Duncton Quest (72 page)

“Bailey,” said Starling.

“Mmm,” said Comfrey. Then the night came deep, and Tryfan knew they would be safe for a time longer yet as the youngsters about them went to sleep, and the adults watched over them.

Cold, stiff, dawn just distant, Tryfan stirred.

At his side, warm, thin, Comfrey sighed and said, “Let me watch you go now, Tryfan, for you will be safe down there, let me see you all go to safety... and leave me here.” His eyes allowed no argument.

Then quietly the moles stirred and got up and one by one led by Smithills and Mayweed they left that Stone and set off down the steep slope to gather one last time together far below where they would disperse as they had planned.

Old Comfrey saw them go. Until just Tryfan was left, and Comfrey stirred wearily and said, “G-g-go on, Tryfan, they need you now, and they will love you as we were loved.”

Then Tryfan touched his brother one last time and turned and followed the others down into the dawn not seeing where his pawsteps went for the tears he shed for the passing of so much he had known. He looked ahead into the far distance to the Wen, where nomole had been for centuries. And he was afraid.

Yet as he went on down he knew at last with certainty what moles would travel on with him and how it must be. Only three others. Spindle for one, Mayweed for two, to guide them, and help them, and make them laugh. And last would be Starling, bright youngster, the future. Mayweed would not go without her anyway, but with her, why, she was the brightest of her generation and the Stone would protect her into the Wen and out of it! Yes, they were the ones.

Later, far downslope where the vale levelled off, Tryfan found himself surrounded by the moles one last time. All were ready to go now, many north, many south and just the four of them eastwards into the Wen.

A youngster asked, “Please, Sir, what was that Stone where we left Comfrey?”

“That was Comfrey’s Stone, the only Stone in the whole of moledom that is named after a particular mole,” said Tryfan. So simply was that place named.

“Why?” asked Starling.

“So he won’t be forgotten.”

“Well, I won’t forget him,” said Starling, “and nor will Lorren neither.” Then she thought some more and added, “And Bailey won’t when I tell him!”

“You’re sure he’s alive, aren’t you Starling?”

“Bailey’s my brother so he must be,” said Starling.

“‘Comfrey’s Stone’,” whispered a youngster, looking up at the great height they had climbed down so quickly.

“Yes,” said Tryfan. “Remember that place, for I think that one day, a long way off perhaps, something that moledom will never forget will happen there. Remember that Stone! Tell your kin of it!”

As they stared upwards they saw the light of the rising sun touch the great scarp face, and at its top, where the Stone stood, the sun seemed to cast a point of light so bright that it took a mole’s breath away.

“Did we climb down all that way?” asked Lorren in awe.

“Of course we did,” said Starling.

“You see,” whispered Tryfan, “that is Comfrey’s Stone, and a mole that can reach it, and touch it, will surely one day find his way home... Now, go as we have planned. Go secretly, carefully, this way and that way, go with moles you know and trust, go now....”

Then they did so, quietly, some touching their farewells, others saying them, to north they went and south, Lorren with Holm, for she was older now and could say farewell to her sister Starling, for there comes a time for sibling goodbyes. Then Alder was gone with Marram, strong into the day. And good Smithills, reluctant to leave his friends and saying how they would meet soon enough, up in Rollright, and Skint would tell them all his news....

Until only Tryfan was left, with Spindle, much moved by the partings, and Starling tearful but brave, and Mayweed, near her, four moles to go east.

“Come then!” said Tryfan.

“Tryfan, Sir, and splendid Spindle, and bold Madam Miss, Mayweed is honoured, Mayweed is thrilled, Mayweed will not let you get lost!” said Mayweed.

“Come!” repeated Tryfan; and Spindle smiled, and Starling’s heart raced with the excitement of it all as she tried to look adult and nearly succeeded.

While running behind the three of them, Mayweed looked this way and that, as was his habit, for a mole had best remember where he has come from if he is to find his way back. Then, one by one, they were gone, among the trees, towards the heart of the Wen.

While watching over all the moles of Duncton as they lost themselves in the vales far below, by Comfrey’s Stone, was a wise and loving mole, still now, so still; and a light greater than the sun’s was on him.

Much later, at mid-morning, grike guardmoles came huffing and puffing up the long chalk slope and found not the many moles they were hoping for, but just one, lying still and cold by a great Stone.

“Move him,” their leader said harshly. “Hang him up for others to see.”

But the sun was in the east, bright and blinding, and its rays touched the Stone massively, shining and fierce, and the grikes backed away, and there was not one there, not a single one, who dared go near the old mole where he lay under the protection of the Stone, and touch him.

So their leader himself, a tough grike, a seasoned campaigner, approached the mole, the light of the sun so bright that he could barely see, but when he touched the mole – why, he was unable to move him for sound seemed to go and a terrifying Silence was on him.

He backed off with a curse, said it didn’t matter, said they would rest. They would find living moles. Yes, they would and when they did they would do as Henbane had bid them, which was to kill them. Let none survive, but those she had named.

“Aye!” shouted the grikes to raise their faltering spirits. But their shouts seemed lost and weak against the bright sky into which that Stone rose, protecting its own.

Chapter Thirty

The moleyears of that summer were busy ones at Duncton Wood, full of decisive comings and goings, as the grikes, led by Henbane of Whern, used it as the temporary centre of their operations.

Henbane had never felt better, and nor had Weed ever seen her so, as if final victory over the moles of the Stone, which the invasion of Duncton had come to symbolise, had seemed to revive in her a spirit and energy which she had had when she had first left Whern and Rune so many moleyears before, but which she had lost along the way of southern advance and imposition of the Word.

Once the initial anger and affront that had accompanied the entry into Duncton Wood had quite gone, she acted once more with purpose and resolution, bringing to a triumphant close her long campaign as she gave out order after order for the final subjugation and transformation of moledom to the way of the Word. The operation against the retreating Duncton moles had been as successful as a mole could expect. They had been tracked to a Stone to the west of the Wen and from there a good number had been chased and caught as they tried to flee to north and south. All those caught had been killed after they had been made to talk.

The mole Tryfan and a few others of no importance had travelled on eastwards and Wrekin’s moles had not found him. But that was now of no great consequence, for Wrekin, showing an unusual cunning for so straightforward a mole, had let the word go out that Tryfan
had
been found, and had exchanged his life for information about the whereabouts of the Duncton moles. In short, Wrekin’s guardmoles told all moles they met that the great Tryfan had betrayed his system and his followers to save his own life.

Wrekin was not so foolish as to suggest Tryfan had been killed, for there was always the possibility that he would reappear, though it seemed unlikely since he had gone towards the heart of the Wen, and the grikes who had tried to follow him reported that the going had become so difficult for them that it seemed unlikely that moles would have got much further and survived. Roaring owls, twofoot gazes, fumes, vibration, concrete, tunnels that flooded, rats... the grikes barely got out alive. Nomole could survive in the Wen for long they said.

Wrekin was not so sure. Tempted though he was to spread the rumour that Tryfan was dead he resisted it, and sowed the seed of betrayal instead. He knew that not all the Duncton moles would have been caught and that those who had not would hear these stories, and be cast down by them.

If they gave themselves up, and were willing to Atone, the grikes said, then they might be allowed to live. Another lie. A few did give themselves up, hoping, perhaps, that they could find a peaceful integration in grike-run systems, with the possibility that in the moleyears to come there would be change, and Duncton would be accessible to them again. But they were vain hopes indeed: for each of those moles was interrogated, and killed. But of
that
the grikes kept silent.

So, according to Wrekin’s assessment, the Duncton moles were destroyed as a viable force by late August, and their leadership discredited, and Henbane was well pleased with Wrekin when he came back from that campaign.

“I could have wished that you had found Tryfan, and those others I named, but despite that your guardmoles seem to have done well.”

Wrekin smiled grimly.