Wythen told the other animals these two stories because, although in normal times they would have been told by Sam and Perryfoot themselves, he knew that at the present time of grief and sadness they would be too modest, and stories like that must be told and remembered.
He went on sadly. ‘Very few of the other animals have survived. Pictor was gassed after herding his rabbits down their warrens during the shooting; I don’t think any of the rabbits are left. Thirkelow was shot on the wing while trying to urge the other pigeons faster away from the wood, and Sterndale, having failed again to keep his pheasants from flying up, was shot while attacking one of the Urkku; he is still alive though barely and I am staying with him on this, the last night he will see. He sends you all good fortune; I have told him your mission and he will die happy, confident of your success. Digit, Cawdor and Remus are all dead and Bibbington has left the wood. All the other survivors have fled although there is nowhere for them to go. I shall stay while there is a tree left for me to roost in although that will not be for much longer.’
There was a pause as the old owl looked down at the ground and when he looked up his huge round eyes were full of sadness; yet when he spoke again there was no despair in his voice.
‘But now there is hope,’ he said. ‘You have been to the Lord Wychnor and know all there is to know. You have the girl from the Eldron; your mission has started well but there is one thing I would say to you. Let not your anger and hatred at what you have seen this night interfere with your resolve, for if you do it will cloud your judgement. I understand well enough how you must feel; yet channel your hatred into determination for success in what you must do, for that will lead to the ultimate victory. Now I wish to see you go, for you cannot stay here any longer. It is for the far hills that you head; I will stay here watching until you are out of sight.’
The travellers filed past him singly and as each one walked by he looked them deeply in the eyes as if to transmit some part of his enormous wisdom to them, and indeed, as they left his gaze and walked out into the field, they did feel somehow different. They turned to their left when they were out of the wood and walked along the front of their ravaged home. When they reached the corner they stopped and looked back. Wythen was still there, perched on the stump, looking at them with the breeze ruffling his brown feathers and his head upright and proud. Then they turned away and without looking back again struck off across the frozen fields with Wythen watching them until they went behind a hedge in the middle distance and were finally out of sight. He remained perched on the stump for a long while, thinking, but his head now was bowed and he looked old for he had called upon his last reserves of strength and energy to fill them with courage for their journey. Now there was no need and the scenes of carnage he had witnessed and the destruction of his home bore down upon him once more so that his shoulders dropped and his eyes clouded over with sorrow. Finally he gathered himself together and took off from the stump to fly back to the hollow in the bracken where he had left Sterndale dying. As he dropped down by his friend the midnight bells were ringing in Christmas and the sound echoed over the fields and into the desolate wood. Sterndale heard it through the mists of pain which submerged him from the wound in his chest and was thankful that he would not be alive to witness the final destruction of the few surviving animals at the big killing which the bells always foretold.
Wythen looked down into the eyes of the pheasant, which were glazed with suffering and whispered quietly to him. ‘Old friend, you may die with hope in your heart for they have gone and I believe they will succeed. And then all our suffering, and the suffering of those before us will not have been in vain. Do you hear me, old friend? There is hope.’
Sterndale’s eyes then lost their panic and became calm and as he sank beneath the waves of death he held on to the hope in Wythen’s eyes so that he died with a heart that was, finally, at peace. Then the owl left the side of his dead friend and flew up to the Great Oak. There he perched on one of the high branches to look out over what was left of the wood and wait for the end.
CHAPTER XV
The animals walked through the frozen fields in silence, each nursing his grief privately like a wound. With the loss of their home they felt as if they had been cut adrift and were floating aimlessly in nothing; the lifeline that had always reached out to them wherever they might be had gone for there was nowhere to go back to. They walked in a dream; their only security now was the security of the journey, and their only home wherever they happened to be at any particular moment. They had just lost everything and were not yet able to appreciate the safety of having nothing more to lose. They would never forget the pain of their grief that night but in time it would become less sharp and would become simply a part of themselves instead of this huge dark cloud which dominated and threatened them constantly, hanging over them so that they were unable to escape its shadow. And Brock and Nab, although they could never think of Tara without the tears coming to their eyes, would eventually be able to talk about her and their times together with some happiness at their recollection.
They had to walk slowly because of Sam’s injured leg, which was getting worse the farther they went so that now his limp was very pronounced and the wound had opened up and begun to bleed again. Worse even than that was the fact that the cold got into the gash on his head, making it throb terribly and giving him a splitting headache.
Perryfoot had found it impossible to walk at all and very early on, when they had just passed out of sight of the wood, Beth had torn off part of one of her tee-shirts and fashioned a makeshift sling which she tied around Nab’s neck and then placed the hare in, much to the boy’s surprise and Perryfoot’s delight. At first he had been apprehensive but as he got more used to the idea of being carried in this way he began looking around with some of his old arrogance and Nab detected a familiar twinkle of mischief in his black eyes. When he was alert like this his ears stuck up erect and now they kept getting in Nab’s face, but after a while the combination of utter exhaustion and the rhythm and warmth of Nab’s body as he walked, lulled the hare into a deep sleep so that his ears fell flat along his back out of the way.
Warrigal flew ahead of them, low over the fields at about hedge height and it seemed to Nab, watching him swoop and glide like a shadow, that he had spent the last half of his life travelling like that with the owl always just in sight leading them to their destination.
He looked down at Perryfoot’s closed eyes and smiled inwardly at the thought that the hare at least was in peaceful oblivion. Beth, holding his hand by his side, had long since given up trying to make any sense out of what she was doing and abandoned herself to the rhythm of the walk. It seemed a long time now since she had left the cottage, and the image of her mother crying frantically for her as she stood in the doorway flashed back into her mind as a memory from a forgotten world. Even the magical happiness of their walk to Silver Wood seemed to have taken place an age ago so dark was the cloud of misery that now hung over the animals. And she shared their grief for, in a sense, she too had lost her home and her loved ones as well as having seen the ruin of theirs. Already she felt as if she had known the boy for years, so easy and relaxed did she feel with him and despite the fact that they had not been able to say two words to each other which could be understood. Yet this did not seem to matter, so close was the empathy and understanding which for some miraculous reason seemed to exist between them. She turned her head slightly to the right to look at him as he walked by her side. His head was bowed now and the anger that had filled his dark eyes seemed to have given way to a dull sorrow which had even touched the way he walked so that instead of the limitless energy which had seemed to propel him before, his steps seemed plodding and tired. She suddenly felt an enormous wave of sympathy towards him and a wish to protect him and look after him and make him happy again. She had no idea of where they were travelling or why but she sensed that in some way they were involved in the making of history and that the boy was somehow in the centre of it and that he would need all the love and care she could give him in the days ahead. She gently squeezed his hand and he looked at her as if he understood all that she was thinking and was grateful. She smiled and he returned her smile and for a moment he escaped the clutches of the nightmare that was pulling at his mind. When she smiled it was as if a shaft of sunlight had pierced a darkened room, providing hope and encouragement for the future; a glimmer of joy at the end of a tunnel of gloom, urging him to go forward to meet it and to become lost in its brilliance. Nab wondered whether or not, without her, he would have had any will to carry on. He glanced quickly behind him and saw, some way behind, the limping figure of Sam and by his side Brock, looking old and worn. In the sling at his front lay Perryfoot, unable even to walk and only Warrigal, in front, seemed remotely capable of undertaking the enormity of the task which they had to accomplish.