“Our celebration this night marks the moment when young moles reach maturity. It is the time for parents to touch their pups one last time and wish them well of the rich life to come. A time for which the moleyears before have been a preparation.
“At such a time no parent feels his work is done and many do not wish to say goodbye, for it is hard to think a youngster’s grown and the need for us is done. Harder to turn back on ourselves and start again, facing our partners or perhaps ourselves alone, and find once more a meaning in what we do reliant on our loving of ourselves and no more upon the loving of our young. For such as these the Midsummer rite is useful, too.
“But here, in Duncton, this clear June, are many who might have had pups but, because of disease and stress and age and the strangeness of where they are, go pupless and are bereft. For them the moleyears past, especially of spring, were hard and bitter times and you, Stone, seemed arid and pitiless. Help such moles now. Let them, with this rite we shall perform, cast off the sadness they put on and see themselves afresh – and what they have, and the beauty of where they are and the great freedoms they possess afresh.
“Yet you have blessed us all. One was born to us, one that we knew as a pup, and saw to a youngster grown. One who will now an adult here become. His presence brings joy to us, and makes this Midsummer rite have meaning for us all tonight.”
Then Tryfan turned and signalled Beechen to come to him, and the youngster –
youngster?
Why he was as full grown now as Tryfan himself, and that mole was already beginning to look stooped by his side! – came, and together the two broke from the great oval of moles and went nearer to the Stone. A cheerful hush came over the watching moles, and friendly jostling took place as older and smaller moles pawed their way to the front and large moles, like Smithills and Marram, pulled back and encouraged the more timid to come forward to get a better view until all could see and watch the rite performed.
“The sacred words of the rite I shall speak this night were taught me by my father Bracken,” continued Tryfan, “who in his turn learned them from a much-loved elder of Duncton called Hulver. To this very spot they came in the dark days when Mandrake and Rune ruled Duncton and sought to stop such ancient rites as these.
“Yet bravely Hulver came to speak the words, and another mole, Bindle was his name, gave him support. They spoke the rite and Mandrake and the others tried to stop them and struck them down. But my father, a youngster then no older than Beechen now, stanced his ground and finished speaking the rite, and then the Stone alone aided his escape and saved his life.
“Let us now remember brave Hulver and loyal Bindle, and with that prayer send out what strength and faith we have to those moles who, this very night, may face such dangers Hulver and Bindle once faced together here. We know not their names, nor where they are, but we of the
Stone believe that if we speak with love and truthful hearts before a Stone then others near Stones far from here will gain something from our prayer.”
Tryfan suddenly fell silent and seemed beset, and several there, including Feverfew, came a little nearer him. But it was Beechen who reached out a paw to him as if sensing that his guardian was touching some need beyond them all that demanded support.
“Sometimes...” began Tryfan, faltering, “sometimes there may be moles who are not near the Stone, do not know its name, or, if they do know it, only to curse it. Yet sometimes such moles seek something far beyond themselves, whose name they know not. Such moles are brave indeed, for they go into the shadowed unknown places of their minds and hearts, guideless and terribly alone. If such there be tonight...” Poor Tryfan faltered again, and his great paw tightened on Beechen’s as if he sensed, as if he almost knew, that that night, far away in Whern, a mole wandered, nameless now....
“If such there be tonight we add this prayer to any other sent to him, or her. Or her...” His repetition of “her” seemed to strike a chord in Sleekit’s heart, and she turned suddenly to Mayweed and looked at him, and he looked back and wonder was in his eyes, and he nodded to Sleekit to add her prayer to Tryfan’s....
“Send thy help to such moles, Stone, wherever and whatever they may be,” she said.
“Aye!” whispered others, all drawing closer together, and “Aye!” again, and in that moment Duncton became a true community once more, strong enough to send its love beyond itself to moles that needed help, wherever they might be.
This joint affirmation seemed to encourage and strengthen Tryfan once again as, looking up at the Stone and raising his paws to it, he said, “After my father Bracken and Rebecca went to the Stone my half-brother, Comfrey, whom some of you knew, continued our traditions for many moleyears until, indeed, that dreadful time when the Duncton moles were forced to escape their home system and disperse. It was Comfrey’s hope and wish that one day some of those forced to leave would return, and if not them then at least their pups or kin. To them he dedicated this system, and said that surely one day the Stone would bring its peace back here and leave its entrances and exits unguarded by grike, and free once more. I fear that I shall not live to see such a day....”
There was a murmur of dismay at this, but Tryfan raised his voice and continued over it so that it died away.
“While I am sorry it may be so, at least I know tonight that I have lived to see the beginning of that return. In my heart I knew it to be so the night Feverfew made her way into Duncton and bore us Beechen.
“To some of us Stone followers he is called the Stone Mole and others have wondered what that might be. Why, he has wondered himself!” Tryfan smiled at Beechen, and others did as well.
“I shall tell you what I think it might be,” said Tryfan. “A mighty thing, a thing of which we, all witnesses to his birth, all part of the secret of this first part of his life, may feel proud. Until now I have been reluctant to speak of it, for such a thing is too much for a youngster to bear. But this night, when we watch over the youngster’s journey into adulthood, I shall speak, and on this night alone.
“Beechen was made of the union of blessed Boswell and Feverfew, born of the Wen. How this was, or why, I do not know. But I believe it was so, and that my master, Boswell, who taught me the greatest thing one mole can teach another – to love and trust myself – sent his son to us.
“He sent him here to Duncton because he knew that between us we would honour him and teach him all we knew. But more than that: he sent him here where he himself had found happiness and acceptance in the company and friendship of two moles who loved him even more than I did myself: my parents. Here he felt Beechen would be safe to grow and learn all that he would need for the great task he faces.
“Our Beechen, whom we love, cannot now abide here long. He must leave us, he must travel...” The moles sighed with dismay at this, and Beechen’s snout fell low. “It will be so,” said Tryfan simply, and sadly, “it must be so. Moledom has need of him now, and this is what the Stone Mole is. One whom all others need, one in whom all others find their way; one who teaches others what beloved Boswell first taught me – to love and trust themselves. It is a hard lesson to learn, and one a mole often forgets. But without it he is of little use to others; without it, or something of it at least, he may soon be lost.
“Therefore, be proud this night, for in our different ways we have performed the task Boswell entrusted to us. We have brought a single pup through to adulthood, and given him that which he needs to know himself.
“Be not mistaken in this. However humble you may feel, however little you may think you have given him, however unworthy you sometimes feel yourself to be
, you,
by being here, by being willing witness to this rite, by being of our community, have helped nurture him. You are in him now. Your good and ill, your light and shade, your peace, your restlessness. You are his heritage.
“When first Boswell told me that the Stone Mole would come I thought he would come out of nothing, ready formed, to save us all. I was unwise. For good or ill, all moles are born, are raised, are nurtured; the best they do comes of the best they are first given. So had it to be with the Stone Mole. Of all systems for his birth and rearing Boswell chose this one. He trusted us, and knew that though many here are not of the Stone they would somehow honour what was brought to them.
“Moles, you
have
honoured him and his trust, and this special night we celebrate what we have jointly done. Lest any here still doubt my words, and feel they have not yet done enough, think well on this and act upon it in the summer years to come. Beechen shall not leave us yet. Of scribing he has not yet learnt enough, and he must help me finish that last text I shall scribe, which is a communal Rule. More than that, he must be free to go amongst you all so that he may take what you have yet to give out into moledom’s wide expanse when, at last, he leaves us.
“Aye, so he shall; leave us. As others here may. Darkness does not yield to light in peace. It turns and changes and finds devious ways of transmuting good to ill. A far worse war than that one we all have seen is yet to come – one all moles must fight with the spirit of truth and peace, not with talons, or tooth, or anger. To lead us in that war is the Stone Mole come, and to its very centre he must go, which shall not be here though for a time it may seem so. Surely it shall be nearer Whern than this, for there the heart of the evil of our time does beat.”
A shudder went among the moles before Tryfan continued.
“But this is yet to come, and I know no more of it than the shadows I describe and which haunt my mind as age besets me and I know how much there remains still to do. This knowing is the sadness we all must feel as age comes on us and we watch the faltering steps of young moles beginning to take our place.
“For us, here in Duncton, that generation is but a single mole. “Stone Mole” to others beyond this place, and to history; but to us he is but “Beechen”, ordinary mole.
“Give to him, in the peaceful time that still remains, what knowledge and what love you can. Show him your hearts, tell him your memories, teach him to know that in all moles there is so much to love. Give him all you can, and he shall make it seem the very light itself to others whom fate and circumstance guide towards his life.”
Tryfan fell silent again as many there, of Stone and Word, whispered their prayers for Beechen and offered him their help, however humble it might seem.
Deep night had come. The brightest stars were out and the moon had risen through the trees and shone down upon the Stone. All was clear light and darkness, and the only movement was seen in the shine of friendly snouts and loving eyes, and talons that touched others with care.
It was then that Tryfan began the rite:
“By the shadow of the Stone,
In the shade of the night,
As he leaves your burrows
On your Midsummer Night,
We the moles of Duncton Stone
See our young with blessing sown...
“We bathe his paws in showers of dew,
We free his fur with wind from the west,
We bring him choice soil,
Sunlight in life.
We ask he be blessed
With a sevenfold blessing...
“The grace of form
The grace of goodness
The grace of suffering
The grace of wisdom
The grace of true words
The grace of trust
The grace of whole-souled loveliness.
“We bathe his paws in showers of light,
We free his soul with talons of love,
We ask that he hears the silent Stone.”
Thus spoke Tryfan, and spoke it more than once that the moles there, including Beechen himself, might learn the rite and pass it on as it had passed to Tryfan.
“I do not forget,” said Tryfan, “that among us is another than myself who was born in this wood, and that is Bailey. Come forth, mole. We who know his story know of his suffering, his loss, and his courage; and we know of the redemption he found in bringing Feverfew safely to us before Beechen was born. One future Midsummer, when I am gone, I pray that he especially is here to speak this as I taught him. Now I ask that he repeats these words for us one last time, for himself and Beechen too, and for those he has lost and with the Stone’s help may find again who surely, this night of nights, stare at the stars and think of those they love.”
So, stumblingly, somewhat, for Bailey was a modest mole who rarely took on a public role, he spoke the rite to show he knew it too, and many, some of whom were not of the Stone, whispered with him, and added to that lovely prayer thoughts of their own that wished Beechen well in the tasks he had ahead.
Then, when that was done, Tryfan went forward and signed for Beechen to touch the Stone as, on that night, the youngest there is always first to do. Then Bailey touched, and others followed, the moles breaking into talk and laughter, good humour among them, and comradeship. Yet in that moment when each touched they felt their touch return in the Stone’s great Silence, and knew that even without one another they were not alone.