Duncton Quest (48 page)

“Now listen,” he said boldly. “To Duncton Wood will I lead you, by ways known only to scribemoles, which Boswell taught me. And there we will gather others and make an army of Stone followers whose purpose will be to put the Word to rout.

“But that will only be the beginning. For we followers will prepare ourselves for the coming of one who will help us hear the Silence of the Stone. For it is ours to hear if we have strength, and courage and good purpose. The mole that will come in our time will be great and good, and for him must we be ready.”

“What is his name?” asked Thyme.

“In the old books and prophecies of Uffington he is called the Stone Mole, but his name nomole knows, nor will they know it until he is among us.”

“What is he?” asked Pennyworth her brother.

“One more than all of us. One who has Silence and can forgive. Wisdom is his and love; purpose and kindness. By him will the burden of the grikes be lifted, with him will the last snouting be; his coming is the Stone’s blessing on mole, our time is the age that has been chosen.”

They stared at him, wondering. He spoke powerfully and his words echoed in the bridged space above them.

Then one by one Tryfan touched and blessed each mole there, as a scribemole should, and he spoke their names. “Bless thee, Alder... and thee, Thyme... bless....”

“He’s not just a mole,” whispered Thyme to Pennywort, “that’s for sure.”

“N – no, I don’t think he is,” replied Pennywort.

While in the darkness there Thyme let her flank touch Spindle’s, and Spindle did not draw away.

“Are you scared?” she asked him.

“No,” he said simply. And she looked at his talons and gaunt flanks and felt strangely touched.

“Spindle!” she said, her voice a little more commanding.

He turned to her in the dim light. And she to him.

“Then why are you shaking?” she said.

He grinned a little sheepishly.

“Not used to being touched,” he said.

“It doesn’t hurt,” she whispered.

“No,” he said settling his flank to hers, “it doesn’t
seem
to.”

“So when do we leave?” called out Skint above the chatter.

“Now!” said Tryfan. “Now we leave!”

At which he turned out from under the bridge, climbed up the bank at its side, and, passing silently over its wide reach, started to lead the followers on their long trek east to Duncton Wood.

PART III

Duncton Wood

Chapter Twenty-One

Duncton Wood is the most easterly of the seven Ancient Systems of moledom, and today, as ever since the events with which the Duncton Chronicles are concerned, it is the most beloved.

Yet even now it remains one of the more mysterious of the seven and certainly the least visited, for it is cut off from other systems, being surrounded on three sides by the great sweep of the Thames and its associated marshes; while on the fourth it is bounded by an enormous way for roaring owls which travelling moles are disinclined to cross. Yet passing under it is difficult for the only route is by a huge and echoing concrete cross-under, used by cows, in which a mole feels much exposed.

The ancient Wood itself, which is beech and ash in its highest parts and oak lower down, is on a hill which rises majestically from the clay vales of those parts, and the river and way are sufficiently distant that the moles of Duncton rarely hear the roaring owls and never visit the river. To the west are the Pastures, wherein live the Pasture moles, who are no friend of Duncton though they share its isolated site.

When Tryfan’s parents, Bracken and Rebecca, were young, the active system was for the main part located on the northern lower slopes of the hill. Indeed the Stone for which Duncton had been famous, and whose holy powers had made it one of the seven, stood neglected among the great beech trees at the top of the hill, guarding the deserted tunnels of the lost and forgotten Ancient System.

It was to those tunnels that young Bracken turned and found inspiration to lead his system back to its beginnings; and later, with Rebecca, to lead the moles of Duncton through the period of their trouble of which, perhaps, their neglect of the Stone was a precursor. But whatmole can tell? It is enough that Duncton was torn by feuding and strife and two moles emerged for a time as the evil leaders of the system: Mandrake of Siabod, Rebecca’s father, was one; Rune the other, known now to be of Whern and a Master of Dark Sound. Evil was he, and enemy to Bracken, lusting after Rebecca and might have had her had not Bracken protected his own. So Rune and the sideem, of which he was the spiritual leader, had reason to respect Duncton... and reason to wish it destroyed and the moles there forever dishonoured. Their rule was ended only by the coming of the plagues, and the fire which destroyed many trees on the Wood’s lower slopes.

So that by the time Tryfan was born, Rune and his doings seemed little more than a bad memory, and the survivors of the troubles were content to follow Bracken and Rebecca up into the Ancient System and there, under their guidance and following the example of their love, established an order that venerated the Stone with simplicity and faith; and celebrated the festivals with merriment and story-telling, especially those of Midsummer’s Day in June and the greatest of them all, Longest Night, which comes in December and marks the seasons’ great turn from darkness to light.

So it was into a bruised but hopeful system that Tryfan had been born, and a once-venerable one; and one whose Stone gave him a sense of purpose and love, and whose parentage gave him strength and courage.

When the seventh Stillstone was found beneath the great Stone of Duncton, and rescued by Boswell, it was natural that Tryfan, the born leader of his generation, should accompany old Boswell back to Uffington.

Natural too that Tryfan’s half-brother Comfrey, born of Rue and Bracken but nurtured and raised by Rebecca, should take over the mantle of healer and leader, timid though he seemed then and unsure of himself. But what he lacked in outward strength he made up for with an inner-peace and love, and trust – he it was who had given Rebecca the faith to leave Duncton in search of her beloved Bracken when he most needed her, and it was Comfrey who led the Duncton moles in her absence, and gave them hope in the long years following her final departure with Bracken to the Silence of the Stone. Much was the timid-seeming Comfrey respected, and much loved.

When his younger half-brother Tryfan had left with Boswell, Comfrey’s last words to them as they left were but a whisper, and a stuttered one, for his birth had left him with that defect: “M-m-may they return home safeguarded,” and he had laughed, which was a rare thing for him, for he had trust that the Stone would protect them on their perilous journey. And one day, perhaps, one day, the brother he most loved would come back at last....

It was November, and from over the Pastures came the kind of blustering cold wind Comfrey liked, driving the odd remaining leaves on the trees before it, and reminding a mole that if he has not got his winter tunnels ready he had better do so, for the rains and the cold were coming, and snow too perhaps before another moleyear was out, and the time of keeping down and out of sight was on paw.

“Turn, tee, t-t-tum,” hummed Comfrey to himself as he bustled around his burrow near the Stone, wrinkling his snout as he looked about and indulged in his favourite pastime, which was to jumble up his pile of herbs and seeds into a new and even more sweet-scented untidiness.

Then overhead a mole stumped and, entering down one of his burrow’s entrances, called out, “Comfrey, are you there?”

Which of course he was, he always was when he was needed, for that is the healer’s first art, taught him by Rose and then Rebecca: to be there when needed. Sometimes moles came visiting just for the sake of it, for they liked the comfort of his tunnels, and the sense of harmonious disorder.

“C-c-come down!” called out Comfrey, continuing his task and muttering to himself as he did so: “Now where
... w-w-where
are those wre-wretched... no, not here. There, yes. Oh no, not there. I know, or I think I know...” How Duncton moles would laugh with pleasure at his absent-mindedness, not knowing it was his way of making them feel at ease, and relaxing them so they might find healing in just being. For he knew well that healing is not in the herb, but in the manner of the paw that gives the herb, and the heart that receives it.

“Cold wind, Comfrey,” said his visitor.

“Is it? C-c-cold, Maundy?” He was glad to see her for of all Duncton moles he felt most content with her, and knew that she had least need of healing or advice or anything much else.

“I think so,” said Maundy.

“Oh!” said Comfrey, vaguely puzzled. He didn’t remember it being cold when he was out on the surface a little while before. He just remembered it ruffling his worn fur pleasantly, and bending the trees and shaking their branches above his head. He remembered thinking the season didn’t matter much to a mole of the Stone.

“Those autumn youngsters are doing well,” said Maundy, who had a burrow on the Eastside, and often came to talk to Comfrey and bring him the system’s news. Neither had a mate, nor seemed to wish for one now, though she had had one once and pupped, but it was enough they were friends who remembered the old days and enjoyed a chat. Their fur was tatty now, their snouts wrinkled, and they laughed at memories others had forgotten or were too young to know.

“D-d-doing well, are they? I’m glad, really I am. The system needs youngsters.”

“Needs more’n youngsters, Comfrey; needs life,” said Maundy darkly.

“T-t-takes time to recover from plague. A generation or t-t-two, and the Ancient System is not so worm-rich as the lower slopes were.”

“One day, maybe...” started Maundy, and stated her opinion, often expressed, that it might be a good idea for somemole or other to start exploring the lower slopes again.

“The St-Stone will tell us. Not till then.”

The female shrugged.

“You know best, Comfrey, everymole knows that.”

“The St-Stone knows best,” said Comfrey gently, repeating something he often said, “n-not me. I just listen to its Silence and say what comes from there. Anymole may do that.”

“Not so well as you!” declared Maundy. “You had Bracken and Rebecca to teach you!”

“Yes,” said Comfrey, “I did.”

She saw a look of nostalgia and a little sadness come over his face, and she knew she was one of the few in Duncton allowed to see that.

“Do you miss them?” she asked, coming closer so he might feel her care for him. A leader and healer is often alone, and needs love as much as other moles.

“S-s-sometimes I do,” said Comfrey. “I miss Rebecca in the spring, when the anemones come out. She used to love them, and danced among them, even when she was old. I miss Bracken at moments when I know I must be strong of will, because he was. B-b-but....”

“Yes, Comfrey?” and her voice might almost have been Rebecca’s in its sympathy for him.

“Well, I miss... I miss T-Tryfan. He was my half-brother and I liked him. He was stronger than me. Do
you
remember him?”

“We all remember him, who were alive at the time he and Boswell left for Uffington. Never seen a more handsome mole than him.”

“D-do you really think so?” said Comfrey.

“’Course I do. And he loved you like he loved Bracken.”

“How do you know that?”

“I could tell.”

“Oh,” said Comfrey. “Well, I miss him in the autumn because that’s when he left. And I go up to the Stone and pray for him. In fact I did it today.”

“And what did the Stone tell you?”

Comfrey was silent, snout lowered, his talons teasing at the stem of dried thyme that lay along one wall of the burrow. Maundy eyed him, much concerned, for though she was allowed to see him like this yet he was rarely so troubled. And she was not entirely surprised, for something had drawn her over to his burrow that day, something that told her she was needed.

“It did tell you something?” she said encouragingly.

“Yes it d-d-did” said Comfrey at last, “and n-n-not for the first time! At Midsummer’s Night I went up to the Stone, after everymole was below ground. Tryfan needed my help and I gave it him.”

Comfrey said this as if it was the most natural of things, and Maundy had no doubt that it was the truth. She believed in the power of the Stone, and knew very well how much Comfrey missed his brother and how often he thought of him.

“So what happened today?” she asked.

“As I prayed for Tryfan I saw tunnels deserted, and they were Duncton tunnels. And I saw blood. I saw evil. The Stone’s Silence was gone and there was noise and hurt. Something’s going to happen here and I d-d-don’t know what it is.”

“Did you learn anything of Tryfan?”

“N-not sure. Unclear.” Comfrey was silent again.

“Shall I say a prayer to the Stone for you?” said Maundy, because sometimes she did and she knew he appreciated it.

“Well I st-stopped today because I was afraid! Not perfect, am I? But now you’re here I feel better and we could g-g-go back to the St-St-Stone and say
something
,” he said.