The announcement caused a buzz of interest amongst the Custodians and Brock's heart beat faster when he realised that he was about to be called to address the Council– an undertaking that would have intimidated even the bravest of badgers.
"Usher, fetch this Teller before us," the gravelly voice ordered.
A small badger suddenly appeared at Brock's side, urgently pulling at his coat. Taking a few deep breaths to calm himself, Brock followed the usher through the short, low tunnel leading into the Great Chamber.
Entering the chamber, Brock stumbled to a halt, not hearing the usher's urgent whispers to keep moving. He stood dumbstruck, overwhelmed by what he saw.
The magnificent chamber had been excavated beneath a gigantic oak tree, its domed roof so high that it was lost in the darkness far above Brock's head. The walls were entwined with countless roots, coiling and twisting through each other in such a complicated pattern that they seemed alive and in constant motion. Carved along these roots were intricate patterns that Brock instantly recognised as ancient symbols of The Way.
Brock had memorised, as all Tellers had to, the fables and tales that made up the history of Boddaert's Realm, and as he made his way across the vast chamber, the chronicle of the building of Brockenhurst Sett unexpectedly popped into his mind, as though pushed there by some outside force.
*
Boddaert, the first and most powerful Keeper of The Way, had constructed the Great Chamber, helped by a group of Magi especially trained for the task.
Firstly he used his awesome powers to command the roots of The Chosen Tree to coil about each other until they became an impenetrable mass; a cradle for this most sacred of places, henceforth known as the Great Chamber.
Once completed, he ordered his Magi to carve the Eternal Symbols along each root, which they did, using claws carefully sharpened on their master's Lodestone. Labouring during the two cycles, they toiled non-stop, until the complicated patterns had been completed. Then, as the planets dominating the dark sky swung into alignment far above the earth, Boddaert sanctified the Great Chamber with an incantation from the Ancient Rites.
Following the completion of the Great Chamber, Boddaert oversaw the digging of Brockenhurst Sett itself and the forest echoed to the noise of frenzied activity as a horde of badgers constructed the deepest sett ever created. The living chambers of this colossal structure were warm and snug, ensuring freedom from the hard winter frosts. The interconnecting tunnels, radiating outwards from the imposing Great Chamber, saw to it that a constant supply of fresh air reached even the remotest parts of the sett. And at regular intervals along the outermost tunnels, internal latrines were dug, an unusual feature then, and now.
When the work had been completed, Boddaert took his Magi to the top of Fire Rock, and from this high plateau overlooking Brockenhurst Forest, they undertook a ceremony to mark the beginning of Boddaert's Chronicle– a ceremony that lasted five full moons. Many badgers died during this self-imposed fast, giving their lives willingly, secure in the knowledge that they were sacrificing themselves for the good of all, knowing the Prime Mover would repay such dedication and unselfish sacrifice a thousand-fold.
Finally, at the height of the winter solstice, Boddaert cast his last spell, delving deeply into his knowledge of The Way, standing tall as he amalgamated his unity with the natural order.
There, at the very centre of the plateau, surrounded by his remaining Magi, the great badger threw back his head, his sightless eyes searching the dark skies, and slowly, majestically, began to sing. From his lips rose the beautiful sounds of Crom's Elegy for the Dead, which he sang for three moons, ignoring the pain racking his body, the thirst gnawing at his cracked lips. For three long moons, as the less strong died about him, he continued pouring forth the complicated patterns of notes, until finally, his faith was rewarded.
She appeared to him on a slim column of fire, undefined and insubstantial at first but growing stronger with every stanza, weaving and dancing to the pure notes of Her song, gaining substance, building Her strength.
The fire that was Her essence pulsated and swirled with such intensity that it stung the eyes of all who beheld Her. So fierce was Her being that even Boddaert's sightless eyes saw the mythical light, as thrusting upwards from the smooth surface of the plateau, the shimmering energy splintered into a myriad fragments against the low clouds.
Lightning rent the boiling greyness with great splashes of brilliant colour and the primeval forces flowed from Her deep cradle in the ground to Her high sett in the sky. With them flowed Boddaert's spirit, leaving his body a cold and empty shell.
And here began the Legend; a Fable foretelling a new beginning born of the old, a new challenge that would break loose from the very heart of Fire Rock itself.
*
"Come nearer badger!"
The harsh voice dragged Brock back from his reflections and he surreptitiously studied his surroundings as he followed the usher's bobbing back across the open space.
At the far end of the Great Chamber the oak's taproot thrust downwards through the roof, covering a vast distance before ramming itself into the packed earthen floor. High above his head Brock spotted an opening carved right into the taproot itself, and it was from here that the speaker had addressed him. The boar carried an unmistakable air of authority, glaring down frostily, beckoning Brock forward with an impatient gesture.
As instructed by the usher, Brock took up position in front of the assembly. He let his gaze follow the gnarled old taproot upwards until he was staring at the roof far above him, overwhelmed by its sheer size.
The Preceptor spoke again from his high perch, and even though his voice was low, such was the structure of the Great Chamber that Brock could hear every word.
"Grey informs me that you have demanded a hearing Teller."
The curt manner offended Brock but he ignored it and swallowed his nervousness, desperately trying to recall what he had come here to say.
It came as something of a shock to Brock to realise that he had completely forgotten what he wanted to tell the Custodians. For many moons now, he had cajoled and pleaded with Grey to get him this hearing, and now stood speechless, his mind a complete blank.
Something was jumbling his thoughts around, buzzing at the back of his eyes like an angry wasp. His attention kept wandering and he was experiencing the strangest sensation– as though his memories were being stolen by some intruder that had slipped into his mind.
Shaking his head Brock looked about, studying the Great Chamber. It was a beautiful place, no badger could doubt that, but it lacked the special spark that had been the life force of High Green. No, even with all its beauty, this place would never fill the terrible emptiness that gnawed away inside him now– the sadness of unfulfilled dreams, shattered hopes and lost loved ones.
"Teller, you demanded a hearing. You insisted you had something of importance to tell us, yet you stand before us like some tongue-tied cub!"
The Preceptor's sigh of annoyance was audible to all in the chamber and Brock fidgeted uncomfortably, dragging his attention back to the present.
"Well? What have you to say to us?"
Brock stared up at the shadowy figure above him, still struggling to order his thoughts.
Biting back the sharp retort that sprang to his lips, Brock forced a smile, bowed his head and, using the ancient title as Grey had advised, answered, "Preceptor, I have journeyed here from High Green, my home sett. It was destroyed by a terrible fire. It lies . . . lay, across the Brockenhurst Mountains. We had no Council like yours of course, our sett being smaller but—"
The Preceptor's voice whipped down, thick with sarcasm. "Teller we have already heard all this trivia from Grey, so I suggest you dispense with protocol and get on with it."
Caught off guard by the unexpected reprimand, Brock looked to Grey for support, but the old Custodian just wrinkled his snout, glancing away uncomfortably. Brock swung his gaze back to the Preceptor, glaring up at him angrily
.
"Well, Teller," the Preceptor prompted again. "We're waiting."
Narrowing his eyes, Brock took a deep breath. "I came here because I had a vision." He paused, gathering his thoughts. "A vision that-"
Once again Brock was interrupted as the Preceptor's voice lashed down at him. "Yes we know all that. We were told how you hid away like some half-wit coward while the rest of your sett perished." The pause was just long enough for the barb to bite home. "So perhaps you would be kind enough to explain why we should waste our time listening to tales of visions and the like from one such as yourself."
Brock began to tremble, his anger welling up almost beyond his control. The fur along his back rose in a ridge, and without thinking, he unsheathed his claws.
Ignoring the murmurs this hostile act drew from the Custodians, Brock shouted back at the Preceptor, "How dare you address me in such a manner!"
A veiled glint of satisfaction lit the Preceptor's eyes as he studied the Teller far below him. "Never raise your voice here, badger," he warned quietly, his tone smooth and reasonable. "Not even a Custodian is allowed that privilege. When I speak, you listen. When I question, you answer. That and no more. Now wait outside while we discuss this matter."
Turning his back, the Preceptor dismissed Brock, disappearing into the interior of the taproot opening.
The usher immediately reappeared at Brock's side, nudging him urgently when he just continued to stare open-mouthed at the empty chamber far above him. Fighting the temptation to brush the annoying badger to one side and continue arguing his case with the remaining Custodians, Brock gathered his dignity as best he could and stalked from the Great Chamber.
Ignoring the usher's urgent whispers to wait within the antechamber, Brock pushed the small badger aside and made directly for the exit tunnel. With a mounting sense of frustration and anger, he burst from the sett, heading out into the bright moonlight.
He needed to talk to Soffen.
*
Brock found Soffen in her special glade, hidden deep within the remotest part of Brockenhurst Forest. It was here that she came when she wanted to be alone. The sun was breaking and he stood quietly amongst the tall bracken fronds watching her, only half-conscious of the nearby Redstarts and Hawfinches going about their business. He was close enough to hear her quiet sobs, and embarrassed by this unintentional intrusion, turned to leave, disturbing a nesting Blackcap. The bird shrilled an angry warning as it flew into the trees on the far side of the clearing.
"Who's there?" Soffen's light voice asked urgently.
Pushing the bracken aside, Brock stepped out into the open. "It's only me Soffen. I'm sorry if I disturbed you."
She smiled shyly, sniffing back her tears. Then wrinkling her snout in an attempt at light-heartedness, she cocked her head.
"Were you spying on me Brock?"
He felt the small patch of bare skin just above his nose grow hot, a sure sign of embarrassment, and wriggled uncomfortably under her stare.
"I'm sorry Soffen, I didn't mean to intrude on your privacy. I was just—" He faltered to a stop.
The Healer's gentle laugh echoed across the glade as she lightly touched his flank. "Why you look so flustered," she taunted playfully. "I do believe that I've embarrassed you."
Brock nodded once, then sighing heavily, settled down beside her.
"What is it Brock?"
"I've been to see the Council," his voice was flat, bitter.
Soffen nodded. "And they didn't listen to you." It was a statement not a question.
Brock shrugged. "The Preceptor treated me with utter contempt but I can't say I blame him too much in the circumstances. It was so humiliating." He glanced over at her, noting the concern deep within her eyes.
"You still don't understand, do you?" Soffen berated him lightly. "The Preceptor and his Custodians are frightened of you." She tapped his temple lightly. "Up here you carry our history. All the facts and happenings that make us what we are."
Glancing away, she absentmindedly flicked her stubby tail, dislodging the foraging ant that had slipped through the coarse guard hairs to nip at her skin.
"That knowledge is power," she continued quietly. "It's no surprise that they're suspicious of you, when you go to them with stories of death and rebirth."
"I didn't mention rebirth," Brock protested.
Soffen wrinkled her snout. "But your vision did Brock. It described the start of a new cycle. What's that, if not rebirth?"
Brock glanced away into the tall trees, uncertainty lining his snout, considering Soffen's statement.
"Well, perhaps you're right," he conceded after a few moments.
"And what role do the Custodians have in this vision of yours?"
"I don't know."
"Exactly," Soffen said, as though Brock had made her point for her. She moved closer. "Look Brock, the Custodians are unsettled. At present they control Brockenhurst Sett, and through that, all the other setts in Brockenhurst Valley, something they've done for generations. They've worked hard to make this a safe place to live, and in return we've given them the power to rule over us. Now you come along, with your stories of death and destruction." Furrowing her snout, Soffen looked at him. "I'm sorry to say this Brock, but it's no wonder they don't want to hear what you have to say."
"But ignoring the facts won't change them," Brock protested, glancing away. Then, with a shake of his head, he quickly apologised. "I'm sorry, it's not your fault. I shouldn't be taking it out on you like this. It's just that every instinct tells me that Brockenhurst Sett is in real danger."
"Have you explained your concerns to Grey?" Soffen asked.
Brock nodded as he answered. "Well partly, but I thought it would have more impact when he heard the whole thing at the Council Meeting." Barking a derisive laugh, Brock wrinkled his snout. "But I wasn't given the chance to explain anything, was I? Instead the Preceptor treated me like a two-moon cub."
Soffen slapped her paw on the ground, giving a grunt of satisfaction as she caught a beetle scuttling from beneath a nearby stone. Putting it in her mouth, she chewed for a time, lost to her thoughts.
Brock, reluctant to interrupt the Healer's private musings, watched the antics of two squirrels chasing one another up and down a nearby tree.
When Soffen finally spoke, her voice was more assured and Brock turned his head to face her.
"You know Brock, Grey's not like the other Custodians. He cares deeply about Brockenhurst Sett and if he really thought that it was threatened, I'm sure he'd do all in his power to help. We must make him realise the importance of your vision."
Brock poked aimlessly at the ground for a moment, the gentle breeze ruffling the guard hairs on his ears, wondering what else he could do to win the old Custodian over.
Then looking up with a glint of determination in his eyes, he said, "I'll have to convince him somehow, won't I? The Council must be made to see the danger."
Soffen shook her head impatiently. "Brock, why do insist on involving the Council in this?"
"What else can I do? I can't do this on my own. I need the Council's help."
"But I can help you," Soffen replied, touching him lightly, stopping his protest. "No, hear me out. We're both practised in the art of The Way. You're a Teller, I'm a Healer, and that's a powerful combination. Your vision hints that Boddaert's Magic can help protect Brockenhurst Sett. Well, who stands the best chance of finding it, us or the Council?" Soffen paused, studying Brock closely. "Think about it. It's almost as though we've been brought together for this very purpose. Can't you feel it? The affinity of our first meeting?"
Brock shook his head in confusion. "I don't know. It's just not that simple."
Soffen grabbed his paw excitedly. "But of course it's that simple. Together we can do this. Honestly, we can."
"No Soffen, I really don't think so. The Preceptor guards the Sacred Roots and we would need those to guide us to Boddaert's Magic. Without the Sacred Roots we wouldn't stand a chance of finding
it."
Soffen nodded in agreement. "But don't you see? That's where Grey comes in. He's got access to the Sacred Roots. He can get them for us."
Brock looked dubious. "Do you think Grey would do that?" Considering the possibility for a moment, Brock shook his head. "No I don't think he would."
Soffen tilted her head, a distant look in her eyes. "You just leave Grey to me," she told him.
"And what about your cubs? You can't just go off in search of Boddaert's Magic and leave them behind."
"For goodness sake Brock! They're more than old enough to come with us."
"But it's not just that," he countered, placing a paw on her flank, indicating the clearing in which they were standing. "It's all this. If we take the Sacred Roots and are discovered, the Custodians would never allow us back. You'd be banished for life. Could you live with that?"
Soffen exhaled deeply, gazing at the familiar trees. "And what has life to offer me here, do you think? Because I'm a Healer, few badgers will talk to me. And now I've lost the only friend I ever really had."
Soffen shivered in the fading moonlight, staring up at the stars with bright, unfocussed eyes, remembering Raffen's laughter as they'd collected plants that cycle in the forest– memories best forgotten.
"You told me once that your sett was different from this. That badgers there didn't shun each other just because one happened to be a Healer, or a Teller of The Way. Well that's what I want for my cubs. Friendship and companionship, and perhaps someone to share my life with."
As Soffen lapsed into silence, Brock shifted uncomfortably.
It was some time before Soffen spoke again, but when she did her voice held a wistful note. "There must be another sett out there somewhere," she whispered softly, "where badgers live together with tolerance and understanding. Help me find a sett like that Brock, and I'll help you find Boddaert's Magic."
Seeing the tears suffusing Soffen's eyes, Brock moved closer, trying to comfort her, patting ineffectually at her flank.
Soffen finally managed a self-conscious half smile. "I'm all right," she said.
Brock nuzzled gently at her neck. "Come on, let's get back to your sett and find some worms. If we're going to invite Grey over we'll need plenty of those, you know what a greedy old badger he is."