Podkin stood in the centre of the new Gift room in Dark Hollow warren – a special chamber that had been built inside the old temple of Estra. The place where he, Paz and Pook had once climbed down through a hole and discovered the lost, magical brooch, Moonfyre.

Now it had been cleared of damp and mushrooms, patched up, repainted– just like the rest of the warren. The old, crumbling altar was gone, and in its place were twelve pedestals to hold the sacred Gifts of the Goddess.

They sat there, quietly gleaming: Starclaw the dagger, Moonfyre the brooch, Ailfew the sickle, Surestrike the hammer, Blodcrun the crown, Soulshot the bow, Godseye the mirror, a blackened twist of metal that was once a wand called Blixxen, and a small pile of copper fragments, all that was left of Copperpot, a helmet that had sat on the head of Scramashank, the Gorm leader himself.

It had been two years since Podkin found those pieces, scattered on the battlefield outside Sparrowfast warren. Two years since the ground of the Five Realms trembled under the iron boots of the evil Gorm army. Two years since he lost many of his friends, including Brigid, the wise old witch-rabbit who had been like a mother to him.

Podkin sighed. His eyes were drawn to the far side of the room where three empty pedestals stood, patiently awaiting the last three Gifts.

‘You must gather all the Twelve Gifts together.’ That had been Brigid’s message to him. Her final instruction. And those empty spaces were a constant reminder that he hadn’t done it yet. In fact, in two whole years, he hadn’t even started.

‘Well, she didn’t say when they had to be gathered,’ Podkin muttered to himself. ‘She might have meant for me to do it when I’m an old longbeard.’

It wasn’t that Podkin hadn’t followed Brigid’s wishes on purpose. But in the months after all the running and screaming and battling it had been so nice to just relax a bit. To walk through the forest without expecting an iron-clad monster to jump out and try to kill him. To enjoy a meal of carrot-and-onion soup without wondering if it would be his last.

Podkin had been on the Dark Hollow council back then. A group of rabbits including Crom, Rill, Mish and Mash. There had been so much work to do, rebuilding and cleaning the warren. Stocking up the supplies and turning it into a proper place to live. Discovering forest items they could craft and brew, and then forming trade routes with places outside Grimheart.

And then, when Crom had suggested building a proper home for the sacred Gifts and making Podkin the official Keeper … well, it had seemed like a great idea. Podkin had dreamed of an important role, with a smart uniform and queues of rabbits from all over the Five Realms desperate to visit his chamber. He would be in charge of a crack team of wardens, standing guard to protect the Gifts. Rabbits would salute him as he marched up and down the halls of Dark Hollow …

In the end, he got a tabard with the word ‘Keeper’ embroidered on it in ogham and one part-time assistant, an old lop rabbit from Enderby called Toadflax who had the most annoying cough Podkin had ever heard. His days were mostly made up of dusting the exhibits and showing the odd rabbit round the room, giving a speech that bored even himself to tears. He had gone from being a hero to a museum guide in just a few short months.

But not all of his time was spent hidden away in the Gift chamber. No, Crom was still keeping watch over him and trying to make sure he was brought up as a chieftain’s son should be (even though there was no danger of him actually becoming a chief, now he had passed that job on to his older sister, Paz).

Podkin still had to have lessons every day, much to his annoyance.

From ten in the morning until twelve he was taught swordcraft. Crom had trained him for the first few weeks, up until he found a replacement: Melfry, the old weaponsmaster from Munbury warren. Podkin couldn’t have imagined anyone worse. Especially as Melfry seemed to remember all the trouble Podkin had given him as a little kitten and had decided to get his revenge.

Then it was off to the library for an hour or so where, since Podkin had learned to read ogham, he was being given the task of plodding through every single book and scroll in the place. He was watched over by Tansy, the Applecross rabbit who had become the new librarian, and he wasn’t allowed to snooze over the parchment. Not even for a second.

And he finished his days back in the chamber, listening to Toadflax cough and staring at those empty pedestals, gradually soaking himself in guilt.

Even worse, now he could read, he knew exactly which Gifts were missing. Stormcleave was first: the thunder-calling axe owned by the giant rabbits of Am Ul. Then there was Deathwail – the singing spear of the wild Crowskin tribes. And finally, Magmarok, an anvil of sizzling bronze metal that was kept in the distant Temple City of Fyr.

How was he supposed to go and find all those on his own? It wasn’t as if anyone else was rushing to help him.

Crom was far too busy as the chairman of the council, running the warren and worrying about the bandit gang that had been creeping into the forest. Mish and Mash were building a trading empire, making pine soap and lamps and glue and swapping it all for Applecross cider, Silverock mead and Thriantan spices. Yarrow had left to wander the realms. Paz was back in Munbury with their mother, learning how to be chieftain and Pook … well, he was probably doing Pookish things somewhere, most likely involving soup and pretending to be a wolf.

What am I supposed to do? Set off into Crowskin lands on my own? I’m only ten years old, for Hern’s sake. Podkin flicked his remaining ear at the missing Gifts and went to polish Starclaw, his trusty old friend.

I’m sorry, Brigid – he thought the same words each and every day – I managed to be a hero for a short while, but it wasn’t really me. I’m much better at daydreaming and having sneaky naps. If I ever get the chance, that is.

‘Ahem.’

Podkin’s dusting was interrupted by the familiar sound of Toadflax’s dry, rattly cough.

‘Ahem.’

Podkin gritted his teeth, clenched his fists and managed to stay calm. He turned round to see Toadflax in the entrance of the chamber, still brushing crumbs of biscuit from his whiskers.

‘Hello, Toadflax.’ Podkin tried to sound pleased to see him. ‘Back from your three-hour tea break?’

‘Ahem,’ said Toadflax. He was pointing at the other side of the chamber to where the last few Gifts stood. ‘Ahem. Is that one supposed to – ahem – be doing that?’

Podkin followed Toadflax’s finger and found himself looking at Godseye, the mirror which had been given to him by the bonedancers, an order of deadly assassins who worshipped Nixha, the goddess of death.

It had a power (like all the other Gifts), but Podkin had never seen it working. He was told that it sometimes showed glimpses of far-off things. Important sights. Clues and secrets. But in the whole two years that Podkin had been dusting it seven times a day, it had remained as blank as a bald ferret.

‘Doing what?’ Podkin moved closer and saw the hint of a shimmer in its smooth glass surface. The tiniest of ripples, as if a grain of rice had been dropped into a still pond.

Suddenly, the mirror’s frame gave a twinkle. A sparkle of light that danced across its carved edges, which was then copied by Soulshot next to it, then Blodcrun, then the others. A wave sped across the Gifts, as if they were all winking at each other.

‘Ahem,’ coughed Toadflax. ‘Something’s happening …’

Podkin stared into the Godseye, holding his breath tight. Half of him buzzed with familiar excitement at the hopes of magic, half of him dreaded what he might see.

Please don’t be the Gorm, he thought. I was quite enjoying my boring life, to be honest.

Forms began to swirl deep inside the silvery looking glass. Like ink dropped into water, they wound around themselves, gradually folding into the twisted branches of trees, the thick knots of roots and trunks. The mirror was showing him a forest.

‘It looks like Grimheart …’ Podkin squinted, trying to spot a feature he recognised. ‘The Grimwode? The path from Silverock?’

The mirror rippled some more. Now there were figures moving through the woods. Four, maybe five? One of them was small – a child of his size, perhaps – and was holding paws with a taller one dressed in leather armour with a black cloak.

‘There’s some rabbits there,’ Podkin called back to Toadflax. ‘Could it be the bandits that Crom is worried about? Are they coming to raid Dark Hollow?’

Now Podkin saw the figures more clearly. There was a rabbit with unusual fur: half white, half black. And a large animal...