Duncton Wood (75 page)

There was absolute silence in the library.

“It is in a sacred place, a protected place, and one into which no mole may simply go. Only a mole or moles graced by the Stone, as Bracken was graced, may go there and perhaps no mole in our lifetime will ever be able to enter there again.”

“A strange beginning, Boswell, and a story which, when you both have rested and eaten, you had better tell me of in full. There is much, too, for you to hear, and if you are as you once were, you will ask me a dozen questions for every one I answer! But not until you have eaten and rested.”

With that Skeat raised one paw briefly to them all and said “In worde, werke, will and thought, make us meke and lowe in hert. And us to love as we shulde do.”

As Skeat left. Bracken noticed that one of the two moles who had come in with him took the book Quire had been searching for and carried it off after the Holy Mole.

Then, thinking that if he wasn’t “low in heart” he was certainly low in strength. Bracken willingly followed one of the scribemoles as he led them away to two simple burrows in the chalk soil where they found food was provided, and they were left to eat and sleep. Bracken found it hard to fall asleep for thinking about the strangeness of the Holy Burrows, and finally got up to go and have a chat with Boswell. But he found him fast asleep, head and snout curled onto Ms crippled paw as they always did when he was sleeping peacefully. Bracken did not disturb him but returned to his own burrow. It was only the memory of the private blessing Skeat had given to Rebecca and himself, and the consecration he felt that it imposed upon their love, that finally brought him the peace he needed before he, too, fell into a deep sleep.

In the course of their subsequent conversations with Skeat, which were held over a period of many weeks in a simple chamber along the tunnel that led to the Holy Burrows, with just one other mole in attendance, Bracken and Boswell were to learn much more about how the plague had ravaged the systems in general.

It had started in the north and traveled steadily southward, killing about nine out of ten moles who came into contact with it. It was regarded by the scribemoles as a judgment on moles by the Stone and, to their credit, a judgment on themselves as well when it struck Uffington, killing as many there as elsewhere.

Skeat had been the only master to survive and had accordingly, by the tradition of precedence, been elected Holy Mole – a task he had desired or expected and one he accepted with reluctance. One reason for this was that he sensed, as others in many different systems had, that the time in which they lived was one of great change and destiny. They needed a Holy Mole of greater wisdom and experience than he, and one who had seen into the silence of the Stone far more deeply than he felt he had.

But with such thoughts, genuinely modest as they were, he did himself an injustice: Uffington, and through its example all systems, needed in that troubled time a leader who was strong enough to impose the unity and trust the conditions of devastation demanded, while wise enough to dispense with the rigid and sometimes inflexible rituals of the past.

It seemed that many of the plague survivors had felt, as Bracken had, that they should visit Uffington to express their thanks to the Stone. Most had been unable or unwilling to do this in person, preferring to visit the nearest Stone, from where their prayers of thanksgiving came to Uffington. That many such visits had been made was known, because some scribemoles had, like Boswell, survived and made their way back to Uffington, while a very few nonscribes had come as well. Bracken was one, but there had been others.

“We have had a visit from a mole who knows you both and has spoken well of you: Medlar, from the north.”

So he had got here, after all! The news excited Bracken, who was now a little less awed than he had been at first in Skeat’s presence and who, since Boswell wasn’t going to ask, boldly asked the question himself.

“Where is he?”

“It will not be possible to see him,” said Skeat with a certain finality to his voice. “May the Steyn rix in hys herte,” he added, words that seemed to have a special significance for Boswell, who started a little at it and muttered a blessing under his breath. It was this that warned Bracken from asking outright where Medlar was, and this too that gave him the uncomfortable feeling that there was a lot about the Holy Burrows that he did not understand, and never would.

“With your visit we have now heard from all six of the seven major systems – Duncton, Avebury, Uffington, of course; Stonehenge, Castlerigg and Rollright,” said Skeat.

“What’s the last one which you haven’t heard from?” asked Bracken.

“It’s the great system of Siabod in North. Wales. No mole has come to Uffington who knows what has happened to it in the plague. Perhaps no mole survived, but I think that is unlikely... the Siabod moles are famous, or notorious, for their toughness. Of all the seven systems theirs is the least accessible and the most difficult to live in.”

Bracken listened fascinated, for Siabod was Mandrake’s old system, the one where they spoke a different language, even today.

“Is there a Stone there?” he asked, hoping to find out something more.

“Now
that
is something we would very much like to know! The records have no account of a Stone on the Siabod system itself, but there is a constant reference to a Stone or stones at a place nearby mysteriously called Castell y Gwynt, and there is a single reference in the records of Linden, referring to the travels of Ballagan to the ‘Stones of Tryfan’ which we think is a group of the Stones in this other place. Perhaps bigger than the rest.”

“Why’s it so important?” asked Bracken, his mind racing with these mysteries and strange names.

“Because while other systems come and go, the seven great systems have always been occupied and lived in. Some, like Duncton, have been cut off for long periods, but moles there have always finally come forward who have maintained the traditions laid down by Ballagan himself, as you yourselves have now. We do not know – we have never really known – if the moles of Siabod worship at whatever Stone it is that stands at Castell y Gwynt. Their language is different and no scribemole that I know has ever bothered to learn it.”

“Does it matter?” asked Bracken, rather regretting the question when he saw the look of patient tolerance that flickered over Skeat’s face for a moment.

“I think so, Bracken. We live in a time of trial and trouble. Worship of the Stone is really at the center of all moles’ lives, although it has been forgotten by so many. But we in Uffington are to blame for that. There was a time when scribemoles visited each of the systems at least once in a generation and the seven main systems more regularly than that. And from those seven the strength would go out to the others. It is now no longer possible to visit Siabod. We have too few scribemoles even to service Uffington itself, but if we knew that the

Stone was at least honored in all of the seven systems, that would be a start. And we do – for six of them. For these have been visited and by the Stone’s grace even Duncton, so long cut off, has made itself felt again. But Siabod... we know nothing of it. Siabod has always been an exception. It requires a mole of exceptional fortitude of spirit and body to reach it, let alone return from it.”

Skeat was silent for a while before starting to talk quietly again, almost as if thinking aloud. “The systems, the worship of the Stone... it has all slipped into disarray. Now the plague. We have a chance to start again – perhaps we already have, for your visit, like Medlar’s before you, fills me with hope. But what strength it would give us in Uffington to know that all seven of the major systems were centered on the Stone... to know that Siabod, too, worships the Stone! You must both forgive an old mole his dreams. Perhaps this office makes a mole overreach himself. Well, now, to other things.”

He asked them a great many questions about Duncton, a subject Bracken had not particularly enjoyed listening to Boswell talk about in the library. There was something special about his experience by the buried part of the Stone with Rebecca that made him recoil instinctively from having it talked about in public. However, Skeat seemed to sense this and his manner was so gentle and understanding that soon Bracken was describing what had happened on two Longest Nights previously in a detail, and with a passion that even Boswell had not heard.

Skeat wanted to know a great deal about the location of the Stillstone after this – how accessible it was, what the Chamber of Roots consisted of, whether any other moles knew of it, and many things more – and his interest and concern extended to the story of Bracken himself, and Rebecca, Mandrake, Rune, Mekkins... they all played a part in the story Bracken was induced to tell. And Skeat was especially interested that Mandrake was said to be from Siabod, and fell silent for a long time thinking about it.

Then suddenly, it was over. Skeat had finished with his questions and there seemed nothing more to say.

“Leave us now, Bracken, for I have to talk to Boswell alone for a while...” and Bracken found himself excluded, cut off from the mole with whom he had shared everything for moleyears on end, and at a loose end in a system where the moles were strange and there were long silences, and great spaces, in which a mole like Bracken felt restless and uneasy. He was taken back to his burrow by a silent mole, who responded to all questions with a bland smile and a maddening shake of the head which might have been “yes” and might have been “no” but seemed most likely to be “perhaps.” Yet when they arrived and the mole seemed about to leave, he hesitated and asked suddenly. “Did you really see the Seventh Stillstone?” And then, before Bracken could even begin to think what to say the mole added, “I’m sorry. I should not have asked such a thing.”

But Bracken, a little fed up with all the secrecy, said boldly “Yes. I did!” and added with what he thought was obvious irony, “It was ten times as big as a mole and made a noise like a bumblebee.” Bracken regretted this expression of irritability the moment he said it, for the mole scurried away as if he had been stung by a bee and no amount of calling after him would bring him back. With a sigh. Bracken returned to the burrow, laid himself down, and in no time at all was asleep. He had done more talking than he realized, and there is something about memories recalled in detail that makes a mole tired.

He was waked by Boswell saying “Bracken! Bracken! I’m sorry about all that. But it’s not important...”

“What did he want to say to you?” asked Bracken, but immediately his voice died miserably in his mouth because he could see Boswell uncharacteristically stiffen and lower his snout, indicating that he didn’t want to talk about it.

“I
can’t
say, Bracken. You must try to understand that there are things here which are impossible to explain...”

“All I understand is that they’ve no use for what they call nonscribes around here,” said Bracken angrily. “All this bloody way and there’s secrets all around. What’s this with Medlar, for example? Why can’t he be seen?”

Boswell lowered his gaze to the floor, his normally peaceful face troubled with Bracken’s feeling of being excluded, which, of course, he was being. Perhaps, though, what had happened to Medlar was something he could explain. Surely it would do no harm.

“Medlar has gone to a place which is to the west of Uffington Hill where the silent burrows are. It is not far, perhaps two molemiles at most and it is connected to Uffington by a tunnel.”

“What happens there?” asked Bracken.

“Well, that’s hard to explain. Nothing really. Nothing at all. There are special burrows there in which certain moles, only a very few, choose to live in and rarely leave. In fact, the entrances are sealed up and they stay there in silence.”

“What for?” asked Bracken, incredulous.

“Because they have reached a point where the only way forward is sitting still. Do you remember what Medlar used to say about the importance of doing that?”

“Is that what
he’s
doing now, up there?”

Boswell nodded.

“But how does he stay alive?”

“Other moles bring him food. It is an honor to serve a silent mole. At some time all novices take their turn in serving them.”

“What about fouling the burrow?” asked Bracken.

“They use two burrows. One of them is cleaned out by the other moles. But, in fact, it is not a problem. After a while, a silent mole eats less and less and the process seems to purify him in a strange way.”

“When do they come out?” Bracken wanted to know next – he had never heard anything so extraordinary in his life.

“No mole can say. Some can only bear it for a few days, though that is very rare, for the preparation is careful. Medlar, for example, has been preparing for this for many moleyears, probably without realizing it, although his case is unusual since he comes from outside and is not a scribemole in the normal way. Others, in fact most, stay in the silent burrow for at least two moleyears, often very much longer. Some choose never to emerge again and one day, when no movement has been heard for a full mole-year, and when no food has been taken, the Holy Mole orders that their burrow should be honorably sealed.”

“But what do they
do?”

“Pray. Meditate. Forget themselves. Learn something of the glory of the Stone.”

“What about the ones who come out?”

“What about them?”

“Well, what happens to them?”

‘They continue to live ordinary lives. You have already met one: Quire was in the silent burrow for ten mole-years. But do not think his forgetfulness is as a result of that – he is very old now and, for all his bad temper, much honored.”

“Do all scribemoles go there?”

Boswell laughed. He. had never heard Bracken ask so many questions all at once.

“No, very few. It requires great strength and simplicity. Medlar is probably the only one there now, and I think it is significant that he is not a scribemole. As Skeat has said, we live in a strange time when traditions are changing. I do not know if a nonscribemole has ever been in the silent burrows before, but I do not see why they shouldn’t Getting close to the Stone is not a prerogative of the scribemoles only, as my journey to Duncton has shown me.” He was referring to moles like Mekkins, Rebecca and Bracken himself who, in his opinion, had much to teach scribemoles. Hadn’t he learned much himself from them, and had he not still so much to learn?