Duncton Found (95 page)

“What then, Stone Mole?”

“Then we shall be that much nearer to the end of our journey.”

But guardmole grikes had already been appearing at some of the meetings they held in the better known systems: they were at Oundle on the Nene, for example, and again at Stamford some days later. As at Cumnor, they came in packs of three or four, to observe darkly and intimidate.

It seemed that so far they had been prevented from interfering physically with the followers or Beechen by the policy the grikes had adopted of “listening”, but Buckram had little doubt that this could not last long, and some moleweeks later, in mid-February, he was proved right.

Holm had turned their route, with some reluctance, from the flatter and wetter east, to the north-west across the clay vales and limestone rises that stretch south to north in those parts. It was country much more occupied by grikes, and to all but Beechen it seemed all the worse because it took them from obscurity to exposure.

Strangely, just as earlier news of their coming had travelled ahead among the followers, now it went with the grikes, who came more frequently and in greater numbers to stare, mock and jeer at the preaching “Stone Mole”.

Across the rising vales they went, on into grike country. Again and again Beechen spoke out against meeting violence with violence in defence of himself, themselves or anymole, and warning them that it was not his way to strike another mole,
whatever
he might do to him. This appeal seemed only to increase the numbers coming to his flank, as if they felt that such a gesture was an act of faith and discipline.

Buckram was recognised as the mole responsible for Beechen’s safety, and since his size and grave bearing commanded great respect, so did his words which, daily, warned all moles to honour the Stone Mole’s wishes and, however much they might be provoked, not to respond in kind.

There was – and is – no doubt that this policy, though it now came under severe strain as the grike intimidation increased, for a time aborted the attempts by the grikes to cause a fight. Yet ironically the very non-violence of the followers inflamed the grikes to shout and threaten even more.

“Stone Mole,” said Buckram, “I cannot prevent what I know must inevitably happen if you continue on this route. You have done enough. None shall blame you or call you coward if you turn back or take a safer way. I have been told that tomorrow we shall pass near Oadby, which is a grike garrison and known for its violence. I fear what might happen there.”

Even Sleekit advised Beechen to retreat, but he refused, saying, “It is the right of mole to go what way he will, with his snout straight and proud and his heart open. That is the way of the warrior. To turn back is to yield up our heart and joy to the agents of darkness and be diminished by them. Now at the moment of hesitation is the time to show our courage and our faith by exposing all our heart. To retreat is the greatest gift a mole can give his enemy.”

The only exception that Beechen made was for the few younger moles and their parents who were travelling with him now to go back, and some infirm moles as well, though most of these insisted on continuing. Beechen asked Buckram to travel with these weaker ones rather than himself, since his presence might help protect them.

“Stone Mole,” said Buckram, who rarely argued with Beechen, “I would prefer to be with you and see that you are safe.”

“Do you think your talons are mightier than the Stone’s peacefulness, Buckram? Do you think the Stone Mole would have protection which much weaker moles than he will not have?”

Buckram shook his head miserably and Beechen’s look and voice softened as, smiling, he said, “The Stone shall protect us, good mole, and thee as well. Warriors do not travel the sacred path without collecting wounds. And tomorrow, remember that though they may not know it the grikes are warriors too, upon the same path, and they may suffer wounds of a different kind: those that do not heal so fast.”

Buckram’s fears were more than justified. As the followers came towards Oadby, with Beechen in the front line and females and youngsters on either flank, grikes assembled on either side of the way in large and ugly numbers.

At first they simply shouted and shook their talons but then, as the followers refused to respond but simply kept their eyes ahead and their snouts straight, singing songs of the Stone, some of the grikes began to buffet the older ones in front.

But buffets turned to strikes, and strikes to talon thrusts, and talon thrusts to hurts. It was a scene of very slowly mounting violence which took place at that point north-west of Oadby where the way passes rising ground on either side. Enclosed, with nowhere to go but backwards or forwards, with grikes striking out as they went by and some of the bigger, bullying ones running along beside them and shouting, there was little the followers could do but suffer the blows and continue.

Beechen was the target of special attention, first himself – and soon his face was cut and red with blood – but then those with him. The grikes would strike them and cry out mockingly, “Neither your Stone nor the one you call Stone Mole protects you! Are they impotent or cowards?”

Sleekit was a little way behind Beechen and her flanks were badly taloned and hurt, but most pathetic, and most courageous of all, was Holm, a mole who had never struck another in his life. Strangely, for one whose tendency was to look terrified all the time, that day his eyes and his gait did not waver, until he was bodily dragged from the group and several grikes threatened him.

Buckram had prepared well for precisely this kind of assault and he and several larger moles, all former fighters before they turned their snouts properly to the Stone, quickly interposed themselves between the grikes and Holm, not striking back themselves but taking blows that might have seriously maimed the little mole before they hustled him back to the relative safety of the group.

This sudden show of calm control seemed to cool the aggression of the grikes who retreated on either side of the route and did not pursue them once they were clear of Oadby, except with jeering laughter and threats.

But it changed the nature of Beechen’s journey north, and the moles who went with him on it. Some fell away quietly, unwilling or unable to take such threats again, but others – and not always the strongest – seemed to grow in stature and purpose as if the demonstration of hatred by the grikes towards Beechen had stripped away all that was soft or vague in these followers’ faith to reveal an inner core of warrior strength.

Holm had already proved himself, but after Oadby gained an almost legendary respect among the followers, many of whom came specially to see him, though such honour did not change him one bit. He was as grubby and modest as ever. Sleekit, on the other paw, gained the gaunt and courageous look of an older female with great purpose and no fear, while Buckram, always strong, seemed to grow in stature every day and move with something of that strength which moles like Marram and Alder had. Moles who had been trained in fighting and discipline and have found their true way at last.

But if Oadby made those close to Beechen understand the violent nature of the threat that he was now trekking towards, it was what happened a few days later that showed a truer, darker face and made Sleekit, for one, realise all too clearly that this was indeed a journey into darkness.

Some miles west of Oadby the ground rises and hardens towards the bitter granite heaths of Charnwood Forest. This dread and eerie place is no friend of moles, whose eyes might well dart about them to the slopes above which seem to overhang and reveal with each corner turned, each new place gained, a looming black-rock edge, or clump of dying oak trees, their branches a contorted silhouette against the sky beyond.

At Charnwood the winds are fractious and snow seems dirtier and ice sharper; the kind of place where winter lingers on long after it has fled the rest of moledom.

As they rose up into this grim place, their numbers fewer than for weeks past, the followers gathered nearer Beechen as they went and he cheered them with his accounts of the giant moles that myth and legend said once lived among the jagged rocks.

Holm, so far from water, did not like the place, and hurried on ahead of them, pausing only to snout and scent the air, and frown, and then turn round to beckon them to hurry after him.

The highest part of the way took them among some dingy shattered rocks among which stunted hawthorn and gorse sought to find a place to thrust down their roots. Here a mole might stray from the path and not be found before the corvids that lurked about, or the foxes that crept, or the stoats that screamed at night took him.

Here are no good memories for mole.

Here they were benighted and spent shivering, dark hours.

Here, suddenly, as they set off once more, grikes rose up around them like filthy water rising out of bad ground to swamp a mole. One moment nothing but rocks, the next every rock seemed to spawn ten grikes, and every grike to show ten sharp talons.

While there before them all on a flat rock overlooking their way a female stanced, eyes narrow, eyes dark, unwavering.

“Greetings, mole,” said Beechen boldly, and in the old way said, “Whatmole art thou and whither art thou bound?”

The female laughed, a tuneless sterile laugh which was chillingly echoed by chuckles and guffaws from the grikes who now came menacingly close, though no follower was touched. But evil was as palpable in the air as the stench of a dead sheep that drifted to them from among the rocks.

The mole’s laugh died back to a sneer, and then to pity of an arrogant kind, and she said, “Use not your vile tricks of charm on me, tempter, insulter of the Word. I am the eldrene Wort and I am bound to the place that shall be thy journey’s end. Will you pray with me?”

“To what end, mole?” said Beechen, his voice powerful.

“For thy redemption from the evil of the Stone.”

“There is no evil, Wort. Not even in the darkest heart, not even in the vilest act, there is no evil that cannot be turned to the good that is in us all. Let us pray in celebration of that good!”

“Hear him, guardmoles of the Word! Hear his denial of his evil and pitiable plea for good. Lax good. Good indulgence. Good weakness...” Then she hunched forward towards Beechen and said this rapid prayer: “Holy Word, you who are my portion and my sup, you who are my delight, you who make my body glad, help this mole renounce the Stone, help his followers turn from their twisted way, help their eyes see the glory that is only yours. Holy Word, mother and father of us all, chastise this mole that he may see thy truth, chide this mole that he may be sickened by what he is, admonish him that he may sing thy name and know the proper way.”

Wort’s voice cried out these last words as if she were desperate and suffering, an impression increased by the way her eyes fixed on some distant point beyond all the moles. Now she half turned back and looked straight at Beechen once again.

“You have nothing to fear if you renounce the Stone, for the Word shall be merciful. I plead with thee to do it now.”

Beechen reached forward slowly and, even as guardmoles to right and left of Wort came towards him, he placed his paw on her head and she did not resist.

“Mole, be not afraid of me,” he said.

Wort closed her eyes and she whispered with terrible intensity, “Holy Word, I feel thy power flow into me, I feel thy power destroy the temptations of the Stone, I feel thy power great within me.
Un-paw me, mole, un-paw me!
” She screamed the command at him and then her eyes snapped open and a look of disgust and hatred was on her face.

“Renounce, mole, before thy journey ends or you shall be damned by the great Word, and lost.”

“Wort, whatmole art thou, and whither art thou bound?”

This time Beechen spoke with a terrible sadness, and turning to the others signalled them to move on.

Which they did as the eldrene Wort continued her impassioned whisperings and warnings in the Charnwood heights, not hindering them more.