, the unknown beast roared again. Thomas gulped. Cathán waited a moment, then tossed the leaf aside. “Apologies, Thomas,” he said quietly, “but we can’t afford a premature discovery. That’s the Nathaia Iór outside.”

Cathán leapt back to the hole by way of Thomas’s knee. Thomas stared after him, then carefully maneuvered in the cramped space to peer out the hole alongside Cathán. “Where?” he whispered, scanning the gloom.

“Just watch,” replied the Mouse Knight. “It’ll reveal itself again soon. It’s looking for something, maybe us, but it hasn’t been successful yet, so it’s angry. This is why I came back to sleep for a bit, and why I didn’t wake you right away. We’ve got the jump on the Nathaia Iór. Much better that we surprise it than the other way round. Besides, I need all my strength to fight this monster and help you steal a fragment of boar’s tusk.”

Thomas smiled at the zeal with which Cathán reiterated his commitment. The smile quickly faded as the Nathaia Iór hove into view. It was just as Cathán had described: serpentine and scaly, winged with white and blue feathers, horned and double-fanged. He caught a glimpse of eyes that flashed red in the dusk and of a fork in the long, coiling tail. The white-and-blue wings were tipped with curved claws.

The monster slithered through the dirt outside the den, then beat its wings and soared up through the tangled vines, looping around a nearby oak tree. Thomas lost sight of it, but could hear it moving through the brambles with a sound like rustling papers or leather against stone. It let out another howl. He and Cathán continued to stare out after it.

“It’s terrifying,” Thomas said quietly. “You were right; it’s not a dragon at all. But it’s a little smaller than I expected.”

“You were expecting something the size of a dragon, then? A monster as big as a house?”

Thomas nodded.

Cathán glanced over at him. “Well, that would just be silly. Dragons and dragon-sized monsters are for humans. They’re much too big for woodland creatures. But the Nathaia Iór is just the right size for its purpose. It’s a mouse-sized dragon, if you will.”

“What’s its purpose?”

Cathán seemed surprised. “Why, how else could a Mouse Knight perform amazing deeds of great bravery? Dragons and lions and such are for human deeds. The Nathaia Iór is meant for mice.” He appraised Thomas. “It’s probably not much longer than you are tall, I’d wager. The perfect size for a Mouse Knight.”

Thomas considered that. “Still,” he said, sliding back down inside the den, while the Nathaia Iór continued to circle and shriek, “it looks pretty ferocious. I know you’ve got weapons, but I don’t have anything. Maybe I could find some rocks here. I’m worried we won’t be able to defeat it, just the two of us.”

Cathán hopped back down to Thomas’s knee. “Have courage, friend Thomas. Our bravery and strength of heart will win out against even the slipperiest of foes. Those are the only weapons we need! Besides, while you were sleeping, I sent out a call to the First Legion of the Thistledown Kingdom—the rest of the mice I command up here in this part of the woods. They should arrive at any moment and give us the assistance we need.”

The Mouse Knight climbed down Thomas’s leg and scampered over to his bow and stash of arrows. “Of course, we don’t need to wait for them to get started.” He slung the leaf-quiver of arrows over his shoulder, looped the tiny bow atop the quiver, and adjusted his mask. Then Cathán climbed up the side of the den and disappeared into the thorns. When he emerged, he bore a little suit of armor made of cloth and twine and what looked to be a flat gray pebble. This he affixed to his torso, positioning the pebble like a breastplate and tightening the strings at shoulders and waist.

Cathán drew his small sharp stick and hefted his acorn shield. “We’d best get out there and get started! The light won’t hold for too much longer. I’ll make sure to draw the Nathaia Iór away so that you have time to crawl out of the den without getting scratched.”

Again he leapt from ground to knee to perch, and then with a squeaking battle-cry the First Captain of the Thistledown Kingdom charged out of the den and into the bramble-patch.

Thomas saw Cathán disappear into the brambles with sword and shield at the ready. Another terrible shriek followed as the Nathaia Iór caught sight or scent of the Mouse Knight; it flashed before the hole for a moment, its feathery wings beating little swirls in the dust of the den as it passed, its body and tails undulating like pond-ripples.

Thomas saw it angle up to clear the thorns that served as Cathán’s hiding-place; and then he could see nothing but could hear the growls and snaps and snarls of the serpentine monster. He shivered.

For two long, tremulous breaths Thomas remained where he was in the safety of the den, quailing a little at the thought of a twelve-year-old body and a tiny Mouse Knight against such a fearsome beast, even one that was, according to Cathán, only mouse-sized. That still seemed plenty big to Thomas. And all he had was a spyglass and a travelling book and a pouch and a lucky charm and some rocks in the ground.

Despite his misgivings and reason, but perhaps in service of a higher thought, Thomas at last jumped up to his feet, pried a few stones loose from the earth, and scrambled through the hole and out of the den after Cathán. He scraped his arms on the thorns as he exited the den, and that gave him an idea. After rising to his full height outside the den, Thomas reached back and tugged at the brambles until a dying length of sturdy bramble-branch came free. It was covered in sturdy thorns and about the length of Thomas’s arm from fingertip to shoulder. This he hefted in his right hand, taking care not to prick himself.

So armed and filled with uncertain bravery, Thomas walked forward toward the rustling sounds in the briars ahead. He moved around a great tangled bush and stopped short at what he found on the other side.

In a small clearing in the brambles, with a sharp stick in his paw and a fierce cry in his throat, Cathán the Mouse Knight did battle with the Nathaia Iór.

The great snake seemed to have tangled its lower half in the thorns around the clearing. It wriggled and struggled to break free, wing beating furiously and claws scrabbling for purchase. Its head hovered at about the height of Thomas’s own. For a moment it turned its baleful red glare upon the boy; then Cathán’s cries drew its attention once more and it snapped its fangs toward the Mouse Knight.

But Cathán was too quick and agile to be caught so easily. The mouse darted to and fro, leaping from ground to vine, launching himself high into the air toward the Nathaia Iór. Cathán’s sharp stick found its target, piercing the soft skin between scales on the serpent’s long body. Just as quickly, while the Nathaia Iór thrashed in rage, Cathán dropped back to the ground and scampered for cover.

Thomas watched this exchange repeated several times. He could only stare, amazed and impressed, as Cathán sidestepped the monster’s fangs and claws and whipping wings, jumped into the brambles for cover, and struck the beast from above and below with great success. Thomas didn’t know how much damage the sharp stick could do, but it seemed to pain and infuriate the Nathaia Iór, and with each strike he saw scarlet drops of blood fall to steam and hiss on the forest floor.

Thomas’s breath caught in his throat when the Nathaia Iór finally landed a blow on the Mouse Knight. One of its wings clipped the mouse as he leapt for another thrust of his sword; Cathán was thrown off course and tumbled into the bushes, he and his stick lost from sight.

Tightening his grip on his own weapon, Thomas jumped forward, swinging the bramble-branch at the exultant serpent. He missed with the first swing, but struck the Nathaia Iór under the chin with the second, where several of the thorns pierced the thin white skin of its throat.

The Nathaia Iór howled and reared back. Thomas tried another swing at the serpent’s underbelly. One of the feathery wings came for him in return, he ducked, narrowly missing the grasping claws. Instead, the claws latched onto the bramble-branch and yanked it from Thomas’s grip. The vine burned his hands, but he considered himself lucky to have avoided the thorns at the base of the branch. Thomas reeled back, bumping into the briar-bush.

The Nathaia Iór flung the bramble-branch away and let out another shriek. This howl was cut short by a tiny dart that struck the serpent full in the eye. Blood welled and fell; the Nathaia Iór thrashed again, and the bramble holding it down creaked and groaned.

Three more darts followed. One found its mark beside its eldest brother; another glanced off the monster’s scaly armor; the third was lost in the scuffling wings and fell to the dirt. Then Cathán appeared from the darkness of the bushes, sharp stick once more in hand, and hurried up Thomas’s leg and side to perch on his shoulder.

“Well!” the Mouse Knight huffed, breathing deep. Thomas caught sight of a huge grin on his friend’s face. His whiskers vibrated with excitement. “This is some row, isn’t it! Just like the stuff of legend! Oh, they’ll tell stories of this day in Luchamhá and the Whiskered Wood for years to come—and I daresay in Mídhel too, friend Thomas, after you delivered such a mighty blow to the fell creature!”

Cathán set another small dart to the thread of his twig-bow and sighted. “We’ll bring this beastie down yet, I think. We just have to keep at it steady and strong.” He loosed the dart. It flew true and struck the Nathaia Iór in the snout, sinking into the soft pink flesh there.

The great serpent let out a noise that sounded like a sneeze. It wriggled its head and ceased thrashing about, rising up on quick beats of its wings to stare at Thomas and Cathán with a flame-eyed glare. The sibilant snarl that issued from its maw sounded almost like words. They were words Thomas never wanted to hear again. Despite himself, he shrank into the cover of the bramble-bush.

“Not to worry, my friend,” Cathán said, clapping his tiny paw on the tip of Thomas’s left ear. “I’ve got the Nathaia Iór well and trapped in the brambles. I led it on a merry chase through the thicket, got it all tangled up there. Nothing smarter than a mouse in the forest, as they say. Now we just work away at it until the beast relents—”

With a tremendous flap of its white-and-blue wings, the Nathaia Iór heaved itself from beneath the brambles and jerked into the air above the clearing. Thomas heard the terrible sound of thorns and briars scraping against scales and rending skin. The winged serpent roared into the dusky sky, its long body coiling toward the ground, its two tails twitching toward them.

“Well,” said Cathán, more seriously, but still with a gleam in his brown eyes, “this is a fine new turn of the tale—or perhaps tails, I should say. That great snake has freed itself with its two tails! I suppose I’m not as clever as I’d like to be. But I’ve plenty of foresight and friends, at least, enough for us to stand our ground here.”

Thomas turned his head toward Cathán. Cathán winked at him, then nocked another arrow to his bow.

“Ready when you are!” he called out to the Nathaia Iór.

The Nathaia Iór hissed back. It flapped again, high into the air, then tucked its wings and plunged forward toward them. Following Cathán suggestion, Thomas stood his ground, though his knees trembled a little and he wished he had the bramble-branch or some other weapon close at hand.

He realized at once he needn’t have worried. From the shadows of the brambles all around the clearing came a storm of tiny dark darts. They arced gracefully in the air above the Nathaia Iór and descended like a swarm of midges or a cloud of baby bats. The arrows struck the great winged serpent in every part of its body: embedding in scales and skin, tearing through feathers and the leathery membrane connecting them, stippling the thrashing head with a crown of sharpened sticks.

The Nathaia Iór raged, beating its wings frantically, manically. Immediately after the volley of arrows came leaping the mice who shot them, the Mouse Knights of the First Legion, all whoops and hollers and squeaking war-cries. They emerged from the brambles and the briars in every direction, some landing atop the writhing Nathaia Iór, others darting across the trampled grass to plunge their sticks into its twin tails.

“Ho, Captain!” The greeting came from a mouse that had alighted on Thomas’s head. Thomas kept very still, even when the mouse’s tail brushed through his hair across his scalp.

“Ho, Edan!” Cathán replied from Thomas’s left shoulder. “Fine timing by you and the boys! Excellent! And what a splendid mêlée we have going on! This is Thomas, by the way. He was instrumental in this glorious fight and has become my dear friend and companion.”

“Well met, friend Thomas!” Edan the Mouse Knight shouted, thumping his tail upon Thomas’s forehead.

“What of the young lads, the banner-boys?” Cathán asked.

“That’s them now,” Edan replied. Thomas glanced up past his own eyebrows and saw the tiny paw pointing toward the far end of the clearing, beyond the whirling battle between the First Legion and the Nathaia Iór. There in the shade of the brambles, Thomas saw two rows of mice marching forth into the clearing.

The first row bore stiff green banners; the second carried small acorns in their paws. When both had fully entered the clearing, they halted their tidy march and the mice in the second row raised the acorns to their mouths. The high whistling notes of the acorn-horns filled the clearing, adding to the din of the First Legion and the hissing and gnashing of the Nathaia Iór and the cheering and clapping of Cathán and Edan.

The Nathaia Iór sank back to the ground under the weight and swift strikes of the First Legion. Its wings were ragged and torn. It scrabbled and churned the earth with its claws, spraying tiny drops of blood onto the grass and dirt. Its head jerked back and forth, eyes flashing ember-red, while both tails strained against the Mouse Knights’ swords. But the sharpened sticks held strong, pinning the tails to the ground.

The rest of the mice piled atop the Nathaia Iór’s head and forced it down amid hissing and spluttering and unknowable forked-tongue epithets. At this, the young mice played a different melody on their acorn-horns, a jaunty staccato tune to which Edan clapped his hands in time.

“That’s the signal, my captain!” he cried out. “Claim your victory and your prize!”

Cathán patted Thomas on the ear and whispered, “Thank you truly for your help, Thomas. This is your victory as much as mine. But, of course, you understand the ceremony of the thing, and tradition, and all that.”

He jumped from Thomas’s shoulder, landing sprightly on the earth and hurrying forward to the Nathaia Iór. Cathán climbed up the fallen snake’s scaly body using the swords and arrow there impaled, stepping up to the arch that separated body from head.

The acorn-horns increased their tempo and the gathered Mouse Knights began a wordless chant. The great serpent hissed and howled. Thomas inched around the clearing for a better view. One of the mice passed a banner through the ranks up to Cathán, and Thomas realized that the banners of the First Legion were made of woven and braided strands of wild grass.

Cathán accepted the banner and drew his own sword. “For Thistledown!” he shouted in a clear voice. Then, without further delay, he planted sword and then banner in the soft flesh at the base of the Nathaia Iór’s neck. The mythical mouse-sized monster shrieked its final cry, twisted its neck in one last attempt at escape, and slumped forward onto the grass.

Cathán jumped clear of the serpent and stood before his cheering knights. “The Nathaia Iór is no more!” he announced. “The Mouse Knights of the First Legion, with the dutiful help of the inestimable Thomas of Mídhel, have slain this ferocious beast at last! The Nathaia Iór is defeated!”

And the cheers of those in the clearing, including a relieved and exultant Thomas, rose from the brambles and the briars to fill even the darkest places in the dusky woods, startling birds and beasts and small creeping insects for a half-mile round with the echoes and tremors of thunderous victory.

“The Nathaia Iór is defeated,” Thomas repeated to himself, and he grinned and clapped along with the rest.

THE BLACKBERRY WITCH: chapter 5

Link to chapter 4

V. The First Companion

Thomas stared at the mouse. The mouse stared back.

Thomas blinked, first because he could hardly believe his eyes, and then again because dirt and the sweat of fear had run into them. He wiped his face, wincing as his fingers brushed against thorn-scratches on his forehead, and then blinked a third time at the mouse in the mask.

The mouse cocked its head to the side, regarding Thomas with strangely intelligent brown eyes, and then hopped from its perch on a hanging bramble and landed, lithely, upon Thomas’s knee. It moved on all fours, like a normal mouse, but then stood on its hind legs like a man. When it reached Thomas’s knee, the mouse extended a paw toward him as if to help him stand.

Thomas looked from the eyes to the paw and then back. After a moment, then mouse glanced at its own paw, then laughed—a sound between a chirp and a squeak, but definitely a laugh—and waved the paw at Thomas.

“Silly of me to offer, I suppose,” said the mouse. Its voice sounded masculine: a rather pleasant tenor, in fact. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

Thomas frowned, then obeyed the mouse’s suggestion, shifting a little so that he was propped up on one arm and well clear of the sharp rock that had been poking him in the back. He watched in amazement as the small mouse balanced himself on Thomas’s knee, then scampered from knee to bramble-vine to Thomas’s forearm and then up to his shoulder. The mouse peered out through the hole in the briars. Thomas looked out alongside him.

“I don’t see anything,” said the mouse, craning his neck for a better position. “Do you?”

Thomas cleared his dry throat. “No. But—I can hear it. I think it’s still close.”

The mouse nodded. Outside, something continued to rustle through the bushes, and now and then they heard a soft snuffle or the thump of a heavy limb. The sounds grew fainter but didn’t vanish entirely. After a few minutes of listening, the mouse turned away from the hole, hopped from Thomas’s shoulder back to his knee, and then climbed down his trousers to the dirt floor of the den. He sat and looked up expectantly at Thomas.

Thomas shifted again, pulling his legs crosswise and holding them close with his hands. The den was smaller than he’d have liked, but it seemed dry and safe enough for now, so he didn’t mind sitting a bit hunched over. He looked down at the mouse.

“I suppose I should introduce myself,” the mouse said. “I am Cathán Caolán, First Captain, Mouse Knight of the Thistledown Kingdom.” He jumped up to his feet again, removed his mask, and bowed with a dramatic flourish. “Welcome to my humble camp.”

Thomas noticed with further surprise the tiny sharpened stick at the mouse’s hip and a small shield fashioned from an acorn that rested on the mouse’s back. Thomas glanced around the den and saw a miniature bow and smaller darts in the corner underneath a leaf canopy. He could hardly believe his eyes, but laughed a little and returned Cathán Caolán’s nod as best he could in his position.

“I am Thomas,” he said, “and I’m looking for a boar’s tusk.”

“Do you need the whole tusk,” said the mouse, sitting down again and setting his mask to the side, “or just some of it?”

“Just a fragment. I was hoping to find some lying on the ground.”

Cathán Caolán nodded sagely. “A fine idea. Much safer than taking one from a live boar. But since you’re here with me, I surmise you haven’t had much luck yet? Well, that’s not to worry, Thomas. I’m quite sure that’s a boar out there. We can just wait in here all cozy until the boar falls asleep, and then you can try to snatch the tusk without his noticing. I’ll find us something to eat.”

The mouse knight scampered up the side of the den and began picking blueberries the size of his head from the vines. He tossed three of the berries toward Thomas, tucked another two under his arms, and dropped back to the ground.

“Um,” said Thomas, rolling the three blueberries between his fingers, “Sir Caolán, I wonder—”

“Just Cathán,” interrupted the mouse. He chomped at the blueberry cradled between his knees. “No need for formalities or any of that. I save my titles for introductions and presentations and duels and that sort of thing. Here among friends, I’m Cathán and you’re Thomas. Easy.” He took another bite.

“Okay,” Thomas replied. “Friends, yeah. That sounds good. Um, Cathán, if you don’t mind such a rude question—I mean, well . . .” Thomas searched in vain for the right words, then just shrugged.

Cathán laughed with his whole face. His whiskers shook and his little tail curled up at the sound. “Ah, I understand, don’t worry. I’ve not had many dealings with your folk, but I take it you’ve had even fewer with mine? There’s nothing to worry about. Like I said, we’re friends here. We’ve got the time to wait; might as well become better acquainted. Friends should know a few things about one another.” He finished off his blueberry and picked up the next. “I’m famished, so how about you tell me your story first, and then I’ll tell you mine?”

“Okay,” Thomas agreed. He tossed the blueberries into his mouth, chewed, swallowed, shifted farther away from the rocks in the den that seemed to find him no matter where he moved, and began his story. He told Cathán the same story he had told Dúnanhneall, and then he added the events that transpired in Dúnanhneall’s cottage, including the old man’s strange words, and then briefly summarized his fruitless journey into the wooded hills. While Thomas talked, Cathán listened, munching contemplatively on his blueberry, then resting his pointed chin on his little paws and nodding along at various points in the story.

When Thomas finished, the mouse knight clapped his paws together and stood. “Well! That is quite a story, my friend, and captivating from start to middle. Sounds to me like there’s plenty more middle to go, and I’ll wager it’s even more exciting than what’s come before. Terrible bit about your sister, of course, but like a brave and faithful brother you’re out here looking to free her, so you’ve not lost hope yet. And now, of course, you’ve run into a Mouse Knight of the Thistledown Kingdom, so there’s hope to spare! I can’t resist a noble quest such as yours, so you’ve got my assistance in stealing the bit of boar tusk you need.”

While Cathán spoke, he gestured animatedly with his little paws and paced back and forth; his tail twitched to emphasize certain words; his whiskers swayed and bounced with every nod. The mouse knight had a lovely speaking voice: dramatic and bold, like a travelling storyteller Thomas had listened to once.

“Now for my story, as we agreed,” Cathán continued. “As I believe I mentioned, I am a First Captain among the Mouse Knights. That’s a prestigious position among my people. Don’t think I’m bragging, though, Thomas; that’s not my way. I’m just telling you because you might not know it otherwise. But yes, I am a First Captain; I lead a few dozen other Mouse Knights. We’re responsible for the northeastern bits of the Thistledown Kingdom. We keep watch, keep the peace, keep notes on what goes on with animals and men and mice. Am I right to think you don’t know much about the Thistledown Kingdom either?”

Thomas shook his head. “I’ve never even heard of it, I’m sorry to say.”

Cathán waved those words away. “Nonsense. I’m pleased you’ve never heard of us. That means the Mouse Knights have done our job. It’s not that we dislike your kind, of course; but no one can deny that men are generally unfond of mice, especially when they startle us and we poke them with our sharp swords.” Cathán demonstrated with a thrust and a mighty swing of his own stick, which he then replaced in his tiny thread-belt. “So you can see that we try to keep to ourselves, you understand. It’s nothing against you. In fact, you seem rather pleasant. I’m glad to make your friendship.”

“So am I, Cathán,” Thomas replied with a smile. “You’re my first mouse friend.”

Cathán let out a happy chittering squeak, which seemed to embarrass him. He clapped his paws together again. “Well! Let me keep on with my story. The Thistledown Kingdom is a mighty collective of mouse tribes and large families. I’ll not bore you with our long and detailed history of wars and squabbles and great exoduses. Perhaps someday you can visit our Grand Library and read about the histories of the mice yourself. You’ll have to learn Mouse-speak first, of course, but that shouldn’t be a challenge for a bright young boy like you.

“In any case, the Thistledown Kingdom has a long and proud tradition and has grown into a significant force in these lands, at least among those who know about such things. Our domain stretches from the northernmost of these hills all the way to the great South River. That’s almost twenty miles south, you know, which is a terribly far distance for a mouse to travel.

“Most of our dens and fastnesses and homes are south of the human village—Mídhel, did you say?—and that’s where you’ll find the Grand Library and the Royal Seat and the Whiskered Woods where mouse-mages and scribes practice their craft. Up here in the north, we’ve only a few strongholds and then a pawful of scattered outposts like this one.”

Cathán gestured proudly at the little den. “I established this one myself, three months ago, when I was sent to patrol this area and watch out for danger. You see, as a First Captain, I’m responsible for overseeing the patrols in this region of the Thistledown Kingdom. The Mouse Knights under my command have been watching the woods and hills for three months now. We’ll be out here for another month or two at least, and then we’ll be called back to the Royal Seat of Luchamhá to take our rest for a while.”

Thomas saw Cathán’s countenance darken a bit. The mouse tapped his pointed chin with his paw. “However,” he continued, “I’ve been concerned about what we’ve found so far, to tell you the truth. You see, when I was given my orders to come out here and patrol the hills, I was also given a secret directive. I know I can trust you, especially since you don’t have any other mouse friends, so I’ll tell you what it is.

“I was instructed to keep ears and whiskers pricked for signs”—Cathán’s voice dropped to a whisper—“of the Nathaia Iór.”

“The—” Thomas caught himself and lowered his voice. “The what?”

“The Nathaia Iór,” Cathán repeated. “It’s the Mouse name for the Winged Serpent. I don’t know what you’d call it in your human tongue.”

“A dragon?” Thomas suggested.

Cathán shook his head. “Not exactly. The Nathaia Iór is much more than a dragon. It has the body of a great serpent, scaly and slick, and then the wings of an eagle, feathered and strong. It also has two separate sets of fangs in its mouth and horns growing from its head. The tales of old say it can split its tail into two to encircle its prey, and many other fearsome things besides. Count yourself lucky, Thomas, that you have never heard of the Nathaia Iór.”

Thomas gulped. “So you’re supposed to watch out for it? Here in the hills?”

“Aye,” Cathán replied, now in full voice. “At first, I thought the warning was in jest, or perhaps just the exaggerated worries of one of the advisors to the king. But I have seen some strange things in these last three months. I have heard the echo of monsters and magic in these hills. Part of me wonders if perhaps I’ve been away from home too long and I’m starting to see nightmares in the shadows. But I can’t deny that I’ve been worried for the past few weeks that something odd is stirring in the woods here. Maybe it’s the work of the witch from the blackberry patch you’ve just told me about, or maybe the Nathaia Iór really is here, or maybe”—he shuddered and his tail twitched—“maybe they’re both in cahoots and planning something really dreadful for Mídhel and the Thistledown Kingdom.”

Thomas gulped at that thought. “I guess I’m not the only one with something dangerous I’m trying to stop.”

Cathán nodded solemnly, then suddenly pulled out his sharpened stick and made a few strikes and slashes at an imaginary enemy. “Ha!” he cried out, delivering the death-blow, and then he thrust his sword into the dirt in triumph. “Do not fear, friend Thomas. We must be brave, you and I, for we are both knights in our quests. We will seek out these monsters and put an end to their dark plans.”

He plucked the sword from the dirt and looked up at Thomas. “I don’t suppose I could ask you for a favor?”

“Of course.”

“After we’ve found your fragment of boar’s tusk,” said Cathán, “perhaps you could help me look around for signs of the Nathaia Iór? I know that you’ve got three other objects to find, but by riding on your shoulder I could cover ground much more quickly. Perhaps we could take a quick jaunt around the hills before you leave, just to see if there’s any truth to the warnings?”

Thomas hesitated, though only for a moment. “I’d be glad to help you out, Cathán. You’re a true friend to me, and I already owe you a debt for saving my life.” Privately he wondered at the wisdom of such a commitment. The first of seven days was already more than halfway over; Thomas worried he wouldn’t have time to find the four objects and bring them to the witch by the appointed day. But he couldn’t refuse Cathán’s request, not when the Mouse Knight had so willingly offered his help in retrieving the tusk from the boar.

Cathán waved his paws in a now-familiar gesture. “Nonsense. A Mouse Knight such as myself will gladly save the life of a friend without expecting compensation. That’s what true friends do, after all. But I thank you all the more, Thomas, for your gallantry. You do your people honor with your actions. You’ll help me with the Nathaia Iór, then?”

Thomas nodded.

Cathán scampered around in a little circle on all four paws, then straightened again. Thomas almost thought he could see the mouse blush.

“Excellent news!” the Mouse Knight said, and his voice was a little deeper than normal. “You have my endless thanks, Thomas. But first, before any of that, we must focus on getting that bit of tusk!” Cathán looked around the den. “We’ve got a while to wait yet. I can still hear that boar trampling about. Unfortunately, this place is not the best for both of us to wait in. You’re quite a bit bigger than I am, you know.”

“Sorry about that.”

Cathán smiled. “You’ve a good sense about you, Thomas. I’m glad we’re friends. Now, I think I know a place nearby we could go, an abandoned rabbit-warren that’s a fair size bigger than this place. But I’m worried that the boar will catch our scent if we move from here to there. That would force a fight I’m not sure we’d win.”

He scratched his whiskers. “Well, there’s nothing for it for now. I suppose we’ll just have to stay here until we’re sure the boar won’t spot us moving about. At the very least, Thomas, you should stretch out and have a bit of rest. I’ll keep watch and wake you if anything happens or if the boar is far enough away that we can move to the rabbit-warren. How does that sound?”

“Are you sure?” asked Thomas.

“Absolutely sure, my friend.” Cathán took another few practice swings, then picked up his mask and placed it back over his face. “I’ve plenty of energy left after those blueberries. You get some rest, a quick nap at least. I’ll wake you when it’s time.”

“Thanks,” said Thomas, suddenly feeling tired after the long day of walking and the cramped quarters. He lay on his side, wedged his shoulder against the curve of the den, stretched out his legs nearly their full length, and laid his head on his satchel. For a few minutes he watched Cathán, who stood atop a bramble-vine near the hole, his nose sniffing the cool air streaming into the den, his whiskers and tail twitching.

And then, gradually, gently, Thomas drifted off.