Free Bookweirdest by Paul Glennon Page A

armourers, blacksmiths, healers, cooks and our brothers. We heard that Cuilean and his young nephew, Malcolm, were gathering their armies to meet the wolves at Tista Kirk. We followed the old highland road, but we never reached the battlefield. We emerged from the forest on the edge of a cliff next to a sea. We could not understand it. We saw warriors massing, but they were neither our stoat allies nor our wolf enemies. They were creatures we had heard of only in books: giants; hairless bears; two-footers; monsters from fairy tales and legends.”
    Brother Timothy’s story made Norman queasy. There were hundreds of years of history in the Undergrowth books, dozens of kingdoms and dynasties, and yet the rabbits had come from the very same time when Norman was there, from the very same forest he himself was lost in.
    “And the church—the copy of Edgeweir—did you build it?”
    “No, we discovered it here, many generations later.” Brother Timothy spoke quickly, as if he’d found a favourite topic. “We always felt the church was special, but we never guessed that it was a copy of the one at Edgeweir. Did you really see Edgeweir? Did you meet the last of the fox abbots?”
    “I met
a
fox abbot,” Norman answered cautiously. “And I slept one night on the moss inside the church.”
    Brother Timothy just shook his head in appreciation.
    Norman didn’t tell Timothy that the fox abbot of Edgeweir was no ordinary fox. He was his uncle, Kit. It made Norman think. Was it possible that Kit had brought the rabbits to England?
    “How long have you been here?” he asked cautiously.
    Esme’s soft voice interrupted. “The rabbits of England are an ancient line.” In the growing darkness, Norman had not seen her return. She placed two trays on the grass between them and continued as if reciting a history lesson. “Our forefathers arrived on these shores during the times of the Anglo-Saxon kings. We have seen Vikings and Normans, Tudors and Yorks. We have endured the clearing of the forests and the coming of the railroad—”
    It sounded like this recitation went on for a while, but Norman couldn’t help interrupting. “During Viking times?” His voice squeaked just a little as he asked.
    Esme and Timothy both nodded.
    “Near Maldon?” Norman barely dared to ask.
    “How did you know?” the monk said, surprised.
    Norman stuffed a raspberry tart into his mouth to avoid answering. He was struggling to get his head around what he had just realized. It wasn’t Kit who’d brought the rabbits here. It was Norman. After all, characters had followed him out of Undergrowth before. Three wolves had pursued him into
Fortune’s Foal
. The rabbits must have been pulled along into that old Anglo-Saxon poem of his father’s,
The Battle of Maldon
. Only
The Battle of Maldon
was about a real event. He had brought the rabbits into historical reality—into the
real
England—and they been here ever since. His mind twisted and contorted to hold on to the idea.
    Esme and Timothy watched in silent amusement as Norman devoured the food in front of him. It was fully dark now, and he had not eaten all day. Malcolm would have been proud of the way he scarfed the tarts, and even the dandelion salad was surprisingly good. Brother Ambrose brought a second round of tarts and stayed to marvel at the giant eating machine. When Norman was done eating, they continued to watch for some time, exchanging glances, as if waiting for one of the others to say something.
    It was Esme who finally broke the silence. “Father says we’ll have to move from Willowbraid now. He says it doesn’t matter if you are friendly. Humans can’t help telling, and that means disaster for us.”
    She looked to the monks as if hoping they’d take up the topic, but Timothy and Ambrose let her continue.
    “You said you wanted our help.” She paused to frame her thoughts. “You said you wanted to help the stoats. That means you know the way back. You know the way to