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.”