Chapter Fifteen: A Farewell

 

Lily and Arthur stood alone outside the Council Chamber. A chilly north wind was blowing, and the trees of the forest responded with the woody groans that could only mean that winter was coming quickly. But the chill of the wind and the groaning of the trees were nothing in comparison to the groaning despair Lily felt rising in her heart. “But Arthur!” she exclaimed. “Leave the forest? How could I possibly? And never return?”

“No, no, Lily,” Arthur consoled her, scurrying up to a branch near her head, his gentle brown eyes softening as they looked into hers. “I know this is a difficult request, but you mustn’t fret. You are the dearest, bravest little girl I have ever met. Even venturing into the forest alone today took a great deal of courage, however unwise it may have been.”

“I’m sorry I broke my promise to you, Arthur,” Lily pleaded. “I won’t stray ever again.”

“I am glad to hear that, but I fear that now even sticking to the path is not a guarantee of safety. I didn’t mean for you to be exposed to the unpleasantness of the Forest Council, but I’m glad you came after all. Now you have seen for yourself just how precarious our situation has become and you have seen, I hope, that for now the forest is no place for a little girl.”

“But I’m bigger than all of you!” Lily cried. “If it isn’t safe for me, it isn’t safe for any of you!”

Arthur could not help but allow a tiny laugh to escape his lips. “Dear Lily, it is true. You are bigger than all of us. What a marvel you are! And you are correct, it isn’t safe for any of us,” Arthur admitted, resuming his gravity. “But the forest is my home, and the Rookery doubly so. I could no more leave these rooks behind than you could abandon your own family in a time of crisis. But you have a home outside the forest. You can leave, Lily, and you absolutely must. As you have seen, the hawks care nothing about what sort of creature you are. They don’t care if you are big or small or how many legs you have. They are preparing for battle, and I simply cannot allow you to stay.”

“But you told us before that honor means helping other people even if you don’t have to—even if it might hurt you!” Lily argued, stomping her foot in frustration.

“Bless you child! And what I said is true, but now is not the time for you to make that kind of sacrifice. Your safety is the most important thing. What would become of us if something happened to you? What would become of your family? It would be left to me to inform your father, wouldn’t it? Now forgive me if it sounds selfish, but that is a conversation I would rather never have.”

Lily had no answer. She knew Arthur was right. She looked deeply into his eyes and could see nothing but painful sincerity. He cared for her more than she could have understood until this moment—in fact, he cared so much that he was willing to make her leave.

“Will I see you again, Arthur?” she asked, trying to be brave. “Will I see any of this ever again?”

“I have faith that you will,” he smiled. “For even periods of the greatest darkness cannot possibly last forever, least of all when those of us who fight for good are strong in both spirit and in number.”

Lily thought about the terrible scene in the Council Chamber and found it very difficult to believe that the bickering crowd of animals she was leaving behind would ever be able to unite against the hawks.

Arthur seemed to understand just what she was thinking.

“Have faith in your friends, Lily. Doing the right thing and acting bravely is not easy. Honor and courage rarely show themselves these days until they are absolutely necessary. This is why I simply must stay. There is much I must do, and I’m afraid our time is growing short.”

Lily could see for herself that the situation had grown far direr, perhaps, than Arthur would admit. She took a deep breath and made one last request. “Will you, at least, walk me to the edge of the forest?”

“I would like nothing more,” Arthur answered kindly, “but I simply cannot. The Council is not yet over, and I do still hold out a hope—though faint—that some good may come of this day. Lily, I’m afraid I must go. Titus has requested my counsel. There are strong, reasonable voices in that chamber, if only the others would be still. I must do everything in my power to help make that happen.”

Lily’s lip quivered as she looked behind her at the twisting, unfamiliar path leading away from the Council Chamber.

“Oh! But you will not be alone!” Arthur cried out, sensing at once the girl’s fear. “Heavens, no! Do not think such things. I’ve arranged for Nathaniel to escort you all the way home. Ah! Here he is now.”

The little gray vole emerged from under a pile of leaves, snuffling along the ground toward Lily’s feet.

“The vole!” Lily cried out. “So that’s his name! He never told me.”

“I’m afraid you’ll get no more out of him now. Nathaniel is the mutest creature I have ever encountered—which is sometimes a relief after a long day with these chattering rooks! In any regard, he’s quite a good listener.”

“And brave! Why, it was nearly the bravest thing I have ever seen,” she said, looking down warmly at the silent animal, who blushed in embarrassment. “It truly was! He’s such a tiny creature, but he risked his own life to rescue me from that dreadful hawk!”

“Many animals,” Arthur responded, “have been known for a valiance altogether out of proportion to their size, Lily! Not all, perhaps, but Nathaniel, certainly. No one knows exactly how he found you—he hasn’t yet told us how he knew you had entered the forest. But we are all, very glad that he did.”

As usual, Nathaniel said nothing, and would not meet Arthur’s eyes. Instead, he kept his nose to the ground, as was his way, and began sniffing along the path. As he passed Lily, he looked up at her and nodded cordially, as if entreating her to join him.

“Oh Arthur!” the girl cried, reaching out to touch the top of his head and stroking it lovingly. “It surely isn’t goodbye, is it?”

“Not a permanent goodbye,” the mouse responded, pressing his head close to her thumb. “It is a ‘so long’ and a ‘farewell’. More than anything, though, it is quite certainly a ‘till we meet again at last’.”

Lily sighed and smiled toward Arthur, and he back. He scurried back down to the ground and stood for a minute near the secret passageway in the Council Chamber wall. Then his whiskers twitched in turn, and he was gone. Lily suppressed a sob, and turned to follow the vole as he led her (quite efficiently, though wordlessly) back to her home: back to Nan and Strathclyde and his grouchy old wife. Back to memories and back to being a child.

Chapter Fourteen: The Forest Council

 

Lily bolted through the forest without concern for anything around her. Branches caught her dress and snagged her hair, but still she ran. She could just make out the scurrying vole bustling through the blanket of leaves ahead of her and she followed as fast as her weak legs could manage, praying that she could keep up, and hoping that this little animal knew where he was going.

Her heart raced, partly out of fear, partly out of exhaustion, but she didn’t think much about these things as she ran. Her mind was fixed on how terrible it would be if she lost sight of the vole and became lost in the forest again, this time with neither a path nor a friendly creature to lead her to safety. This thought encouraged her to run faster than she had ever run before—or perhaps it only felt that way. As she ran, the forest became darker and denser. It closed in on her from every side. Even the sun, which still attempted to shine through the tree branches found its path blocked by the darkness of the forest. Lily could not even be certain whether the vole was leading her deeper into the forest or toward her home.

Lily stayed close to the vole, and in due time she thought she could hear a commotion up ahead, though she could see nothing. At first she was convinced that her mind was playing a devilish trick on her, but eventually the vole slowed his pace and she caught up with him at last. The voices had grown louder, a whole chaotic tangle of them, and they seemed to be coming from just behind a thick veil of tree branches and bushes rising up in front of them—a sturdy and impenetrable wall in the middle of forest.

The vole at last stopped as they came up to the barrier, and Lily stumbled toward him, resting her hands on her knees and breathing deeply, trying to catch her breath. She could still make out nothing in particular about the voices beyond the wall. They surged into the forest like a great jumble of noises, here and there intermingled with chirping and squealing and growling and a rather foul mix of every sort of inhuman sound, as if a tremendous number of animals was engaged in an especially violent quarrel. Lily was not certain whether she ought to be excited or frightened about what was happening behind the wall.

“Thank you, Mr. Vole,” said Lily, quite unaware of her little hero’s proper name. “How did you do that? You saved me! How can I ever repay you?”

The vole did not answer. He did not, in fact, even acknowledge that she had asked him a question. Instead, the tiny creature, who blended perfectly with the browns and yellows of the leaves beneath his feet, began to probe along the base of the wall with his long nose, sniffing intently as he went. Lily followed slowly as he moved along, watching his peculiar behavior with intense curiosity, as the muffled chaos continued unabated from within.

 “What is this place?” she asked, still reeling from her dash through the forest. Still, the vole did not answer.

Lily had just noticed that the wall was curved, and that they seemed to be moving along its edge in a great circle when the vole at last came across something notable. He stopped, sniffing urgently in one particular spot. Then, without any warning, he disappeared beneath the wall.

Lily, left alone and quite disconcerted, was taken aback by the sudden departure of her guide. The forest seemed to howl around her, and she pressed her back to the wall, searching the trees for signs of the hawk, whom she knew was miles away.

“Be brave,” she said, taking a deep breath and kneeling near the spot where the vole had disappeared. It certainly didn’t appear to be any different than any other part of the wall. Cautiously, she felt along its base. To her surprise, it was hollow! The wall opened into a small chamber somehow, but it was much too small for her to squeeze into. She would never be able to follow.

Lily pulled her hand back and scrunched her nose at the situation. It was clear that she must find a way beyond this barrier. She briefly considered climbing over the top, but, having had quite enough danger for one day, dismissed that idea quickly. She looked again at the little hole near her feet. It was beginning to seem hopeless.

Just as she was about to give in to despair, “Lily!” came a sudden cry from her left. Lily searched the ground for the voice. It was so familiar, so comforting, that instantly hot, salty tears began to well up in her eyes. It was Arthur! Oh! Dear, sweet Arthur! She was saved! But where was he?

“Up here!” he cried from a hole in the wall just at Lily’s eye level.

“Arthur, oh, Arthur!” Lily ran to the mouse, and would have grabbed him and squeezed him tightly had she not been afraid of hurting him.

“My dear,” Arthur said sweetly, “please, do not cry! You are perfectly safe now.”

But the kindness of those soft brown eyes, and the gentle twitch of his whiskers only made her chin quiver, causing two enormous tears to tumble down her cheeks. She buried her face in her hands. “I just...I’ve had the most dreadful morning, Arthur! And it’s all my fault, every bit of it! I should have listened to you! I should have listened to all of you!”

“Oh, dear one!” Arthur consoled her, hopping lightly onto her shoulder and smoothing her ruffled braid. “All is well now. It is sad but true that we often learn by making mistakes! And you may not realize it yet, but you have become wiser for it.”

Lily sniffled and wiped her eyes. “It was all so dreadful,” she said softly as Arthur hopped back into the wall.

“Yes, I’m certain that it was, Lily. And when you’re ready, you will have to tell me all about it,” he consoled her.

“I would like that,” she said with a smile.

At just that moment, a loud shouting broke out behind the wall. “What is happening behind this wall, Arthur?” she asked.

“Come and see for yourself, my dear. I was certainly not expecting to see your lovely face this morning, but I am glad that you’ve come. You are about to see something spectacular!”

His ears swayed toward the tumult and before Lily knew it, he too had disappeared into the wall. Seconds later she could hear Arthur’s voice again—this time from somewhere around her ankles. “Come, Lily, down here. Follow my voice,” he called.

Lily had learned a great deal in the past few days, and perhaps the most important thing was that Arthur could be trusted. It did not seem that she would ever be able to squeeze through this wall, but she did not believe that he would ask anything of her that was impossible. Instead, she bent down and poked her arms through the small hole in the wall. Her head soon followed, as did the rest of her. The wall seemed to open up around her and she crawled through with very little effort. With Arthur in the lead, it seemed like the easiest thing in the world.

Arthur was waiting patiently for Lily on the other side of the wall. “Welcome, Lily, to the Forest Council,” he said, lifting his hands in a grand gesture.

Lily stood and dusted off her hands and knees, and as she looked at the scene around her, her mouth fell open in awe. In many ways, the Council Chamber reminded Lily of an abandoned medieval abbey. Its towering walls were woven in the same style as the Rookery (without the branches, nests, or passageways, of course), and the top of the huge structure was open to the great blue sky, dotted here and there with wispy clouds. Thick sweet-smelling grass grew on the Council floor, and here and there the last of the crocuses clung to the fading autumn.

But the grass and flowers were barely visible beneath the feet and claws of the hundreds of animals gathered there. At the far end of the chamber was a raised platform. Rows and rows of stone benches had been arranged in a broad semi-circle around it, and on those benches sat nearly every animal in the forest. The crowd was anything but organized. In fact, Lily understood it no better now that she could see it than she had when she could only hear it from outside! In addition to the shouting and chirping and cawing and growling, there was also the flailing of wings (feathers were, quite literally, flying), the baring of teeth, and hopping up and down (mostly by the rabbits, though some of the field mice were becoming agitated as well). It seemed more like a riot than a Council meeting.

“What is all this, Arthur?” Lily asked, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Surely you don’t mean to say that this is a proper council meeting? My father jokes about the lawlessness of Parliament, but this is far beyond that. How do they expect to accomplish anything in this chaos?”

“Oh, you’d be surprised by how much progress we animals can make amidst such turmoil,” Arthur answered with a twinkle in his eye. “The animals of the forest have held these councils for well over a hundred years, though without much regularity. In fact, you are witnessing the first Forest Council in many years. It is my first as well, Lily, and I find it quite exciting...though I’m afraid the situation is far too dire for me to enjoy it completely.”

“Dire? Why is it dire?” Lily asked looking back toward the madness. “Is it the—Oh! Arthur!” she cried out, trying to hide behind him in vain.

“What is it, Lily?” he asked, bewildered. But she could only point, her finger trembling, toward the center of the room.

Sitting on the raised platform were several animals who were obviously leading the proceedings: Titus was there, alongside a stag with great, twisting antlers atop his head, and a rather dumpy rat. The source of Lily’s sudden terror, however, was the hawk who joined them. It was not Alistair, thankfully. This hawk was old and frail and moved very little if at all, but he was a terrible looking creature nonetheless, and resembled Alistair far too closely.

“Hush, my dear,” Arthur whispered. “You are safe. As long as we stay in this chamber, we are all safe. It is the code of the Council. Don’t fear.”

“But the hawk—” Lily countered.

“It is time you knew why this Council has been called,” Arthur explained with a hint of resignation in his voice. “We are trying to avoid a war.”

“A war!” Lily gasped. “What do you mean?”

“As you know all too well, the hawks have returned to the forest. We have known for some time that they have been encroaching on our borders. Until recently they have remained docile, but the attack on Titus and the arrival of the spade have alerted us to the fact that the hawks are on the move. They are threatening to tear down the Rookery and reclaim the clearing. This Council is a last resort—a last attempt at understanding before we consider drawing battle lines.”

“Arthur, no! It can’t be!” Lily cried.

Just then, several of the rooks, in an angry tirade, flapped their wings and circled the platform multiple times before landing on their seats and squawking frighteningly once again. Titus, looking small and alone next to the enormous hawk urged them frantically to keep their composure.

“I’m afraid it’s true,” Arthur said, his eyes becoming more and more concerned as he watched the proceedings.

“But if that is true,” Lily continued, “then why has a hawk been invited to the Council? And why has he been given such a place of honor?”

“It is a matter of due respect, Lily,” Arthur explained. “The hawks have been a part of this forest longer than any other animal. They trace their lineage many generations into the past. They were the first to make use of this Chamber and it would be a grievous insult to hold a Forest Council without inviting a representative from their kind. And besides, this is not a council of war. This Council is being held in hopes of preventing war—something that can hardly be done without the presence of both sides.”

Lily listened carefully and understood everything Arthur told her, and yet it was no less chilling to see the old hawk standing on the raised platform, a dreadfully silent sneer stretching across his face. He looked down menacingly at the creatures below him, and then his eyes rested for a moment on Lily. He smiled maliciously and nodded. A shudder resonated through her entire body, and she turned to run but immediately tripped over an otter.

“Oi!” shouted the otter, rubbing his left flipper. “That was me flipper, love!”

“Sorry,” Lily groaned, rubbing her bruised knee.

She was immediately surrounded by friendly, concerned, furry little faces. “You alright, miss? We heard about Alistair. How brave you were!” they said, talking over one another and patting her gently with their paws.

“Hello, miss!” the bat family squeaked in unison as they flew past her, landing beside Arthur.

“Hello!” Lily replied politely.

Jack and the badger, who had been deep in conversation, sidled up to Arthur, and though Lily couldn’t see him, Horatio buzzed a hello in her ear. Practically the whole choir had left the throng and come to Arthur’s side.

The owl and the otter were quietly but rapidly filling Arthur in on the latest arguments on the floor, while Horatio buzzed around them solemnly. Arthur’s face reflected the gravity of the situation, but Lily noticed that though he was listening intently to his friends, his eyes were fixed on Titus, who was struggling to maintain order from the platform.

The rooks twittered away, Titus attempting to calm them while presenting a case for diplomacy over war, but the animals only grew more restless as their fear increased. Finally the stag, who was by far the largest animal at the Council, cried out in a booming voice at once regal and utterly calm, “Hawk. You must cease your aggression toward these creatures. It is improper and beneath us all to engage in such primitive behaviors. Do we have no honor? Are we not English?”

The hall had all but silenced when the stag stepped forward, but the rat, who was sitting slouched in a small wooden chair, his fat belly to drooping almost to the ground, came at once to the hawks’ defense. “Animals, whether they are English or not, sir, must be allowed to follow their natural instincts—even those which you plant-eaters consider the baser instincts. It is in the hawks’ nature to rise up against smaller animals, and they must be allowed to do so...whoever may be eaten as a result,” he smiled at the rooks.

The rat’s speech only served to rekindle the temper of the audience. It seemed as if war might break out right there in the Council room. The noise and flailing increased, and Lily took several fearful steps backward until she was pressed almost flat against the outer wall.

The otter waddled up next to her and pressed his warm body against her legs, and Arthur scurried up to his head. “Don’t worry, Lily,” he said, grabbing her little finger. But she was not comforted.

The hawk finally rose to speak for himself. He lifted his wings importantly, and his feathers stood on end making him look much bigger than he actually was. That simple move commanded the attention of every eye and ear in the room and for the first time the Council Chamber was deadly silent.

“We have all, in the course of living, come to believe in certain things,” the hawk began in a surprisingly frail, but still commanding voice. “And it seems that every animal here has come to a very different understanding of how the forest ought to work. Some say that our guiding principle ought to be love for one another, others that we should be united in friendship. Some think that we ought to remain separate according to our kind, but without conflict or war. I suppose it would be a pity if I did not tell you what I have come to believe in my many years. I have come to believe that these are among the most absurd notions I have ever heard. If ever any of your kind should be fortunate enough to survive far into the future perhaps you will understand that this is quite simply not how the forest is. It is not in the nature of the wilderness to be a Utopia or a Garden of Eden. The nature of the wilderness is to be wild, and the moment that the wildness is taken from us we cease to be what we were meant to be. You all believe that you are behaving quite logically in coming together to stem the rising threats of my kind, and yet you fail to realize that it is by way of logic, as well, that we have ourselves begun to rise up. Let it be known here and now, my fellow creatures, that the hawks will not rest until the forest is a forest once more. Your little Council is nothing but an absurd gesture of civility toward an uncivilized foe. It will accomplish nothing. It is, as they say, hogwash.”

The hawk glared once more at his audience, who offered neither applause nor argument, then he lifted his broad wings and left the stage, making a wide, sweeping circle overhead, then rising skyward out of the Council Chamber altogether.

Only a moment of silence remained after the hawk’s departure. The audience was frozen, rooted to the spot, until the rooks started squawking again and the chamber erupted into a chaos perhaps even more unsettling than before. The animals had agreed on very little before the hawk’s speech. Now that he had gone, they turned their fear and anger toward one another.

Lily watched with wide, terrified eyes as Titus tried to restore calm. The stag shook his head and left the stage, walking out a narrow door behind the platform. The rat plopped down on all fours and, snickering, disappeared as well. Titus was left alone on the stage, and Lily could see something like despair in his black eyes, as he searched the room frantically for something or someone. His eyes finally rested on Arthur who had been watching him closely, and though Lily couldn’t hear what Titus said, he began to speak very quickly as if Arthur could read his lips. But Arthur looked away before Titus had finished.

“Oh dear, oh dear,” Arthur mumbled to himself, still holding Lily’s pinky.

“It’s all so terrible!” Lily exclaimed. “What will we do? We can’t let them take the Rookery!”

“I quite agree,” said Arthur softly. “If ever there was a time for us animals to be united, it is now.” Arthur’s eyes had drifted to the left as he spoke, but Lily was so afraid that she paid no attention to the fact that his face had grown very grave, almost sad.

“Then why can’t they see it?” Lily asked. But Arthur was paying her no attention.

“Arthur? Why can’t they see it?”

His whiskers twitched and Lily heard a distinct buzzing in her ear as Arthur said, “Thank you, friend. Tell him I will be there as soon as I...as soon as possible.”

“I don’t know why they don’t see it, my dear,” Arthur finally answered her, “but they must be made to see it or none of us will survive.”

He sighed deeply, his hand tightening on her finger, and as if by instinct, Lily bent down so that the two were eye to eye. “Lily,” Arthur said, looking deeply into her eyes. “I’m afraid you must leave the forest at once. And you mustn’t return.”

Chapter Thirteen: Alistair

 

The passageway through the briar patch seemed even narrower today. Lily leaned over and peered reluctantly into the prickly mess, shaking her head in frustration. The path looked dry, even after the dousing two days before, but she was hesitant to crawl through it nevertheless. She suspected that the ground was still softer and muddier than usual, and besides, she didn’t have Arthur to go before her and prepare the way.

She stood up and looked around at the silent forest, watching as shafts of sunlight pierced the canopy of tree branches around her. The sky was full of fluffy white clouds and the air was crisp and cold. The leaves were now thicker on the ground than they were on the trees, but Lily wasn’t worried about being able to find the path through the forest. Her main concern was getting through the hateful briar patch. She bent down to look at it again. It was narrower, wasn’t it?

Lily was pleasantly surprised that she had been able to follow the path on her own this far. She had been afraid that she would not be able to find the faint trail through the wood, but as she recalled Arthur’s words from the previous day and thought back to how the forest had looked as she followed Titus in the darkness, she found that the way seemed to present itself to her quite readily. Certainly, being alone made the forest seem a bit more foreign and inhospitable, but as she had followed the path, it had felt more familiar. And unfortunately the briar patch was a bit too familiar.

She sighed as she looked at the tiny hole again.

“It just seems more difficult than it ought to be,” she said to no one in particular. The sound of her voice felt strangely loud in the silence of the forest, and she jumped and looked around apologetically, as if she had disturbed someone. But of course no one was there.

“The briar patch can’t be too large,” she thought to herself. “How difficult could it really be to simply walk around it and meet up with the trail on the other side? The forest is thick in places, but surely it’s less thorny than the briars, and I’ll be able to stay upright the whole way.”

She looked to her right at the briar patch stretching over a small rise, and almost stepped off the path. But like a vision, Arthur flashed through her mind. She remembered the promise she had made to stay on the path.

“Surely he would never have given me such a warning if it were not important!” she reproached herself. She very nearly crawled into the briar patch at the thought, but paused yet again.

“But if Father were here,” she considered, “he would say that I ought to face up to my problems and solve them. Surely he wouldn’t want me to crawl through this blasted briar patch again if there is a simpler way.”

With this thought in mind, Lily stepped from the path and onto the cool, damp grass lea that ran alongside the briar patch and into the forest.

She entered the thicket, ducking beneath the sharp spikes of leafless branches and stepping over the gnarled roots jutting out from the earth at the foot of every tree. Though it was difficult to see far into the wood, Lily made quite certain that she remained within sight of the briar patch at all times, not allowing her eyes to drift even for a moment, lest she lose sight of the one landmark which would lead her back to the path. She did not look down at the acorns crunching beneath her feet, nor did she even glance to the side when she heard the scurry of little paws in the distance.

After weaving through the forest for some time, Lily’s path turned abruptly to the left, and then she was quite certain that she had turned around entirely and was headed back toward the Rookery path—especially as the trees grew thinner and more familiar. The entire detour had taken only a few minutes, and she was completely free of scratches and dirt.

She was busy congratulating herself on a successful adventure when she saw the path stretching away to her right. She turned and followed it happily, noticing the familiar trees around her, and walking with a triumphant spring in her step. The earth was solid beneath her feet, and the path was clear and promising and far easier to follow than she had expected. Autumn leaves tumbled to the earth all around her. The wind was perfumed with the earthy smells of the forest—cold wood, damp leaves, and ancient soil. Lily breathed deeply—taking in the forest’s offerings of sight, sound, and smell, and enjoying the giddy sense of having just grown up a little bit more.

She walked along for a short time, smiling at her own cleverness, when she realized with a jolt that she hadn’t seen the spade yet.

“That’s odd. It was here two days ago. Shouldn’t I have reached it by now?” she thought. “Perhaps it is just a bit further.”

She told herself to be brave and continued along the path a bit more cautiously, but soon she began to doubt herself and a terrible fear rose up in her heart—how could she be sure that this path, so clear and easy, was the same that she had followed with Arthur and Titus? Lily pushed down the panic and self-reproach that nagged at her conscience.  But with her nerves set on edge, the trees began to look less familiar. Everything began to look less familiar.

Lily continued on, for the path remained clear, but her steps grew timid, and she felt a chill pass over her body. She could feel tiny bumps of fright sprout on her arms and her knees turned into jelly as the forest became a decidedly sinister place. Her imagination took control: she pictured unfriendly creatures lying in wait just beyond the next tree or bush, ready to attack.

Lily stopped and took a deep breath. “Get a hold of yourself, Lily,” she whispered. But her words had little effect, for all at once, something told Lily that she was no longer alone. She felt a strange and unpleasant presence, as if some terrible creature was watching her...and waiting. She stopped and spun on her heels, her shoes carving deep muddy half-moons in the soft earth. She searched the spaces between the trees, hoping to see some sign of life, or at least to convince herself that no one was there.

It didn't work.

She took a deep breath, considering brave little Arthur making his way through this wood each day. Certainly he would never be so afraid. And she thought of her father in the unknown wilds of India. He would never be so timid.

Lily gathered her courage. “Who’s there?” she cried out boldly, certain that she would feel quite silly if it turned out to be nothing at all. Her head wheeled around as she looked into the thicket on every side. No one was there.

“My name is Lily,” she tried, hoping that whatever animal was watching her was perhaps just as frightened as she, “and I’m just on my way to the Rookery.”

"Then what are you doing on my path?" whispered a raspy voice from somewhere nearby. Lily froze. The voice could have come from any direction.

"On—on your path?" Lily answered, praying silently for courage as her heart drummed wildly in her chest. "But who are you?"

"Who am I?" the voice answered. "I am not on your path, am I? Why should I introduce myself to you? I am not trespassing, little girl. I am being trespassed against. It is far more important that I should learn who you are!"

"But I've already told you. I'm Lily."

"That's only a name!" the voice scolded her. It no longer whispered, but had grown full-bodied—stern and impersonal. "A name tells me nothing! It does not tell me whether you have come to pay a polite visit to my home or to make off with my possessions. It does not tell me if you have a history of trespassing or if this is but a singular offense. Now, let us try again. Who are you, little girl?" the voice bellowed, echoing off the gnarled and blackened trees.

Lily trembled. "I am just a little girl who does her best not to get into trouble," she answered with a frightened curtsey, "though I'm afraid I haven't done a very good job so far. My motives really are quite sincere, sir. I truly am just making my way to the Rookery, but I think I made a mistake back at the briar patch and found my way onto the wrong path."

"Oh, nonsense, my dear," answered the voice, softening somewhat. "You may be on the right path after all."

"I'm sorry? But I thought you said that I was trespassing. I was hoping that this was the path to the Rookery," Lily said, rather puzzled.

The voice became as smooth as silk. "In this forest all roads lead to the Rookery, Lily. This is my path, to be certain, and while you remain on it you are trespassing, but if you continue to follow it you will arrive at your destination."

Lily looked up ahead at the trail as it wound its way between the thick trunks of two mighty oaks and disappeared into the darkness. Nothing about the path felt right any longer.

"No!" she declared under her breath, reminding herself that she would not be in this predicament if she had not broken her promise. Then smoothing her face into the picture of politeness—the one she used when Mother’s friends came for tea—she said, "I'm sorry, sir. I'll leave your path and go back to find my own."

She turned around and started at once the way she had come, hoping that the voice—whatever it was—would stay behind.

But her hope was in vain. She had only taken a few steps before an old, withered branch fell with a mighty crash onto the path just in front of her. She stopped abruptly, suppressing a squeal. Her heart leapt into her throat. She stared at the limb blocking her path. She knew that the voice hovered above her—in what ghastly, terrifying form she could not begin to imagine. She longed to close her eyes, to be far away, but she knew that she would have to face the consequences of her foolish disobedience. Though everything warned against it, Lily looked up and her heart froze. The animal seemed to hover above her, so well did he blend with the grey decay of the tree. His enormous talons gripped the low-hanging branch, squeezing, digging, convulsing. His powerful wings flanked a broad, sturdy chest, and his deep yellow eyes were encircled by black rings which stretched away from his beak, streaking across his face like blackened lightning bolts. Had she not been struck almost senseless with terror, Lily would have noticed that the bird was, as evil things all too often are, very beautiful.

The hawk studied Lily from above, his head swaying slowly, ominously from side to side. Lily knew her moment had come and she dared not wait another moment. She leapt over the branch and raced down the path. Her only thought was to escape that horrible bird. But as she turned a corner, she realized that it had all been for nothing. She skidded to a halt just before she crashed into the monster himself.

He laughed softly. A cool breeze caught his feathers and he stretched his wings to enjoy the autumn air.

"Please, Lily, " he said, "you needn't leave so quickly. Don’t you remember me?”

“I…er…” Lily stammered, her mind racing.

“I thought I might have made a bigger impression on you. Tut, tut. How unfortunate…” the hawk drawled.

Lily stared at the bird, unable to think, when, without warning, her memory ignited. “Titus,” she said more loudly than either of them had expected, “you tried to kill Titus.”

The hawk laughed, “Is that what they’re calling Lord Wickersham these days? I suppose that’s fitting. He never did live up to his title.”

“I think he is a fine rook,” Lily mumbled.

“Now, now, Lily, we mustn’t mumble. And yes, you are correct, I did try to kill him. He is a nasty little animal and I disapprove of him thoroughly. At the moment, however, I have more important matters to discuss with you. In particular, your disruption of my afternoon amusement a few days ago. I was not pleased, my girl. Not pleased at all.”

Lily stood very still.

“You would have been wise to run away the moment you saw our little game. Perhaps then I would have forgotten you. As it is, I have a score to settle with you. Not only did you deprive me of a great deal of fun, you also dared to call me, and I quote, ‘You. Ugly. Bird.’ Preposterous!”

He turned his eyes from Lily to gently preen a feather or two, before chuckling softly to himself.

Lily shifted her weight uncomfortably, wondering if perhaps the hawk was playing a joke on her. “I’m very sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to offend you. I didn’t realize you could understand me,” she offered timidly.

 “So like a human,” he said. “But I have forgotten my manners. Lily, you may call me Alistair."

“Pleased to meet you, sir,” Lily said.

“Dear child, your mother would be disappointed to hear you lie so boldly. You are not pleased to meet me. But I am terribly pleased to meet you again. I have been waiting for you.”

“What—what do you mean?” Lily asked.

“You have the air of rebellion, of foolishness about you, child. I knew that I only need wait for you to stray from the straight and narrow. I knew you would come to me eventually.”

Shame poured over Lily’s downturned head. If only she had listened! If only she hadn’t come to the forest alone; if only she hadn’t left the path!

“I see that you tremble. Do not fear. Hawks are not known for eating children. Humans are too rubbery for my taste. I prefer smaller creatures.”

Lily looked up, her eyes bulging.

“I’m sure you know of whom I speak. Your little Arthur has always interested me in particular. Such a spark of life! I’m sure he would be quite a morsel.”

Lily’s trembling became more violent—but it was no longer fear. She trembled with rage. “How awful!” she shouted.

“No, my dear, how natural. Hawks eat mice.”

“But you can’t! You simply can’t!” Lily pleaded.

“Oh, I can, and very soon I will,” he threatened.

“The rooks will stop you!” she shouted.

“Ah, now we come to my favorite part: the rooks. I will eat the rooks too. Every last one of them. I will crush them with my claws. I will twist their necks and crunch their beaks. I will choke down their feathers and talons. I will destroy them.”

“That’s terrible!”

“Yes, it will be terrible,” he sneered. “I hate the taste of rook.”

“Then why…” Lily breathed.

“Why, for fun, of course! For the amusement of chasing them, twisting them, squeezing them, watching them suffer…ah, what a day that will be!”

“You’re—you’re evil! You ugly bird!” Lily shouted at the top of her lungs.

“I may be evil, Lily, but there is no need to be rude about it,” Alistair scolded.

"But what have the rooks ever done to you?" Lily asked.

"They have done nothing to me, my friend. If they had, my intentions would no longer be evil.  Quite simply, I am annoyed by the rooks and the pathetic little creatures that run about with them, and I would like to see them destroyed."

"And what about me?" Lily asked, her anger for her friends blinding her to her own peril. "I run about with the rooks too. Were you planning on eating me, as well?"

"No, my dear, I have other plans for you. But, hmm….on second thought, you were trespassing. I believe in this circumstance I have every right to defend my territory, haven't I?"

Alistair stretched his wings, demonstrating the impressive span of his limbs, and then gave them a couple of quick flaps. His eyes flashed as he stepped toward her, his head bobbing back and forth rhythmically, murderously.

“Do forgive me, but curiosity is taking hold. Perhaps just a little nip…or a large one…” Alistair’s eyes began to cloud as instinct set in.

Lily backed away quickly as the hawk advanced menacingly toward her. But suddenly she felt a gentle tug on the hem of her dress. She turned to see a pleasant little vole at her feet, looking up with urgency in his eyes. As soon as she looked at him the vole let go of her dress and disappeared between two trees just to the left of the path.

Lily had no other option. She gave one final look at the advancing hawk, then raced after the vole, sprinting from the path and squeezing her body between the two trees, just as the hawk stretched his wings to attack. She heard the massive talons scraping the tree behind her as she broke free, but she dared not look back for fear she would lose her furry hero in the underbrush.

Chapter Twelve: The Letter

 

Nan really could have been more gentle with the comb, but she had chosen to take out her frustrations with Lily on her desperately tangled hair rather than on the girl herself. When Lily had arrived home from the forest, she was soaked to the bone and shivering from head to foot. Nan had marched her straight upstairs and made her soak in a hot bath for half an hour, which Lily didn’t feel was much of a punishment, although Nan’s staunch silence was strangely unsettling and certainly didn’t bode well.

Now they were sitting in front of the kitchen fire, Nan armed with a very strong, very painful comb. As evening fell around the house, Strathclyde limped in from the garden wiping his hands on an old oilcloth, which he promptly threw into his grumpy wife’s washbasin.

“Well, Lulu,” he said, taking one look at Nan’s brutal combing technique and the grimace on Lily’s freshly steamed face, “looks like you were caught out in it, eh? Nothing like a nice long walk on an autumn afternoon, I always say. Except when it rains, that is.”

Lily laughed a little in agreement. Nan only combed harder. “Where were you that your shoes got so muddy, miss?” Strathclyde asked quite innocently.

“Oh, I was just wandering. I must have stepped in an old streambed when I was running back toward the house,” Lily lied.

“I see,” Strathclyde nodded, his keen eyes detecting the untruth in hers.

“Well, ladies, looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you. I suppose I ought to leave you to it. Good luck, Lulu,” Strathclyde grinned as Lily’s head bobbed and jerked under Nan’s comb attack.

“Now, Lily, I want you to sit here in front of the fire until your hair has dried,” Nan finally said, laying down her instrument of torture. “And it is against my better judgment, because you should be punished, but I cannot in good conscience keep it from you...You’ve had a letter. From India.”

From India! From Father! All thoughts of the forest evaporated from Lily’s mind as the joy of a letter from Father washed over her. “Oh, Nan! Thank you! Where is it? Can I read it now? Oh, thank you, thank you!”

“Here it is, Lily. Now don’t get yourself too excited. I am concerned about you catching a cold after having been outside in the rain. You just sit here and warm up until your hair is dry. Then it’s off to bed with you. We will deal with punishment in the morning.”

“Yes, Nan,” Lily said, mostly out of habit. She took the letter from Nan’s outstretched hand and looked at the unopened envelope. It was addressed to her, Miss Lily Watson, not Tom or Newton or even Mother. It was covered with strange stamps from strange places, and even the paper felt odd and exciting.

She carefully opened the envelope, trying hard not to tear it, and the moment the letter was free, a small orange flower fell to her lap. It had been dried and pressed carefully, and smelled of summer and sunshine and happiness—at least, that’s what Lily felt when she gently lifted it to her lips to kiss the precious gift. But even more precious were the words from her father. She hungrily unfolded the sturdy paper, glancing for a moment at her father’s strong, neat handwriting before losing herself in his words.

Dearest Lily,

It seems ages since I last saw you. Though I keep your picture close to my heart always—in my vest pocket along with your mother’s and brothers’—I cannot help but wonder how you have changed this year. I am sure you have grown taller and more beautiful. Your old dad, I’m afraid, has stayed exactly the same—no taller, and certainly no more beautiful...

“I think you are beautiful, Father,” Lily said quietly.

...but at least you will be able to easily recognize me when next we meet. Sadly, I cannot say when that day shall arrive, though I have hope that it will be before the year is out. Don’t grow up too much without me, my love. We have too many adventures yet to share before you become a proper young lady.

Lily smiled.

As for adventures, I have had quite a few here as of late. Most of them have taken place in the city, as I have come in contact with some of the most delightful Indian families. They are truly a hospitable people and I do long to bring you here some day. Just yesterday, I was invited to the home of a friend whose son works as a tiger tamer. And, Lily, you may not believe it, but a tiger joined us for tea, just as civilized and proper as a house cat! But, my, he did have a powerful purr!

Today, I am riding a train toward one of the southern provinces. My position in the government has, of course, entitled me to a berth in one of the first class coaches, where I have retired to write this letter, but I do love the Indian people so, that I just couldn’t bear to spend the entire day cooped up in this stuffy closet. No, my dear. Today I had my breakfast with an excellent chap named Dulal on the roof of the train! One can see the glory of India so much better from the roof. The greens and browns of the jungle stretched out on either side of us for miles, and the air was so clean and fresh after the dust of the city. Dulal and I ate uttapams and jackfruits and talked until afternoon as India sped by beneath us. Can you imagine that Dulal is, of all things, a Presbyterian? We discussed theology and talked of Christ and compared our churches. Did you know that in India Christians use bananas and coconut milk in communion instead of bread and wine? Wonders never cease, my girl! I have invited Dulal to join me in my berth, and we have spent a happy afternoon writing letters and talking. He is most anxious to meet you, for he has a daughter just your age.

My dear, it appears that we are pulling in to our station, and I must gather my things. I hope to send this letter at the first post. My Lily, I love you. Wait for your papa, won’t you? I will race home the moment I am released. And remember that I am very truly and forever,

Your loving Father.

Lily sat very still for a long time after she had finished her father’s letter. Then she read it again, more slowly, noticing his handwriting, and the way he used words, and counting the times he called her ‘my dear’, and ‘my love’. She imagined his strong hand moving across the page in that stuffy train compartment as he sat next to his new friend. Lily closed her eyes, trying to imagine how long her father’s beard must be and what he looks like in his uniform, and before too long, she found herself being led by the hand up the stairs, lifted into her bed, and tucked tightly into warm blankets. If only the mouth that kissed her forehead goodnight had been accompanied by a scratchy, perfect beard...

Lily was forbidden to leave the house the next day. She was confined to her room with a blazing fire and her charcoal pencils. Nan meant well; she only wanted to make sure that Lily had fully recovered from her soaking before she was allowed to venture back outdoors, but it was terribly convenient for the overwrought nanny that Lily also deserved a punishment, and was therefore doubly confined. The housekeeper came into the room from time to time to stoke the fire and bring healing foods like tea and stew, and Tom and Newton wandered by in the afternoon to (rather uncharacteristically) bring her some wildflowers they had picked in the lane. Nan, of course, invaded precisely on the hour, every hour, to check her temperature and remind her that she was being punished—warning her not to have too much fun.

But Lily couldn’t help having fun. She had her pencils and her special paper, and after writing a letter to her father in the morning, she spent all afternoon drawing portraits of the animals of the Rookery. She drew Titus and Romulus and the other rooks, and she drew the otter and the family of bats. She drew Sigmund stuck inside the spittoon, and Jack bouncing off it after having rammed it with his head. She drew a picture of the Rookery with a beautiful rainbow stretching from edge to edge of the paper.

Lastly, just as the afternoon was slipping into evening and the sky began to reflect the purple of the moors below, Lily drew Arthur. Her pencil traced the delicate circles of his ears and the strong lines of his whiskers. She carefully drew his furry arms and legs and sketched the outline of each finger and toe. Then she filled in his face. Arthur’s eyes were closed, and a barely visible smile rested on his lips. It was the look Lily had seen on his face the first time she ever saw him—sitting at his piano, lost inside his music. This was the look that had made Lily love him before they had ever spoken.

As she sat in front of the fire, gazing at her drawing of Arthur, a deep longing welled up in her heart. She missed the forest and the animals and the adventure of it all. But most of all, she missed Arthur.

“Lily, dear,” Nan said as she quietly walked into Lily’s room for the hundredth time, “supper is ready, and we all thought you might like to join us.”

Lily smiled and put down her drawing of Arthur.

“That’s a cute little drawing, Lulu,” Nan said cheerfully, her smile indicating that Lily was now no longer being punished. “Is it a mole?”

“A mouse,” Lily said, a bit more testily than she should have, considering that she had only just been released.

“Well, he’s lovely,” Nan said.

Lily practically ran down the stairs to supper. Everyone was there: Nan, Tom and Newton, still rosy-cheeked from their afternoon rambles, the grouchy housekeeper, and Strathclyde, who looked a touch less cheerful than normal tonight. Much of supper was spent discussing the letter the family had received from Mother about Aunt Sarah’s new baby. Then during pudding Lily shared some of the letter she had received from Father (but not all of it), and Nan and the housekeeper gossiped somewhat shamelessly about old Mrs. May two houses down who sprained her ankle while chasing rabbits out of her cabbages.

Strathclyde, being quite the gentleman, refused to join in the gossip and instead devised a plan with the boys to help Mrs. May tend her garden until she had recovered. But even the prospect of helping a neighbor, which usually gave Strathclyde immense joy, couldn’t shed any light on his cloudy demeanor.

Conversation died down as the family’s bellies filled, and Strathclyde was the first to leave the table after his wife had begun to clear the dishes. He filled a pipe and sat down by the drawing room fire with a book, a sure sign that he did not wish to be disturbed. Lily and her brothers spent the evening playing card games by the fire, but Lily could not help noticing that though Strathclyde appeared to be immersed in his book, he didn’t turn a page all night.

Eventually, the boys wandered off to other parts of the house, and Nan and the housekeeper retired to the kitchen for more pie and gossip, leaving Lily and Strathclyde alone with the fire. Strathclyde had given up pretending to read and stared just as blankly at the fire as he had at his book.

“Strathclyde?” Lily said. “Can you tell me a story?”

“I don’t know where it is…” he mumbled.

“Where what is?” Lily asked.

“But it couldn’t be…” he replied.

“Strathclyde?”

The old man started, as if he had been in a trance. “Eh? Lily?”

“You don’t know where what is?”

“Oh! Well…I can’t find my spade. I’ve been looking for two days. Not in the shed, not under the apple tree, not in the hedge, not under the rows, it’s nowhere. I’m going as batty as my old man!”

“Oh that’s not true, Strathclyde!” Lily sang, climbing into his creaky old lap. “Besides, you have other spades, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. I just don’t like that this one has disappeared. I keep thinking about my old man and his fairy stories…” His eyes drifted back to the fire.

“Oh, do tell me a story. Please, won’t you?”

“A story. Hmm…Yes, I will tell you a story, Lulu, but you must tell me something first,” he said.

“What is it?” she asked.

 “I want to know where you have been disappearing to. I know you’ve been lying to us. The women can’t see it, but I know lying eyes when I see them. So tell old Strathclyde the truth.”

“Um, well, ok…I’ve been wandering near the forest. I saw a bird’s nest there and I’ve been visiting the birds. I know I’m not supposed to go so far but I am so curious,” she lied, careful to look into the fire and not at Strathclyde.

“I see, I see,” he said, not entirely satisfied. “Lily, the forest is a dangerous place. I know you are a curious child, but please, exercise some wisdom and stay on the moor, or better yet, in the village. Stories about that forest have been passed down for generations. In fact, my father used to tell me fairy stories about the forest—about talking birds and ancient battles, and about a spade.” He laughed quietly. “He used to say, ‘Where a spade doth appear, ‘tis the herald of fear!’ I’ve been thinking about that silly story all day. What could it mean when a spade disappears? Crazy old man…Well, lass, it’s off to bed with you. Keep an eye out for that spade of mine, won’t you?”

Lily didn’t mind that Strathclyde had forgotten to tell her the story he had promised. Somehow she suspected that she had already heard the story he was going to tell. Her mind was racing. How curious that Strathclyde knew the rooks’ proverb about the spade! Could it be that he knew about the Rookery as well?

She longed to tell Arthur about the strange coincidence and find out more about the conflict with the hawks. She missed the Rookery and it’s animals, and she wondered how they were faring after the fire. She knew she wasn’t allowed to go to the forest, and what’s more, she hadn’t been invited, but in her longing for Arthur, for adventure, she resolved to go to the Rookery the very next morning anyway. Alone.