THE BLACKBERRY WITCH: chapter 8

All chapters of The Blackberry Witch

VIII. Thieves and Tricks and Traps

“Thomas!”

The voice was faint and soft and Thomas was mostly sure he’d imagined it. No one could be calling him, for he was alone, soaring in the clouds, winged and feathered—no, perhaps not; perhaps he was swimming in the deep dark ocean, his hair scraggly with ocean fronds and moss, but still alone.

“Thomas!”

The voice was louder now, more insistent. The ocean-water drained away from him and Thomas’s limbs slowed. He was lying down, he realized, lying down on his bed in his home in his village, but something smelled like animals. It wasn’t a bad smell, Thomas thought, but curious: a combination of living fur and cooked flesh, with a hint of melted butter and thyme and the sweet aroma of simmered fruit.

Strange, thought Thomas, that my bedroom should smell like this.

“Thomas, gallant friend, awake! The time for adventuring has come anew!”

Suddenly Thomas recognized the voice and the smells. He blinked open his eyes. He was lying on his side in a makeshift bed of clothes and straw and assorted small cushions, staring at the curved earthen wall of what the Mouse King had called his “most elaborate and inviting guest-chambers.” The room was indeed cozy, if a bit small, and Thomas stretched out his curled-up legs, expecting stiffness.

To his surprise and relief, he felt none. In fact, as he sat up and scrubbed away the grogginess from his eyes, he realized that he felt remarkably well rested, especially for sleeping in a mouse-den. Thomas looked around. Light from the torches outside spilled through the circular doorway, and he could see Mouse Knights and stewards and couriers milling about or standing watch in the hall.

Thomas looked down. Cathán Caolán, First Captain and Mouse Knight of the Thistledown Kingdom, stood on all four paws on Thomas’s left knee. He wore his acorn-shield on his back and his sharp stick at his side, and in his paws he held the mask he’d worn when he and Thomas had first met.

Cathán noticed Thomas looking at the mask. “We’ve stealth-work ahead of us,” the mouse explained, gesturing with the mask. “Best to be covered and inconspicuous so we’re not recognized. I don’t think we have any masks that will fit you, unfortunately, but you’ll probably be okay. You’re not from these parts of the woods, after all.”

Thomas nodded. “What time is it?”

Cathán wrinkled his nose a little, sniffing. “Three o’clock in the morning, I believe. High time for another adventure! My scouts have returned with wonderful reports, Thomas. The boar we heard earlier, the one who was snuffling and stamping and causing such a ruckus? He’s now sleeping again, holed up and snoring the night away. This is the best time to steal a bit of his tusk, except for when he’s dead, of course. But let’s try sleeping first.”

The Mouse Knight leapt to the floor and scampered to the door, then looked back at Thomas. “Bring your belongings and your intrepid spirit, Thomas, and I’ll bring the foodstuffs and provisions and the keen nose to sniff out slumbering boars. On to another adventure!”

Cathán’s excitement was contagious, even at three o’clock in the morning, and Thomas found himself smiling as he stood and shook the hay from his clothes and followed the First Captain out into the hall.

The mouse-city of Luchamhá was quieter now, the revelers and rioters and feasters and warriors all tucked away in sleeping-holes or drowsing together in piles like little puppies. Thomas smiled anew at the sight. A few were awake, besides the Mouse Knights on watch and the various attendants at their duties, but whether these were still awake or had already risen, Thomas could not say.

They reached the main hall. Thomas was impressed to find that the debris of the great feast had been cleared away; the tables and stools sat clear and clean except for where mice slept on cushions or where stacks of scrubbed plates awaited carting off. The Mouse King and the Mouse Queen keep an orderly court, he thought, glancing toward the Royal Seat. The throne was empty; Thomas scrubbed his eyes again, wondering if he had been expecting to see them dozing in their finery.

“They’ve gone to bed, of course,” Cathán said from the ground ahead. He grabbed a bow and a quiver of darts and slung them across his back. “But they instructed me to pass on their utmost thanks and respect for your assistance in the battle with the Nathaia Iór, and to reiterate their offer of help whensoever you need. Oh, and Brother Mouse—Baylock the Bold, that is—told me to tell you that he’d love to challenge you in single combat whenever you’re next in Luchamhá. A friendly bout, naturally.” Cathán glanced back at Thomas, appraised him a moment, and squeaked. “You could use some training, but you could probably best him.”

The First Captain of the Mouse Knights led Thomas back up the stairs and through the passage toward the Great Door. Thomas was no less unnerved by the unraveling of the roots of the Tree of Opening than before, but his exit was a little more agile than his entrance had been, and for that he felt pleased.

Despite the urgency of his quest, and his longing for his own bed, Thomas realized he would miss the wondrous mouse-city of Luchamhá. He said as much to Cathán.

“Aye,” said the Mouse Knight, scampering now up Thomas’s trouser-leg and leaping thence to his left sleeve. “Always a bittersweet farewell to leave the Royal Seat behind, no matter the lure of fresh adventure.” He jumped up to Thomas’s shoulder and settled in. “Still, surely you will return many times over to feast and carouse and sing with us, friend Thomas. The mice of the Thistledown Kingdom never forget our cherished friends, and I believe we have many more years of travel and sport and victorious battle ahead of us, you and I.”

Thomas was comforted by the mouse’s certainty that he would return to Luchamhá, and he focused now on the task before him. “Where do we go now?”

“Over that way, back toward the brambles.” Cathán pointed. “The scouts say the boar is fast asleep, but we should try to tread lightly nonetheless.”

Thomas walked as quietly as he could, though it was difficult to avoid the crunch and snap of fallen leaves in the dark. Moonlight twinkled through the trees here and there, pale and white, giving him just enough light to follow Cathán’s whispered instructions. Occasionally the Mouse Knight pointed objects of interest: a site of a great battle of mouse lore, an owl’s nest now lively in the night, a forest fox twitching in his sleep, and a good number of trees with oddly twisted branches or little knots that looked like faces or particularly tasty acorns.

Thomas listened and walked. He tugged his knit cap down over his ears when the breeze came sideways through the trees. Otherwise, his jacket was plenty warm against the cool night, and he appreciated the extra warmth from Cathán’s tiny body on his shoulder.

For his part, the Mouse Knight seemed to delight in the telling of stories. He hardly paused for breath, gesturing with one or two paws and frequently his tail as well, adding a few squeaks to punctuate important moments or to convey the gravity of a rare defeat in battle the Thistledown Kingdom had suffered ages before.

It was therefore a great surprise when Cathán fell suddenly silent. Thomas stopped short and looked around, and then he heard the snoring. It was yet some distance off, but deep and rumbling and heavy.

“The boar?” he asked quietly.

“Aye,” replied Cathán, a smile in his voice.

Thomas’s heart began to beat in time with the snores, and nearly as loud in his own ears. He swallowed. “What should we do?”

Cathán patted him on the ear. “Follow the sound and find the boar, of course! Here, I’ll lead the way. You stick close behind me.”

He dropped to the forest floor and crept on ahead. Thomas followed, watching his friend dart through patches of moonlight to pools of shadow. Thomas tried to do the same, delaying in the shade of tree-trunks and hurrying through open places as Cathán led him around the side of a hill and into a tall stand of firs.

Cathán and Thomas halted a short way into the trees before a large tangle of brambles. “Wait a moment,” Cathán said, climbing up one of the vines. He disappeared into the briars, only a little rustling marking his movements through the thicket. The boar’s snoring was much louder here.

He must be enormous, thought Thomas.

Cathán returned before Thomas could worry himself much further. “There’s an entrance for you around this way,” the Mouse Knight said, his little head peeking out from the brambles. “Come here to the left; you can pass through the wall and into the outskirts of the boar’s domain.”

Thomas gulped and walked closer to the bramble-tangle, then followed Cathán’s rustling to the left. After a dozen paces, he reached a small opening half his height and, stooping with arms tucked in to avoid the thorns, passed through the wall of briars and into the boar’s domain.

Beyond the briars and beneath a large oak tree, Thomas saw a mound of earth partially illuminated by pale moonlight and covered in tussocks and tufts of thick grass. The boar’s snoring was loudest now; the strands of long grass quivered and the earth-mound vibrated with each cycle of the beast’s noisy breathing. Thomas held back while Cathán darted forward to scurry over the mound and around its perimeter.

The Mouse Knight completed his sweep and climbed back onto Thomas’s shoulder. “Well, we’ve definitely found the boar’s den,” Cathán whispered into Thomas’s ear. His whiskers tickled a little. “He’s snoring away underground, below that mound of earth. There’s a hole on the other side. It’s about as high as your waist and twice as wide as you are, to give you some idea of the size of the boar. You could certainly fit through the hole, but I think the boar’s sleeping right near the entrance. His great yellow tusk caught a bit of the moonlight when I peered in.”

“I’d like to avoid going into a boar’s den if I can,” Thomas replied quietly. “Luchamhá was lovely, but I don’t suppose the boar keeps his quarters quite as nice.”

Cathán shook his head emphatically.

“Well,” said Thomas, looking about, “how do we get a fragment of his tusk? The witch said it has to be about the size of my thumbnail.” He held up his hands to show Cathán. “That’s not much. Perhaps the boar has some old pieces of tusk lying about?”

“Could be,” said the Mouse Knight, sliding down Thomas’s arm to peer more closely at his thumbs. “We should just ask him for some of his tusk.”

“What?” Thomas let his hands drop; Cathán squeaked a little and climbed back up to his shoulder-perch. “We can’t just ask a boar for some of his tusk.”

“Seems a gentle enough fellow, near as I can tell,” replied Cathán, leaning against Thomas’s neck and slouching down with a comfortable sigh. “And this is his house, after all. We can give a few strong raps at the door, wait for him to wake up, chat with him for a minute about this and that, and then politely ask for a bit of his tusk.”

Thomas furrowed his brow. “I’m not sure that will work.”

“No? It’d work if someone wanted some of my fur. What if someone asked you very nicely for a sliver of fingernail? Surely that wouldn’t put you out much.”

“Well, no,” said Thomas, “but I’m not a boar, and neither are you. Maybe the boar is like us, friendly and compassionate—or maybe he’s like the Nathaia Iór, all dangerous and angry. He sounded ferocious earlier. Besides, it’s after three o’clock in the morning. I might be a little irritable if someone woke me up and wanted to take something from me, and I’m just a boy, not a great loud boar.”

Cathán chittered in contemplation. “I see what you mean, Thomas,” he answered after a minute. “You’ve thought this out very clearly, and you’re quite right. No need for tempting a boar’s temper, especially not at this hour. Very well; we cannot ask the boar for a bit of his tusk. And I assume you won’t want to resort to violence to get it from him?”

“No,” said Thomas with a shake of his head. “I don’t like being a thief, but I won’t attack him unprovoked.”

“Good. There is no bravery or honor in such a thing, whereas thievery does have a certain underhanded charm to it.” Thomas could hear the Mouse Knight’s smile. “Every hero must now and then be a rogue to accomplish his noble pursuits! And we can always recompense the boar later on, once we’ve saved your sister and defeated the witch.”

“I like that idea,” said Thomas. “So how do we snatch a bit of his tusk without waking him?”

“Well,” said Cathán, standing up, “I believe that if we just—”

“Cathán,” Thomas interrupted urgently, “listen.”

The Mouse Knight fell silent, and as he did, a deeper and more ominous silence settled over the mound of earth. Neither whisper of wind nor rustle of bramble-branch nor booming rolling snore of sleeping boar disturbed the quiet of the enclosed domain. All was still in moonlight and shadow.

“Cathán,” Thomas repeated, “what happened to—”

“THIEVES!”

The voice was a terrible roar made all the louder by the quiet of the forest. It rumbled from the far entrance of the boar’s den, a deep and menacing snarl and filled with ire. Thomas froze where he stood.

“Thieves and tricks and traps!” continued the voice, louder with each word. “Come to steal a tusk! Foul boys and scraggly mice! Thieves!”

“Thomas,” said Cathán, too calmly, “I think we should run and hide now. Quickly, if you please.”

Thomas obeyed, spinning on shaky legs and darting back beneath the brambles. He lurched a few steps forward, tripped a little on protruding roots, and slid on his knees to a stop behind a wide oak-trunk. There he crouched, knees to chest, satchel clutched tight, Cathán warm and trembling against his neck.

The voice had ceased. They waited and listened for movement, neither daring to move or hardly to breathe. After a minute or two, to their great surprise, a familiar sound reached them from the earthen mound beyond the brambles: a loud, long snore, followed by another and another in regular rhythm.

Thomas craned his neck and turned to share a bewildered look with Cathán. The Mouse Knight appeared equally bemused.

“Perhaps he spoke in his sleep?” Cathán suggested, replacing his needle-sword in the frayed belt at his waist. His tail twitched. “We should go back to check.”

Thomas didn’t like that idea at all, but he couldn’t think of another way to get a fragment of boar’s tusk, so he stood and brushed off his trousers and quietly crept back to the bramble-wall. This time he stayed well away from the mound, pressing as close as he could to the tangle of briars and vines, stepping only when the loud snoring filled the woods.

He had just laid eyes upon the dark hole that served as entrance to the boar’s den when the snoring cut off suddenly and was replaced by a wordless bellow even deeper and more menacing than before.

“Thieves and scoundrels and blighted pickpockets! Come for treasure and treachery! Thieves in the night!”

Thomas needed no prompting this time. He bolted for the gap in the briars, rolled through, and ran twice the length as before until he found a large yellow gorse. He ducked behind it and pressed himself into the spiny leaves, breath shallow and fast, Cathán clutching the collar of his jacket after the madcap flight from the boar’s den.

Neither moved for long minutes until at last their hearts had settled back to normal thump-thump rhythms and the boar’s snores had—of course—begun to fill the woods again. Thomas slumped into a sitting position, tipped his head back, and rubbed his eyes wearily. Cathán released his tight grip and slid down Thomas’s jacket-sleeve to pace the patch of earth before them.

“You’re not going to like this, Thomas,” Cathán said at length. “Frankly, I don’t like it much either. Not one bit. But there’s nothing for it.”

“What is it?” Thomas asked.

The Mouse Knight stopped pacing. “We’ve got to go back to the boar’s den. Thrice braved is thrice lucky, or so the mouse-mages of the Whiskered Wood say, and anyway we’re so close to snatching a bit of tusk that we’d rue it forever if we didn’t give it one last go.”

Thomas sighed. “Aye,” he said, straightening his knit cap, “you’re right. One last time. Let’s go.”

Cathán returned to his perch and Thomas walked back toward the boar’s domain. His footfalls were soft on the grass and earth; the woods were rather peaceful and pretty in these predawn hours, Friday still slumbering in preparation for spreading streaks of rose and gold and gray across the sky. Only the boar’s rumble, increasing in volume and vibration the nearer they drew, spoiled the silence and serenity.

Resigned though he was to their third attempt, Thomas still trembled as he ducked under the bramble-arch and crept toward the entrance to the den. Thrice lucky but for whom? he thought, wishing he’d brought more than his spyglass and empty pouch and travelling book and lucky charm in his satchel. Even a hefty rock or stout branch would have given him some comfort; but there were none about.

The snoring ceased. “Thieves!” came the voice again. “Treacherous thieves!”

“Hold fast, Thomas,” whispered Cathán, though his tail stood straight up. The Mouse Knight drew his sword and shield. “Hold.”

“Thieves! Thieves!” shouted the rumble-voice. Loose dirt on the mound of earth sprinkled down with each booming word. “Begone from my domain, ye slippery sneaks! Mine is mine! Thieves!”

Thomas gritted his teeth against the awful sound. The hairs on the back of his neck and arms had risen and refused to lie flat. He shoved his hands in his pockets, then removed them and let them hand. His palms were clammy and cold.

“Thieves! Begone!”

“Thomas,” said Cathán, in a rare lull, “let’s go peek inside.”

“Are you sure?” asked Thomas fretfully.

“No,” admitted the Mouse Knight, “but we’ve lasted this long, haven’t we?”

“Thieves!” cried the voice again. “Despicable intruders!”

Thomas took a few hesitant steps forward. He peered through the entrance-hole into the darkness of the den. He saw a glint of moonlight on something yellow and solid. It looked like bone: a long, curved tusk. Thomas swallowed hard and took another step.

“I’ll go take a look,” Cathán offered, though Thomas knew the mouse felt no braver than he. “Be ready to run or fight, my valiant friend.”

The Mouse Knight jumped softly to the ground and darted forward through the grass to stand upon the threshold of the den. His little nose sniffed at the air. He held his sword point-out into the darkness.

The voice, which had fallen silent for a moment, returned with an ear-splitting roar that shook the leaves from the trees and resounded through Thomas’s chest and ribs and chattered his clenched teeth. He clapped his hands to his ears, afraid even to move.

When he removed them a second later, however, the roar had faded and was replaced by—strangest of noises—laughter. Laughter high and shrill filled the enclosed domain of the boar, lilting on the wind, rising and falling with chirps and interspersed with quick wheezes of breath. Thomas let his hands drop and looked up to the source of the new sound.

In the trees overhead, perched on an overhanging oak-branch, a large raven with midnight feathers was shrieking and howling with laughter. The bird seemed in the very throes of humor and just a twitch away from plummeting from its roost; it hopped from one foot to the other, from twig to branch to twig again, cawing and chuckling and clutching its broad chest with feathery wings like hands.

Thomas glanced back at Cathán. The First Captain of the Mouse Knights stood at the entrance to the den, his sword discarded, his fur bushy and his tail straight up, glaring at the raven above. Cathán noticed Thomas’s look and hastily smoothed down his fur, never taking his glowering brown eyes from the laughing bird.

Thomas tilted his head back and squinted in the dark at the black raven. As he concentrated, he could hear a few words and phrases amid the laughter, though they were nearly drowned out and incomprehensible as the raven continued to howl: “Scared as crickets—! Should have seen—! Throw my voice—! Bushy fur like a porcupine—! A sleeping boar—! Dreadfully amusing—!”

Thomas heard an angry squeak and looked back at his mouse friend. Cathán had given up on smoothing down his bristling fur and instead had nocked a tiny dart to his bow. Before Thomas could say otherwise, Cathán loosed the needle-dart into the trees with characteristic precision.

Quick as wind, the raven flapped out of the arrow’s path. It sank into the branch with the tiniest of thumps. The laughing raven glided in a wide circle over the bramble-patch, floating gradually lower to alight atop the mound of earth. He—for by now Thomas had realized that the raven was male—turned his beak toward the boy from Mídhel and the still-bushy, still-enraged Mouse Knight, gave them a hearty chuckle and a wink, and sketched an exaggerated bow, sweeping one wing heavenward and dropping the other to brush the grass.

When the raven straightened, he extended his wing to Thomas. Thomas took the wing uncertainly, shook it, let his fingers drop from the glossy black feathers. The raven offered his greeting to Cathán, who refused. The Mouse Knight still had bow and arrow in paw, though for now he refrained from drawing again.

The raven shrugged and tucked his wings back against his body. The moonlight gave his sleek feathers a silver tint. He chirped another last laugh and then spoke.

“No need to fear the boar for now, strangers,” the raven said, voice deep and accent birdlike, with sibilant consonants ending in whistles and tight closed vowels and a high flutter for the nasal sounds. “It was only a farce, a joke: amusing, no, now that it’s done? In any case, introductions are in order, to keep things polite and friendly. Avery I am to my friends, but I am formally called Alberich Sharpbeak of the Blackhill Clan.”

The raven cocked his head at Thomas. “You can call me Avery.”

THE BLACKBERRY WITCH: chapter 7

All chapters of The Blackberry Witch

VII. The Feast

The cheering and battleground celebrations of the First Legion continued for another few minutes, during which Thomas was invited into the center of the clearing to sit next to the fallen Nathaia Iór. He did so warily, finding a spot on the grass relatively unspotted by blood and leaning away from the tattered wings and broken claws. The mice had begun planting tiny torches all around the clearing to ward away the shadows of night. Their lights cast the brambles and briars in shades of orange and red. Thomas appreciated the light and the warmth both, as by the battle’s end night had fully descended upon the wooded hills.

He sat cross-legged on the grass and set his satchel next to him. Immediately the Mouse Knights surrounded him, jumping up on his legs and knees and congregating on all sides. Thomas saw that most of the First Legion were hearty and vigorous mice in the prime of their lives, just like Cathán, though here and there he spotted a few whose whiskers drooped a little and whose tails had lost just a bit of their spring. These elder-mice tended to keep their distance from Thomas, though he couldn’t tell if they did so out of distrust or respect.

He also couldn’t tell if a mouse was a boy or a girl until he or she spoke. Cathán was quick to explain the many minor distinguishing features of male and female mice, but his descriptions were lost to Thomas’s eyes, which saw instead just a great gathering of small furry excitable friends. The lads carrying banners and acorn-horns were particularly entertaining, each trying to impress their captain and his new human friend with acrobatics and short songs and tricks. Thomas laughed and basked in the unexpected attention.

While he sat in their midst, the First Legion made quick work of the corpse of the Nathaia Iór, wrapping its wings around its sinuous torso and lashing the two tails together. Thomas watched in gruesome fascination as a group of the mice placed large orange leaves over the serpent’s eyes and used thorns from the nearby bushes to pin the leaves into the scaly flesh around its sockets.

“The Nathaia Iór has no eyelids, it seems,” Cathán explained. He’d taken his now-customary position atop Thomas’s left shoulder. “It never closed its eyes. That perhaps explains its uncontrollable rage and the redness of its glare. Still, it was a worthy foe to vanquish, and I would not disturb it so except that its dead gaze frightens some of the younger mice.”

“What are you planning on doing with it?” Thomas asked. The mice of the First Legion had begun rolling the long body out of the clearing.

“Well, first some of my boys will take it back to our outpost; it’s only a short distance from here. After that, they’ll dispatch a messenger to the Whiskered Woods to summon a mouse-mage and a cleric and a scribe. They’ll oversee the dismemberment and preservation of the Nathaia Iór, and they’ll ensure that it’s all done with the greatest respect and care. Their work will likely take a few hours. In the meantime, the rest of us will return to the city to give our full report. When the mage and cleric and scribe are finished with their work, they’ll present the polished skull of the felled beast before the Royal Seat of Luchamhá in honor of our victory here this evening.”

Cathán patted Thomas behind the ear. “At that point, we’ll be well into our cups and feast-platters, my friend!” he said. “That is, if you’ll deign to accompany the First Legion as we make our report. You were instrumental in this battle and are owed much respect and accolades. Still, if you need to be moving on, I’ll understand.”

Thomas stomach growled at the thought of food, and he realized how hungry he was: hungry and sleepy both, in fact. He desperately needed to continue in his search for the boar’s tusk, however, especially now that he had the advantage of sneaking up on the boar while it slept. He opened his mouth to say as much.

“You know,” came Edan’s voice from above, “it really wouldn’t be the same without you.” Thomas realized that the mouse still stood on his head. He’d grown used to the weight in all the commotion. “Not the same at all without the Feaster of Honor.”

“The Feaster of Honor?”

“Aye,” said Edan, his tail swishing through Thomas’s hair. “You brought us to victory, after all. You and the captain will be hailed as heroes by all the citizens of the Thistledown Kingdom. The feast will be extravagant and joyous. You’ll be named the Feaster of Honor, both for your role in the battle and for your size—I’d wager you could out-eat a dozen mice without much effort!”

“I suppose that part’s true,” Thomas began. “But I’m not sure I did all that much during the battle . . .”

“Nonsense!” cried Cathán. “Your bravery and quick strikes with your makeshift bramble-sword won the day! You gave us the inspiration and the energy we needed to prevail, Thomas, and without you we surely would have been lost. I wouldn’t’ve dared to take on the Nathaia Iór alone, after all, but I know you were there with me.”

Thomas felt a new sensation—a feeling of kinship and belonging—settle next to the hunger and sleepiness simmering in his midsection. He smiled. “Well, you’re my first mouse friend. And my best mouse friend, at that. I couldn’t leave you to fight on your own.”

Cathán gave Thomas’s shoulder a bit of a jig. “So you’ll come to the feast with us?”

Thomas couldn’t see Cathán’s face, but he could clearly hear the eagerness and the hint of uncertainty. His smile broadened. “Of course I will, my friend. My tasks can wait a short while longer. Let’s celebrate our victory!”

The gathered Mouse Knights cheered. Another acorn song started up, a lively tune that reminded Thomas of a fiddle song he’d heard at the midsummer bonfire. Cathán and Edan and many of the other mice tapped their paws and tails in appreciation of the fine melody.

Presently the Nathaia Iór’s corpse had been removed from the clearing. The First Legion set about straightening the trampled grasses and picking up their weapons of war. The bent darts and cracked shields and splintered swords they tossed into the brambles, saving only the intact weapons and slinging them through thread-belts. Then they formed into orderly ranks and marched out of the clearing toward the south, accompanied by sounding acorn-horns and led by a torch-bearing vanguard.

At last only Thomas, Cathán, and Edan remained in the clearing. “Do you mind if we ride with you?” Cathán asked Thomas. “It’s not far to Luchamhá, but we’ll get there even faster on your legs. Besides, Edan could use the rest: he’s not as spry as he once was.”

Thomas chuckled. “I don’t mind. Hold on tight.” He stood and grabbed his satchel, looping its strap over his right shoulder. He felt Edan sit down on his head and Cathán lean against his ear for support. Both mice squeaked their readiness. At that signal, and after a last glance around the clearing, off Thomas walked, following about a dozen feet behind the torch-led procession of triumphant Mouse Knights of the First Legion.

Cathán had spoken true: Luchamhá was only a mile or so south of the clearing, an easy walk through a long gentle valley dotted with cedars. The Mouse Knights picked a clear path between bushes and brambles so that Thomas could follow without trouble. Their torches, their songs and chants, and the incessant jests and chatter of his two passengers kept Thomas from worrying overmuch about the shadows surrounding him or the deepening night or the trials that still awaited him.

The procession slowed near the leeward slope of a hill thickly covered in pinkish heather and flowering thistles. When all the Mouse Knights were smartly arranged, the vanguard carried their banners up to the trunk of a massive, gnarled oak tree and planted them in the soil among the protruding roots. Next, the horn-blowers approached and played a soft, distinct, three-note song that seemed to reverberate off the oak-trunk and repeat throughout the glade. Then the banner-boys and horn-blowers stepped back into their ranks.

Cathán tapped Thomas on the shoulder. “If you wouldn’t mind, Thomas,” said the mouse, “could you stride up there to the Tree of Opening and give the trunk a few sturdy knocks? They’ll be coming to open the way already, but that’ll let them know we’ve got a guest. You’ll not find entrance through the normal route, I’m afraid.”

“Okay,” said Thomas, a little trepidation creeping into his contentment at receiving an invitation to feast with the mice of the Thistledown Kingdom.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Edan added from above. “Our halls are safe and not at all damp or unpleasant. Just takes a bit of work to get down in them for one of the big folk.”

That did little to ease Thomas’s mind, but he followed Cathán’s directions anyway. He skirted the ranks of the First Legion, stepped up to the base of the sprawling oak, and knocked thrice upon its rough bark. The knocks resounded and the tree creaked in response: deep and old, rasping and shuffling, not hollow but filled with life. It was, surprisingly, not an unfamiliar sound; Thomas was sure he’d heard it several times before while strolling in the woods, though he’d never thought to wonder what it was.

The creaking shuddered through the tree and Thomas looked down. The roots at his feet were moving, parting like flower-petals instead of writhing like snakes, which had been his first startled thought. He backed up to clear the way for the tree.

Quickly the roots unraveled. In hardly a moment they had stretched outward to reveal a deep dark hole at the base of the trunk, a hole that was a tunnel that was a passage into the city of the mice. Thomas peered into the hole. He thought he could see it level out only a few feet down and then continue on underground. Two roots framed either side like a doorway.

“This is the door to Luchamhá,” Cathán proudly announced. “The Great Door, in fact, reserved for special occasions and such. Typically we just squeeze in between the roots. This will be much nicer; we won’t ruin our battle-wounds by smudging dirt into them.”

“Are you hurt, Cathán?” Thomas asked.

The Mouse Knight slid down Thomas’s arm to land in the crook of his elbow. He waved his free paw, holding on to Thomas’s shirt with the other. “Nicks and scrapes and nothing more, my friend. Nothing to be concerned with. Spoils of battle, in fact, and trophies of a sort. They’ll be sure to impress. We all did rather well in that regard, in fact. None of my soldiers were injured, but all returned from the fight with something to show for their efforts.

“Now!” he called out to the gathered troops. “Mouse Knights of the First Legion! You have fought bravely, honorably, and have won yourself a great celebration and rest! Let us go on to the Royal Seat and present our report before the King and the Queen—and quickly, for I can already smell the feast-fires and hear the tinkling of the minstrels’ harps! On into the Fair City!”

The gathered mice cheered. Cathán looked up at Thomas. “In we go first, my friend, and the rest will follow. Duck your head and mind your elbows, if it’s not too difficult.”

Thomas stepped back up to the tree. There were no stairs leading down, so he crouched and then dropped through the Great Door, dirtying his left hand but otherwise passing through unscathed. He couldn’t stand fully, so he walked forward with his head ducked and his shoulders bent forward. The passage was as Edan had described: not damp or unpleasant, but instead dry and well-packed and smooth and straight.

Ahead, Thomas saw a flickering light illuminating a sharp turn in the tunnel. He shuffled toward it quickly, his free right hand lightly trailing the ceiling overhead so as to ensure the safety of his head and its passenger. He heard the rustling and scuffling of tiny paws and leaf-caps and acorn-shields behind him, followed by the creaking of the Tree of Opening as its roots closed over to hide the Great Door. He could also hear noise up ahead, around the corner—undistinguished movements, a faint clatter, a whisper of breath and voice.

Thomas rounded the corner and jerked to a stop in amazement. Here, the passage opened up into a spacious chamber into which Thomas’s own house could have fit without bumping its chimney on the domed ceiling or scraping its outer stones on the packed-dirt walls draped with tapestries and plaited vines. A glittering chandelier hung at the center of the room; lanterns had been affixed to wall-brackets or suspended from chains at various other places, some of them with colored-glass filters that cast shafts of red and gold and green around the room. Thomas stood between two staircases, one leading down to the floor of the room some eight feet below, the other climbing to a walkway that wrapped around the room near the ceiling. On the floor, he saw three pairs of wooden tables with accompanying stools and benches. At the far end of the room waited a high-backed throne adorned with wrought iron and shining stones. The rest of the room was filled with statues and paintings and boxes and furniture and mice.

The denizens of underground Luchamhá brought the room to life with their activity. Some lounged on small cushions and chairs in tucked-away circles; others dueled or wrestled atop the broad tables; still others scampered and scurried here and there, chattering or bearing parcels and provisions or simply hurrying about whatever tasks might keep a mouse awake in the middle of the night. Thomas glanced at one group of mice in the corner and saw that they were playing some sort of game with tiny carved dice and cards made of wood shavings.

Thomas stared while the rest of the First Legion filed into the room behind him. He noted the peculiar disparity in size of the room’s furniture and trappings: the chandelier, the tables and benches, the throne, and several of the tapestries were human-sized, whereas the rest of the room had clearly been built by and for mice. The sight created an odd sense of respect in Thomas for the Thistledown Kingdom, for their resilience and creativity.

One part of his thoughts noticed and reflected on these things while the rest of him was overwhelmed at the sight of it all. He stood there at the top of the stairs until Cathán gave him a poke.

“That’s the signal, my friend,” said the Mouse Knight. Thomas realized that the acorn-horns were sounding their triumphant return and that most of the activity in the room had paused, if only briefly. “Go on, down the stairs and up to the throne there. We’ll present you and give our report to the King and the Queen and then jump right into the feasting.”

Thomas complied, though his legs were a little shaky on the stairs. Mice scurried everywhere, and he worried he’d squash them with every step until Cathán advised him not to bother. “You’re a fair deal slower than we are,” Cathán said, “at least when you’re walking like that. They’ll be fine to avoid you without any trouble. And if a young mouseling should catch his tail under your shoe—well, that’ll serve him a valuable lesson he shan’t forget! So onward fearless, my friend!”

The stairs ended and Thomas turned and walked toward the throne. He passed between the large tables and the frantic activity of the mice while the First Legion marched behind him, their paws like raindrops and their leaf-armor like the rustle of wind in the heather. Thomas gave a little wave in response to a group of mice who were cheering and tossing their felt caps in the air; they squeaked with delight and chittered nervously until he’d moved past their table. That made Thomas smile, and the nervous fluttering in his stomach subsided somewhat.

It returned all at once when he arrived before the high throne. Thomas jerked to a stop a few feet in front of the earthen dais, noticing now the very royal-looking mice who sat atop the inner arms of the two throne-chairs. The throne was constructed of solid iron wrought into the shape of vines and leaves and various animals, the bars twisting around straight backs and concave seats and jutting arm-rests. Among the coiled iron stones and trinkets sparkled. Some were clearly gemstones, rubies and amethysts; others appeared to be bits of hammered tin, scraps of colorful fabric, small circles of tinted glass—and, in one spot near the ground, a shard of melting ice. As Thomas took in the sight, he watched a tiny mouse dart up to the base of the throne, tuck a fragment of white bone into a cranny, and scurry away.

But by then the nervous fluttering had seized full control of Thomas and he saw nothing more but the Mouse King and the Mouse Queen sitting atop the arms of their throne. They were dressed in mouse-robes of soft velvet trimmed with scales that glistened and strands of silken white that splayed around them. A crown of violet feathers rested on the Mouse King’s head; the Mouse Queen wore a circlet of bronze wire with two tiny black smooth stones lying flat behind her ears.

The sight was acutely majestic. Thomas felt Cathán shift on his shoulder; a second later Thomas himself dropped to his knees, grateful for the excuse to lower his eyes a moment and collect his thoughts. At Cathán’s tug, he straightened once more, listening to the rustle of the First Legion behind him as they stood and clapped to attention.

“Welcome, far-friend of the Human Realm!” shouted the Mouse King suddenly, his voice deeper than Thomas had expected. Thomas jumped, and the Mouse King laughed. “Welcome indeed, my boy, a thousand welcomes and a laugh and a cheer for your safe arrival!”

The hall erupted into squeaks and chitters as the citizens of Luchamhá obeyed their king’s boisterous suggestion. The Mouse Queen laughed along with them, the sound a glide of silver rain upon a misty mere. The black stones in her crown caught the reflected light from the throne’s decorations and exuded their own glow, a soft gray with flecks of yellow. Like the sun in a cloak, thought Thomas, a bit dizzy. He was mostly certain the stones were magical, but not the kind of magic he’d seen and felt the witch use. This magic was pleasant, soothing, and it seemed to dull the chaos of the Royal Seat so Thomas could catch his breath.

He realized that the Mouse King had resumed speaking. Thomas pulled his attention from the two black stones, though not before the Mouse Queen caught his eye and gave him a wink and a nod.

“What then, First Captain, Sir Caolán, of your exploits?” the Mouse King was saying, his voice still echoing through the chamber. “What can you tell us of your adventures beyond the Tree? Spare us no detail of your victories—for nothing whets the appetite like tales of heroes and monsters! Is this not so, human boy?”

Thomas nodded while the First Legion cheered. He’d taken an instant liking to the Mouse King, with his booming voice and jovial words. To the Mouse Queen as well Thomas felt an attraction and a sense of friendship, of common purpose and value. He was still altogether overwhelmed by the scene in the Royal Seat of Luchamhá, but it was a nice place to be overwhelmed.

“Please,” said the Mouse Queen, leaning against the Mouse King’s shoulder, “consider yourself at liberty to spare us a few of the details, should you wish. The sooner the tale is told, the sooner the wine will be drunk, as they say.”

The Mouse King voiced his assent with another wordless cry. “Proceed, then, First Captain, with moderate detail and all eager efficiency in the telling, that we might not keep the mouselings from their meals nor the cooks from their praise!”

And so Cathán related the events of the day and night, beginning with his fortunate encounter with Thomas and their agreement, continuing on to their initial scrap with the Nathaia Iór, and concluding at reasonable length and with exceptional exuberance with the true battle between the Winged Serpent and the First Legion, including the monster’s eventual defeat and the capture and transport of its body. At various points throughout the tale, the gathered mice cheered or gasped or clapped the Mouse Knights on their leaf-capped heads or acorn-shielded backs. The Mouse King joined in fervent applause and cheering, while the Mouse Queen smiled, laughed, and twitched her tail at appropriate moments in the story.

When at last Cathán had exhausted his words and crowned them with a flourishing bow, the Mouse King jumped to his paws and scampered forward to the edge of the arm-rest and raised himself to his full height. “A fabulous story, First Captain, and a thrilling journey of fine-spun prose! Tonight a legend has been born: the mighty First Legion and the fearsome Nathaia Iór! Now let us tarry no longer with words. Let the celebratory feast begin!”

Thomas and his two mouse passengers were quickly ushered to one of the tables nearest the throne. Thomas sat at the proffered stool and set his satchel and jacket on the earthen floor near his feet, then removed his knit cap from the satchel and placed it on the table. “You can sit here, if you’d like,” he told Cathán on his shoulder. “You too, Edan,” he added, trying to arch his eyebrows enough to see the mouse still sitting atop his head. “I don’t know if you normally use the chairs and stools: they don’t seem high enough. But the table is hard, so this might make it a little softer.”

Cathán squeaked in surprise and delight and raced down Thomas’s arm to the table. He touched the edge of the knit cap with his two paws, rubbed the soft wool, and then happily climbed atop it and huddled himself into a comfortably reclined position. Edan followed, sliding down Thomas’s sleeve and burrowing into the open end of the knit cap.

“Thomas, this is a great honor,” said Cathán with another little squeak. “As you’ll see, we normally sit on the table with small cushions or stacks of leaves. But this is a fine treat and much appreciated. You are a true friend indeed.”

“And an honored guest!” came the voice of the Mouse King. Thomas glanced down the table and saw the Mouse King and Mouse Queen propped up on puffs of cotton draped in velvet. “You’ll want for nothing but sleep once we’ve finished! When word reached us that the First Captain was bringing back a human companion-in-arms, I instructed the cooks to prepare a few special morsels for your”—the Mouse King hemmed a moment, his whiskers vibrating—“larger palate, let’s say. And now to me, cooks and stewards and servants, and let us all celebrate!”

The table, bathed in green and gold from nearby lanterns, was at once piled high with plates and bowls and tureens and pots and cups and silverware and napkins and the other accoutrements of dining. Some of the implements were clearly human-sized and appeared to have been scavenged or perhaps stolen; the rest were of mouse-make and in varying shapes, sizes, and states.

All served their purpose well. Thomas could hardly believe the breadth and variety of dishes he saw before him. He saw every nut, root vegetable, herb, berry, seed, and legume that he could name, and many more that he could not, filling the plates and bowls and thimble-cups, along with a number of sauces and soups and wafers and other delicacies. He also spotted roasted insects, grilled minnows, braised quail’s eggs, tadpoles skewered on twigs and served with quartered apricots, and poached snails in their shells.

Thomas felt a little squeamish about some of these foods, but the mice around him piled his plate and urged him to eat with such fervor and aplomb that he swallowed both his worries and the exotic fare. He found, to his great surprise, that the mouse chefs of the Thistledown Kingdom were virtuosos of their craft; and thereafter he wolfed down whatever was placed before him, as he had eaten very little and had adventured for most of the day.

Halfway through the feast, the Mouse King had a steward ring a small, tinny brass bell and hopped up onto the table. “A brief announcement, my friends, if you will!” he shouted to the rest of the hall. “I would not interrupt your merriment but for long. As we have heard, our brave Knights of the First Legion have slain the Nathaia Iór and delivered its carcass to the mages and clerics in the Whiskered Wood. My pleasure is doubled in announcing that the skull of the terrible monster has been cleaned and prepared and is ready for presentation!”

The Mouse King’s steward rang the bell again and the great mouse-doors at the far end of the hall opened up. In marched a procession of eight robed mice with tall hats. Some carried walking-sticks or wore necklaces of wire and thread. Thomas guessed that these were the mouse-mages. Next came a few smaller mice with bundles of leaves in their arms. As Thomas watched, he saw these mice pull out tiny bits of charcoal and scratch notes upon the leaves.

Scribes, Thomas thought.

After the mouse-scribes came the clerics, so identified by their austere wardrobes and solemn expressions. There were eight clerics to match the eight mages, and each group formed a single file so that they created a walkway from the mouse-doors to the table of the Mouse King.

Finally, to much excited whispering and chatter of the gathered mice, another mouse of the Whiskered Wood entered the dining hall. He was easily the largest mouse Thomas had ever seen, large enough that at first Thomas was sure he was looking at a rabbit or a hedgehog or even an oddly shaped cat. The mouse wore a long cape of white linen and carried a rope of golden threads over each shoulder, dragging behind him a heavy object covered in black cloth on a long canvas sheet.

The mages and clerics widened their avenue to allow the newcomer passage. He walked upright, towering over those he passed, his gait purposeful and his carriage regal. As the mouse neared, Thomas saw that he was indeed a mouse after all, and a very handsome, striking mouse at that. His fur was tawny with an auburn stripe from the crown of his head to the tufts at the base of his tail. His eyes were coal-black, piercing and keen; he carried a blade at his hip that looked to be the same length as Thomas’s hand from wrist to fingertip.

“The King’s Champion,” Cathán whispered to Thomas as the giant mouse continued his steady approach. “His name is Baylock the Bold, but you’ll hear him called Brother most often, especially by His Majesty. They’re not brothers by birth, of course, but that matters not a bit with things of this nature.”

“He looks a frightening brute,” added Edan, munching unceremoniously on a cheekful of barley seeds, “but he’s not at all. He’s like a brother to all of us. A fearsome warrior in battle and a boisterous companion at the table. It’s a wonder he can keep still for this.”

“Hush now,” advised Cathán. Baylock the Bold had arrived at the leg of the table at which the Mouse King and the Mouse Queen, Cathán and Edan and Thomas, and most of the First Legion were seated.

Thomas leaned back in his stool to watch Baylock the Bold drop the golden ropes and turn to face his hidden parcel. The giant mouse bent over and wrapped his paws around the black-veiled object, hefting it and the canvas beneath into the air and over one shoulder. The gathered mice gasped. Even Thomas was impressed, as the weight did not seem to bother Baylock the Bold one bit.

Then Thomas joined the mice in another round of gasps as the Brother of Mice leapt high into the air and landed atop the Mouse King’s table with a loud thud. Baylock steadied himself a moment before leaping forward again, clearing the Mouse King’s plate, and depositing his burden in the only open space on the tabletop. With a flourish he ripped the black covering from the object and flung it aside; and the gasps became stunned silence became a rousing infectious shout that swept the hall and rattled the chandelier.

Thomas gaped at the gleaming skull of the Nathaia Iór, which grinned right back at him, all fangs and empty eye-sockets and tiny slits where the nose had been. The death-grin was doubly disturbing due to the extra set of fangs and the protruding spikes of horn at the crown. Strangest was the bone itself, which was a yellow-white marbled with streaks of red and black. Thomas had never seen anything like it, but the skull matched in the color the temperament of the Winged Serpent in life.

It appeared as though the mouse-mages and clerics of the Whiskered Wood had taken their time in polishing the skull until it properly shone in the multicolored lights of the lanterns and torches and the chandelier. Baylock the Bold stepped back to the side of the Mouse King as dozens of mice swarmed forward for a better look at the macabre spectacle.

Initially unsettled, Thomas soon found himself cheering along with the rest and trading claps on the backs and shoulders of his fellow warriors, though Thomas’s were far gentler and only involved a fingertip. Edan took a leisurely walk the length of the table, enjoying the praise of his companions and well-wishers for his role in the great defeat of the Winged Serpent. Cathán remained close to Thomas, a bit more reserved than the rest, though Thomas heard the occasional squeak of delight escape the First Captain as the commotion continued.

At last the Mouse King jumped up again, a skewer of grasshopper in his royal paw. “Friends and companions!” he shouted, somehow projecting his voice over the tumult. “We have one last ceremony to which we must attend before our revelry can begin in full. We must recognize the Feaster of Honor!”

All eyes turned to Thomas, who’d nearly forgotten about the title. He gave a little wave.

“Our human friend deserves ample recompense and glories heaped untold,” continued the Mouse King, “for his gallant efforts at the side of the brave First Legion! Thomas the human boy of Mídhel, thank you everlasting for your services to the Thistledown Kingdom! Ever shall you be welcome in our halls and dining chambers. You have my word as King of the Mice that the full strength of the Royal Seat of Luchamhá will come to your aid whenever the need arise. Hail the Feaster of Honor!”

The resounding reply rattled the rafters and shook the roots of the great hall of Luchamhá. Thomas knew he blushed under the green and gold lights and didn’t much mind, for he felt the sincerity of his newfound friends. Cathán clapped and whistled and cheered especially loudly, and when the fervor died down just a bit, the First Captain scampered back to Thomas’s shoulder and gave him a hearty pat on the ear.

“See now the great reward for aiding the First Legion,” Cathán said amidst further cheering. Thomas looked and saw that the mouse-mages and clerics and scribes had been replaced by a group of mice who must have been cooks and chefs, as they were speckled with flour and sauce and one of them had long black singe-mark on the fur above his tail. They carried a silver platter with a silver lid that rattled and steamed. When they reached the foot of the table, they passed the platter to Baylock the Bold, who lifted it with ease and placed it next to the skull of the Nathaia Iór.

The mouse chef with the singed tail appeared next to Baylock and bowed low. “Revered guest,” the mouse said in a voice that trembled more with excitement than fear, “please accept our humble offering to thank you for what you have done. May it be to your liking and satisfy nose and tongue and throat and belly.”

He nodded to Baylock. The giant mouse hefted the silver lid and lifted it from the platter, tossing it over his shoulder to waiting stewards. When the steam cleared, Thomas found himself staring at a roasted whole game hen bedecked with sliced turnips and halved apricots and sprigs of fennel and thyme. The smell of the elaborate dish nearly overwhelmed him with its warmth and savor and spice.

“It’s—” Thomas stammered, his mouth watering, even though he’d already eaten more than his fill of the dishes on the table. “It looks wonderful!”

“Smells it too!” Cathán said, hopping down to the table. The First Captain’s nose prickled as he sniffed the wafting steam from the game hen. “Smells wonderful. Think you can manage the whole thing?”

“I might need help with a few bites,” Thomas replied. “Mouse-sized bites, anyway.”

Cathán laughed. “At your service, my human friend.”

“And so the Feaster of Honor is duly honored with a feast of his own!” the Mouse King intoned. “Back to your seats, all of you! We’ve plenty of food and night left to enjoy! Eat and drink and dance and sing in celebration of the defeat of the Nathaia Iór!”

Thomas heeded the Mouse King’s command and attacked the roasted game hen with knife and fork and, when it had cooled a little, his fingers. The bird was as delicate and tender and juicy and well-seasoned as anything he’d eaten in Mídhel or, indeed, his fondest dreams. He and Cathán picked the game hen clean, stripped the bones, and savored the turnips and apricots and other adornments.

When at last the silver platter was empty, the Feaster of Honor and the First Captain of the Thistledown Kingdom sat back satisfied, the former in his stool and the latter upon Thomas’s knit cap. Thomas let out a sigh of contentment and indulgence; Cathán chittered his response and nestled deeper into the woolen cap, curling his tail around him.

After a few minutes, Thomas roused himself a little and tapped Cathán on the shoulder. The Mouse Knight stirred and peeked open a single brown eye.

“Cathán,” said Thomas, “I hate to say this now, but what about my quest for the boar’s tusk? This feast has been wonderful, just incredible, but I can’t forget that my sister Eleanor is a witch’s captive and I have less than a week to save her. I should probably go out hunting for the tusk now.”

Cathán sat up a little and opened his other eye. “Friend Thomas, don’t worry,” he said kindly. “I have not forgotten your quest nor my own oath to aid you. Before the feast began, I sent out watchers, mouselings with sharp eyes and noses. They’re keeping watching on the boar you and I startled earlier. Last they reported, he was still rooting about in the brambles not far from here. They’ll bring us word when he falls asleep, and then we can go see about snatching a bit of his tusk with him unaware.”

Thomas nodded, a little unsure. “Okay,” he said. “Thank you. But—I’m still worried . . .”

The First Captain rose to all four paws and reached for a nearby cup. He sniffed at it, then offered it to Thomas. “Mead with honey. Of human make, I believe. It will help you rest.”

Thomas accepted the cup and drank. It was sweet and warm and soothing.

Cathán came forward and rested a paw on Thomas’s arm. “Thomas,” said he, “do not worry. Sleep now. I will make sure that you get the boar’s tusk without delay, and I will help you save your sister from the witch. You have given the Thistledown Kingdom much, and you have brought me honor and friendship besides. I am grateful to be able to repay some of that now. Sleep, and I will wake you when it’s time.”

Thomas nodded again, a wordless sign of heartfelt thanks, and let his eyes droop and then his head until his forehead rested against the rough grain of the tabletop. While he still drowsed, he felt Cathán curl up in the crook of his elbow and nestle tightly against him. The softness of the Mouse Knight’s fur brought a warm tightness to Thomas’s throat.

And then Thomas fell asleep amidst the dance and song and merriment of the victorious dining hall of Luchamhá, and his dreams were sweet and pleasant and soft.