Duncton Quest (58 page)

Finally he looked up and said, “What I have to say now is most especially for the youngest of the system, and the mothers that made them, and to those who have seen but one Longest Night through, for these are our future, and to these will I speak. So let them come forward, let them by.” And one by one the youngsters, and some late ones who were barely more than pups, and many such who, for reason of their smallness and lowly status had been pushed to the back or the tunnels outside the chamber, were found space as the older moles gave way to them, and encouraged them to go as near as they could to Tryfan and the other elders. While at Tryfan’s side, Spindle stared at this throng of moles and sought to see if there was one there who might be Bailey, whom he had a wish to see, if only once.

“I have been asked where we are to go in moledom, which seems forsaken of the Stone and overtaken or harassed by the grikes. Well, I will tell you the truth: I know not where we will be tomorrow, or the day after that.

Nor next week nor next month, I know not. But only this: where you of Duncton now carry a memory of Duncton Wood, of a system beloved by many moles and trusted by many more who have never been here, where
you
carry your memory to, there will
we
always be. When you remember where it was that you were pups and loved, and where your spirit first grew within sight of the great Stone, there will we be. And there, in that memory, a part of which each one of you holds as a most precious thing, there will we all wait. As the leaves of the great beeches will wither and die in the autumn so will we leave this system now. But as the buds return once more, and then the leaves, and then the great glory of the trees in summer, so one day will some of us return. Distant that day perhaps, unknown yet, but in the good sweet earth of your memories will our system survive as seeds that time and love and faith will nurture, scattered though you may become, until a dawn breaks when you, or your pups, or your grand-pups, turn your snouts to the good air and say, “Now, now is Duncton ready once more, to Duncton we will go.” Then you, or your pups, or your grand-pups will come, and in the shadow of the Stone in which your faith dwells, there you or yours will know that where you have been was never far away, never away at all.”

Then Tryfan’s voice dropped low, and the youngsters seemed to reach nearer to him as he continued. “Remember this, you who have many Longest Nights to come, and wonder why we collect here, and why we are worried, and why we talk low: there will be a time when I shall have gone, and Comfrey whom you love, and Spindle here my friend; then you may recall something dimly, something distant, a memory of May. When moles who cared for you and saw you threatened, and knew that their future lay in your hearts and paws and not their own, did their best to see you safeguarded.

“In all the long history of Duncton there has been no time like this, though there have been troubles enough. But not a time as now, when we must leave, taking with us something which now we share, but which with the passage of time will be broken and separate, a dim thing, half seen, half felt, yet sweet and lovely and remembered as a pup remembers the contentment of its home burrow.

“You who listen now, and are still young, look around at our faces this day here in the heart of Duncton, and know that you are loved, and remember that you were loved in the shadow and the Silence of one of the great Stones of moledom.

“And how will you know when to return? It will be hard to know that, and perhaps it will need as much courage for some to come back as it takes us to leave. How then will you know?”

Tryfan paused, and looked around at Spindle, and Spindle smiled and touched his friend as if to say what all there were thinking: that Tryfan was their leader, and they would follow him, and trust his words.

“Oh yes,” continued Tryfan then, his voice stronger now, “yes you’ll know. For one is coming who will bring the troubles of these years to an end, and he will be the Stone Mole.

“He will come, and I believe that we in Duncton, and you who have not yet even seen one Longest Night through, will aid his coming, and give it meaning and purpose; I believe that the name of Duncton will ring out to all of moledom, as the sound of a talon on true flint rings out and is heard.

“The Stone Mole will come and the Silence of the Stone will be allmole’s and then the truest coming of all will be. When those fragments of memory of a system that was – for fragments are all they will be by then – turn and reverberate in your hearts, or your pup’s hearts, and tell of a place that was and is, where once moles were loved, and will be once more. Not only loved but
much
loved, and safe, and belonging.

“Not much different, perhaps, this system than another, not special or different or chosen but as any other might be. But its moles never turned from the Stone. For this will the Stone Mole be sent, to give back what we lost of ourselves, and to show how moles may live true wherever they may be.

“One day across moledom, moles will say, “Duncton? They were true moles, they helped, they had courage, they had faith in the Stone, they were never, not once, of the dark Word. Not once.”

“Then those who follow us will feel pride. Then will those memories that you yourself made stir anew. Then will there be a yearning to return once more. Then will the few who remain dare to come back and start again.

“So listen now: go up into your wood, go among the trees, go down into your tunnels, touch their walls, go even to the Chamber of Roots that surrounds the Stone, go into the sunlight alone and together, look, touch and remember. And then, when you have each done that, return one last time to touch your Stone.

“For there is our beginning and ending and in its shadows will be our beginning again. It sends us on a journey soon, but one day it will guide our kin back home, safeguarded.”

Tryfan stopped and reached to touch the nearest moles, who reached to touch and bless others near by, so that the moles of Duncton knew themselves and showed their love for one another. Then, when that had been, and in silence, they went up on to the surface of the wood, or down loved and familiar tunnels, and did as Tryfan had bid them do, which was to go out into their system and know it one last time, and remember it for always.

Some saw the bracken that grew, and the great beeches that rose, and some the bluebells that spread across the lower slopes: others paused and touched and talked, and took the scent of the worm-rich ways of their system; a few danced while others sang, and all made a memory that would see them through the troubles that lay ahead.

“No Starling, we’re not allowed to! Starling!”

“He said we could go anywhere! Anyway, Lorren, you’re always
so
pathetic
and
we
want to go down there and see.”

The voices were those of youngsters, both females. That of Lorren was uncertain and fearful; that of Starling utterly bold. She spoke with the authority of the pup who rules the others and will have no truck with questioning or doubt. There was no fear in her voice, only impatience and curiosity, mixed with delighted excitement.

The place was Barrow Vale, and the mole listening to their argument about whether or not to go into the tunnels was Spindle. He had come down after Tryfan’s address to the assembled moles, making his way through the lovely trees of the slopes, to return one last time to the place that he and Thyme had so gently and sweetly taken hold of their love and made it. He had come as Tryfan had suggested to make a memory, but also to say farewell, for he knew his task was ever with Tryfan now, to follow and advise him, and be close when he was most needed. Yet he had come, too, for something more than that, as if answering that need Thyme had made in him, that at times of trouble and doubt they and theirs might go to Barrow Vale, and there find help and comfort.

So he had ventured down once more into the tunnels where first they had loved, and then brought his pup, and now he was there a third and last time, to find peace with his memory, and strength for what was to come.

But just as he thought he should venture out once more and go up to the Stone as Tryfan had wisely suggested they might all finally do, there had been a patter and a scurry of mole above, first one, and then two more. Then the voices and the argument, and Spindle stayed in the shadows and listened.

“Well, what do you think? Do you agree with Lorren or with me? It
was
your idea?”

It was Starling’s voice again, seeming to ask a question but really giving a command. Spindle smiled in sympathy with the third mole and waited for the reply.

When it came it was too soft for Spindle to hear but its content was clear enough, for immediately Starling shouted in triumph, “There you are, Lorren, you’ll have to come with us now or be left all alone, and we won’t care.”

“It’s not fair!” said Lorren plaintively.

But her protest was in vain, for the other two scrabbled at the surface, found an entrance near where Spindle had come down, and poked their snouts in and peered about.

“Spooky!” said a voice.

“Dusty,” said Starling’s. “Come on!” And with that, and Lorren following, they helter-skeltered down into the hallowed chamber of Barrow Vale.

For a moment Spindle watched them in silence as their eyes adjusted to the dark and they snouted this way and that. Two female youngsters and a male. It was obvious which was Starling, for she was bigger than the others, and had that appealing eagerness of a mole in love with life, and impatient to get on with it. While Lorren was smaller and uncertain, though like Starling a good-looking mole of glossy coat and clean paws. The third, the male, was of solid build and well contained, and took a serious stance and looked about him appraisingly but with considerable concern.

“Hello!” said Spindle in as friendly a way as he could.

The three youngsters were as startled and surprised as squirrels. Starling immediately said, “Come on!” and half laughing, half shrieking sought to lead the others away. Lorren followed willingly, shrieking too. But the male stayed still, staring, and unafraid.

“What’s your name?” he asked, as a mole asks who trusts the world, for he has never been hurt and never expects to be.

“Spindle,” said Spindle.

“I’ve heard of you!” Behind him, peering round a tunnel entrance, the two females whispered and watched, and then Lorren giggled and Starling shushed her to listen.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” said Spindle.

“If you did Starling would come and protect me,” said the youngster with complete assurance.

“And your name?” asked Spindle. Then he frowned and said, “Though I think I do know what it is.” For he did, or felt he did, as well as he knew his own.

“What is it?” asked the mole.

“You’re Bailey,” said Spindle softly.

“Yes,” said Bailey, quite unsurprised.

The two came a little closer together and the females stayed in the background, as if sensing that this was something not to interrupt.

“Why did you come here?” asked Spindle.

“Don’t know,” said Bailey. “I wanted to see Barrow Vale and Starling said today I could see what I wanted.
She
wanted to see the Marsh End. But she said she’d come with me, and Lorren had to come too. We go everywhere together. They’re like sisters to me and Starling is my best friend.”

“You’re lucky then. A mole needs friends.”

“Why did you come here?” asked Bailey.

“To meet you, I think,” said Spindle, tears in his eyes.

“Why?” asked Bailey.

“So you’d remember Spindle, all your life. And hear him tell you that you, like those other two giggling over there, are much loved.”

Bailey looked very serious.

“Are you going to take us back to the Stone now we’ve seen Barrow Vale?” he said. “Is that why you came?”

“I think so, Bailey, yes. That’s probably why I came.”

Then Bailey turned and sought out Starling and Lorren and said, “He’s going to take us to the Stone. He’s a very important mole. His name’s Spindle.”

“Hello!” each of them said, rather shyly.

“Will you tell us some things on the way?” asked Starling.

“What about?” asked Spindle, leading them back to the surface.

“Anything interesting,” said Lorren.

“Something utterly fascinating nomole else would tell us,” said Starling.

Spindle turned to Bailey, who had taken a position just short of his right flank.

“What would you like me to tell you?” he asked.

“Well, I don’t know really,” said Bailey. “Anything, I s’pose, but don’t go too fast!” And Spindle slowed, and let his son come close to him, very close.

“Then I’ll tell you about a mole called Thyme,” said Spindle.

“Is it a story?” said Lorren.

“I bet it’s about love!” said Starling.

“Will it make me nervous?” asked Bailey.

“Yes and yes and no,” said Spindle, and no happier mole than he made trek to the Stone that afternoon, with his own at his side, close as a mole could be. And of all the moles that made memories that day, as Tryfan had commanded they should, none made happier nor more durable memories than Starling, and Lorren, and Spindle, and his pup by Thyme called Bailey.