Duncton Found (60 page)

Some say the first library of Stone texts was here, for the system was certainly where the scribemole Audley was born, who was the originator of the Rolls of the Systems. He travelled widely and until his election as Holy Mole lived some of the time at Fyfield. With his final departure to Uffington, however, the library of great texts he had built up in Fyfield was removed to the Holy Burrows and survived intact as a collection there until the destruction of the Holy Burrows by the grikes in Henbane’s day.

Fyfield itself lies on a limestone ridge which stretches north and south and which is just high and strong enough to cause the Thames to swing north around it until, at Duncton, it breaks through and turns south once more. By the standards of Whern or Siabod the ridge is no more than a hill, but in those riverine parts it keeps such systems as Fyfield clear of the floodplain of the Thames and its soil, though a little dry, is rich enough to be called wormful.

Its tunnels remain its greatest point of interest, for they are ancient and honestly made, seeming to carry in their rounded and well-carved walls the scent and drift of ages past, when moles feared the Stone more than each other and treated the elders of the system with deep and abiding respect.

Although there was a brief period of expansion of the tunnels westward in medieval times, Fyfield was never a large and extensive system. “Old Fyfield’, which is its original central core, was “old” before most systems were even a twinkle in the eyes of the pioneer moles who established them.

The plagues whose coming marks the beginning of these Chronicles devastated Fyfield, and the system might have been forgotten but for the fact that its origin as one of the Ancient Seven made it a natural target for the grikes. What was more, however modest the place might be, the fact was that a Stone of undoubted potency and power rose sheer from the central communal chamber of Fyfield, one of whose subterranean walls was formed by the Stone’s plunging base.

The grikes naturally avoided this most ancient area of the system, as they avoided the Stones in the other Ancient Systems they occupied, like Avebury and Rollright. Instead they had occupied the newer westward extension of the system, and not only sealed up those tunnels that led into Old Fyfield, but crudely delved new tunnels through the older peripheral ones in an attempt to unify the system around the new centre, and give the disorientated tunnels a new integrity.

There was another more sinister reason for this extensive and only partially successful restructuring of the system, and that was to seek to isolate the central core of Old Fyfield and ensure that nomole ever again entered its tunnels. The proper explanation for this desire of the grikes to expunge from history knowledge and even memories of those tunnels, and the Stone that rose above it, is even now unknown, but rumours of an atrocity so vile, so sickening, and so unjustified have been prevalent around Fyfield since the coming of the grikes though ever since hushed up by them.
*

*
The extraordinary truth behind these long-stancing rumours was only revealed after the delving expedition of Fewl of Tulwick whose scribing on the matter is now well known and beyond reasonable dispute, though a dissenting view is to be found in the scrivenings of Wordmole Nodblail of Cannock.

It seems likely that Beechen was aware of these rumours even before reaching Fyfield, but if he was not then perhaps as Hale hurried him and the others along to their meeting with the trinity, Buckram whispered a grim explanation of what the strange seal-ups and unexpected turns in the tunnels signified as they passed them by.

If this was so then it helps explain the tough and non-conciliatory attitude in which Beechen appears to have approached his first meeting with one of the new trinities of moles of the Word, created for the purposes of crusade.

The meeting took place initially in the dull communal chamber the grikes had made in that portion of the system called West Fyfield, and it was to there, after a tedious trek, that Hale finally led them.

There were a large number of moles in the chamber, and the atmosphere immediately before Beechen and the others came into it was excited and uneasy. Already three other followers were there, moles brought in from the south of Fyfield towards Buckland way.

These had been brought in unwillingly, and they presented a sorry sight, for they had not believed a word of what they had been told – namely that they would be given safe passage back out of Fyfield and that the new sideem, just arrived, were merely anxious to “talk” to them. They had not been hurt, but had watched with growing apprehension as more and more moles of the Word – guardmoles, eldrenes and their assistants and finally sideem gathered in the chamber.

Nomole had been quite certain what the other was doing, and the uneasiness was caused by the curious fact that the trinity of moles who had come from the north, though they had taken bold and impressive stance at one end of the chamber, had given no lead at all.

“We understand a Stone-fool is coming to, er, join with us in this friendly exchange of views,” said one of the sideem smoothly, “and until he comes I suggest those of you who do not know each other make yourselves known. Yes, that would be a good idea I think...” After which conversation had been somewhat strained, since the moles in the chamber, already very aware that the visiting trinity was making a report direct to the new Master himself, found themselves under their silent and impassive scrutiny.

What
did
go on was a sometimes desperate attempt by the moles of the Word who had gathered for this strange meeting to behave in a way that they thought might best impress the investigators with their intelligence, devoutness and zeal. Since each mole seemed to have a different idea of how best to achieve this there had at first been general pandemonium. Some prayed loudly to the Word, some adopted meditative stances, some talked loudly of their love of the Word, a few felt the best thing to do was to go and roundly berate the outnumbered Stone followers. Fortunately, three stolid guardmoles had been briefed to stance guard by the followers, say nothing and prevent violence, which at times it seemed their presence alone succeeded in doing.

The wait for the Stone-fool had been longer than expected, the noise had died down, and eventually the gathering was overtaken by subdued expectant chatter, mainly about whatmoles the trinity were, and what their purpose.

Important moles, important purpose, it seemed. The Fyfield eldrene, Smock, was even now stanced near them looking ill-tempered but respectful. They had come only a few days before having trekked from Cumnor where, so it was said, Wort had impressed them by her devotion to the Word.

Smock, more easy-going, had simply obeyed their summons to a private talk, put her system and guardmoles at their disposal, and sent out for followers.

“There’s one called Beechen who’s got a following, and I’ve a mind to hear him myself. He’s in Garford now which isn’t far off... and there’s a few others we can always find.”

So the followers had been summoned. Meanwhile the trinity, led by an austere and ascetic young male, Heanor of Nidd, had begun to interrogate senior moles, asking all about the Stone, and ending each interview with the admonition that until further edict from the Master-elect himself, Lucerne (the news of Henbane’s deposing had come earlier, in September), no harm was to come to the followers at all
of any kind.
The guardmoles found this hard to take for they enjoyed a periodic expedition to rough up a few followers, but there was something forbidding about the way Heanor gave the warning, and little doubt that penalties would be severe and carried through.

What the sideem’s intent was the Fyfield garrison had no idea, but when it was announced that followers would be debated with and senior moles might attend, a great many had crowded in. The sight of the abject followers had caused outrage in some, but the beady eyes of Heanor and the three guardmoles were enough to prevent anymole do more than shout his contempt.

Occasionally Heanor leaned over towards eldrene Smock and, nodding towards somemole in the crowd, asked a question, probably the mole’s name. Whisper whisper, glance glance; blink and scriven. No wonder the atmosphere in the chamber seemed to darken as the wait wore on, no wonder the followers looked fearful, and their fur grew haggard and moist with fear.

Then a hush fell and expectation mounted, for a messenger, a humble obeisant mole and one of the few remaining original moles of Fyfield, had come in and whispered to Smock, who in turn whispered to Heanor, who in turn whispered to his colleagues. This Stone-fool, it seemed, was on his way and would be in the chamber soon.

It was into this expectant and strained atmosphere that Hale led Beechen, Sleekit and Buckram a few minutes later. They must have seemed a strange yet imposing sight to the waiting moles of the Word: the aging but upright and bright Sleekit, a mole of authority; Buckram, cured of murrain, whom many there must have known from before; but, most striking of all, the last to enter – the young male Stone-fool, handsome, healthy, open, and certainly not abject.

“Welcome,” said Heanor, the moment they had come in and settled near the other three followers. “My name is Heanor of Nidd, and I am sideem anointed before the Rock of the Word. We are sent here by the Master of the Word-elect, Lucerne, peacefully and in just spirit. We shall in the molemonths ahead continue to do what we have done already, which is to debate with true followers of the Stone the nature of their complaints and of their fears and to strive to come to an understanding of their doubts of the Word.”

Heanor spoke clearly, pleasantly and well. There was a lulling reasonableness about what he said. He turned to his colleagues and introduced them – a sideem and a tough guardmole whose names are now forgotten. “And this is eldrene Smock,” concluded Heanor with a suave smile, “to whom I am grateful for the courtesy she has shown these past days and in whom I am sure the Word is well pleased.”

Smock affected not to be pleased at this and leaned over to Heanor and whispered to him, pointing to Buckram.

“Really? Yes... I understand that you are one Buckram, former guardmole apostate to the Word.”

There was an angry whisper among the moles at this. Buckram smiled, shrugged and said, “Well, I don’t know what a postle is but if you mean I was of the Word and now I’m of the Stone you’re right. Best thing that ever happened to me.”

Again murmurs ran among the moles. Such openness going unpunished was unheard of, and if
this
was the way the new order at Whern was going to go Word help them all. Yet there was a menace about Heanor that comforted them, and a smug assurance about Smock that made the more astute think this wasn’t what it seemed.

“We know not your name, mole,” said Heanor to Sleekit.

It was a moment Beechen, Sleekit and Mayweed had often discussed – whether or not to use their real names. They had long since decided they would do so, for a mole’s name is his outward identity to others, and to lie about it, however good the reason, is to demean the self that name has come to represent. Yet in all their discussions they had not imagined they would be asked it by a sideem.

“Sleekit,” said Sleekit boldly, “of Duncton Wood.” This too caused a murmur, and this too Sleekit had often thought about, and had decided that since she had first discovered her true feelings for the Stone in Duncton in Henbane’s time there, she might legitimately claim to have been born – new-born! – there.

The sideem did not react in any special way, and it seemed that even if he knew that the Mistress Henbane had had a sideem Sleekit in attendance he did not connect this mole with her.

“So you are Beechen, or as I understand they say in these parts, a ‘Stone-fool’.”

“Mole,” said Beechen coolly, without any concession to Heanor’s seeming politeness, “what would you have followers do in a system blighted with the blood of moles? Where would you have us turn in tunnels haunted by moles’ screams?”

But for a hardening in the set of sideem Heanor’s mouth there was no sign that he was upset by this, indeed his eyes retained their suave, if false, smile.

“Mole,” he responded strongly, “we shall not progress....”

“We shall not!” said Beechen powerfully, half turning from Heanor so that the gathering could see him. But what did they see? Not an abject follower such as the lies and distortions of eldrenes and sideem over the years might have led them to expect, nor a maddened Stone-fool of the kind they had grown used to finding and mocking, but instead a mole of strength who stared at them in a way that impelled them to look and wait on him.

“No we shall not progress
this
way.”

Heanor tried again to gain control of the meeting, and said, “But mole, I....”

“Nor
this
way!” cried out Beechen turning from both Heanor and the gathered moles and pointing his right paw at the three followers who were quite speechless at what was taking place. Indeed, all moles were, for never in any of their memories had they seen a mole, a follower of the Stone furthermore, outface a sideem, grikes, guardmoles and themselves.