Up and up, higher and higher, so steep now that neither of them wanted to look behind them, clinging on to the loose vegetation, veering left to avoid a buttress of rock, shielding their snouts against a sudden flurry of cold and dusty wind, until...
“Is that you?
Privet?”
called a familiar voice from above.
They paused and looked up and saw the forms of two moles staring down.
“Whillan?” said Privet in a whisper.
“Praise the Stone!” And down climbed Maple beside her, putting a paw to her rump and pushing her up the last short steep part of the climb to where Whillan’s eager paws reached down and hauled her, at last, to the safety of the Stones.
“Another coming up, Whillan,” called out Maple.
And Madoc was on her way, grateful for the strong paws of the great Duncton mole, the first male, as far as she could remember, who had given her a helping paw.
But the first truly friendly male’s face she saw, and that of a mole her own age, was Whillan’s, as with a smile of welcome and a look of curiosity, he reached his paws down and pulled her up alongside Privet.
“I’m Whillan,” he said briefly, before turning away to Privet.
“My name’s Madoc,” she said in reply, but it was Maple’s great paw that patted her shoulder in a friendly welcoming way, for Whillan had gone to Privet to see if she was all right. She was more than that – for at the sight of Brother Rolt she was overjoyed, though Brother Arum had made himself scarce the moment they arrived, muttering about females being “inappropriate”.
No matter, there were other things to think about, and talk about as well. Privet had not been able to talk properly to Rolt before, but now she took her opportunity to ask about those days in Blagrove Slide and what had happened to...
“Dead,” said Rolt, sighing, “your Brother Confessor of those times is dead. But your pups. Privet, I was able to protect them at least and though one died young the other three...”
Privet lowered her snout and closed her eyes, thinking of those days and wishing life and circumstances had been different.
“Tell it me briefly for now,” she said, “for I’ll want to ask so much. But my pups, the ones that lived...?”
“The three remaining ones were safe, mole, when last I heard, but ignorant of who their mother is. They are adults now!”
“Their father...?”
Rolt sighed again, uneasily. “Some things are better left alone. He was not the mole you thought he was, not at all. Love him as he was, mole; at another time, in another place I’ll tell you more, with the Stone’s help, but for now you’ll be hungry.”
It was true, and Maple and Whillan had long since gathered what few thin worms they could find against the arrival of Privet, for they guessed she would be hungry. She and Madoc munched busily, and then stanced down to recover themselves from the long climb. When they had done so, Privet told them as succinctly as she could all that had happened to her since they had been separated by the Newborn guards. Sad and sombre were their expressions when she told them of Chater’s death and its circumstances. She did not hide the horror of his end but Whillan observed that at least she had been there, and the mole Hamble, and Chater’s beloved Fieldfare would be pleased at that if the Stone and circumstance contrived that she should hear of it.
“Hamble
will
get to Duncton Wood, Whillan, I’m sure of it,” said Privet. There was something certain about that at least. But now you must tell me how you come to be here in Caer Caradoc, safely ensconced among the Stones.”
Whillan reported what had happened, and gave what interpretation he could of the events of the preceding night, and emphasized the extreme danger they must all be in. But that done, he spent much time describing to Privet in terms of some wonder his meeting with Thripp, concluding with the same remark he had made to Maple – that talking with the Elder Senior Brother felt like talking to his own father.
“I felt he
knew
me,” said Whillan, “I felt he understood.”
Privet smiled and nodded and said, “I am not entirely surprised, my dear, though the idea that you
are
his son seems a little far-fetched to say the least of it – though more astonishing things have happened in moledom’s history! But, seriously, history shows that great spiritual leaders (and whether right or wrong, there’s no doubt now that Thripp
is
a successful spiritual leader) have the gift of making those they talk to feel wanted, loved, listened to, even needed and at home. I have no doubt that Thripp has made many moles feel as you do – his appeal is precisely that he makes each feel that he alone evokes that special, warm response.”
Whillan looked a little crestfallen and Privet patted him sympathetically and said, “My dear, I’m not much of a substitute, but it does seem that for now I’m all you’ve got.”
She stared at him intently – a look which he missed, though Maple did not – and seemed about to say something more, something comforting even; but she thought better of it, turning instead to look around at the nearby Stones.
The moment passed, and Whillan and Maple showed her and Madoc how the land lay, and where the Convocation was being held. The sloping flat top of Caer Caradoc looked deserted, and its surface was darkly mottled with shadow as the sun began to set.
“Longest Night is beginning,” said Whillan. “Whatmole could have guessed we would be here of all places to see it in!” He looked at Madoc, whose part Privet had not stinted in praising, and said, “Thank you for staying with her.”
Madoc shook her head: “My life changed the moment she made me tell her my true name. I have tasted freedom with her, and want never to taste anything else again!”
“What is it, Privet?” said Maple as the two younger moles talked, for the scribemole had hunched forward suddenly as she stared at the fading light in the west.
“It’s beginning,” she said, her voice trembling, “it’s beginning now.”
“What is, mole?” asked Rolt urgently. Whillan and the others had fallen quiet, hardly daring to breathe.
“Longest Night.
This
night. Change. What we must do. It’s near, and I... I... Listen, Maple, and listen well. You must not stay here, not you. I know...”
He had begun to protest and she put a paw to his to calm him.
“I know your task has been to protect us, but you cannot do more now. There are going to be savage times soon, most dangerous times, for ruthless though Quail may have been there will be moles who will stance up and resist what he has done and wishes to do.”
“Stow of Bourton for one!” said Maple.
“But they must not!” said Privet passionately.
“But Privet —”
“No mole, they must not, not in the old way. There is another way, a better way, the only way. You must go to them. Start in the High Wolds, for you are known and trusted there. Lead them in a new way towards peace and silence. Teach them the things we have learnt in Duncton.”
“We have been defeated in Duncton without a fight, and have undone what all our forebears did!” said Maple bitterly.
“No, my dear, we have not. We will attend the Convocation and something will come of it to guide us on, and lead others too. I know it, and feel it!”
Brother Arum came hurrying back with another of the allies of Thripp, a middle-aged mole called Boden. These two and Holt quickly conferred, then Rolt turned back to Privet.
“You’ve got to come, but it’ll only just be in time. The Convocation is beginning. The Brothers have been spoken to, they’ve been ritualized. Quail is there. Chervil is brooding, Thripp is watching from the shadows with his few friends gathered round him, so come now with me and let us salvage what we can from all of this!”
The day had grown no lighter, and high above the surrounding countryside as they were, they had the feeling that if they were any longer a part of anything, it was the grey wintry sky above. The dull grass fretted in the cold wind, and such protection as the dark Stones offered was forlorn and bleak. So that as Brother Rolt now indicated to them to follow him, and after a short and silent journey downslope they went below ground, they felt a kind of grim relief to be facing at last the dangers that had loomed so long.
They had not journeyed long down the tunnel before they turned off in a westerly direction, through passages that were large and echoing, making silent progress difficult. Here and there the dry and wormless earth was interrupted by juts of the same sandstone as composed the Caradoc Stones; below ground it was lighter in effect, for the facets of the sand particles glistened in the gloom. The sound they made might have worried them more had not the tunnels carried a general hum of activity, distant but quite noticeable. This was loudest from the downslope tunnels that they passed, and once they even heard a snatch of the rhythmic chant of male voices.
“Good, good!” exclaimed Brother Rolt.
“That means they’re pre-occupied,” said Boden with some satisfaction.
It was only when they finally took a downslope tunnel that Rolt began to betray any real concern for their safety.
“If we meet anymole, say nothing. Leave the talking to me. We almost certainly will meet some, but they won’t be expecting deceit or treachery today!”
Downslope they went, the sounds ahead becoming steadily more distinct; they heard chants, and talk, deep voices and sudden trailings away, as of a gathering crowd of moles assembling in anticipation of the start of a long-awaited ritual.
More than once they saw somemole hurrying out of a side tunnel ahead of them and then turning downslope, the way they were heading. Another time an elderly mole appeared suddenly down-tunnel of them, but as Whillan did his best to look inconspicuous, and Maple readied himself for a dispute, or even a fight, Rolt waved a paw, and the mole said, “Ah, good, you found them! Better late than never. Brother Rolt, better late than never! You know it’s to the left...”
Rolt confirmed he did and they hurried on. The walls of the tunnel had until recently been only earth, but now the sandstone appeared again on the left-paw side, forming an impressive and seemingly impregnable wall.
Just as Whillan was thinking that if they
did
get spotted they would have nowhere to escape to and hide, they heard a deep chanting behind them, and the inexorable marching of paws. Rolt turned and stopped them and they pressed themselves as best they could into the hard wall as eight brothers, marching steadily and chanting in time to their own steps, came down the tunnel from behind.
“Lower your snouts and mutter respectfully,” said Arum, suddenly decisive, and they did so, the Duncton moles following the lead set by the others. Whillan did not, or could not, work out what it was the moles were chanting, or what its significance might be. As they went past the mole at the rear of the column called back to them, “Find your places quickly. Brothers, for this day of days we brook no delays!”
Rolt followed on after him, but slowly so that soon the column and its powerful chanting went out of sight and hearing. Soon after this Rolt stopped once more and with a quick look up and down the tunnel pointed a talon at a cleft in the wall, barely more than a fissure.
“Boden, you take the lead and I’ll follow behind. The rest of you keep close together as it’s dark in places and easy to get lost.”
For a mole as large as Maple it was a tight squeeze but he managed, following after Privet whom he insisted on keeping within sight. The tunnel was not really a tunnel at all but rather a natural rift in the rock. It was not the kind of route liked by moles conscious of their safety, for they could not turn in it, and quickly escape. A force of two moles – one ahead and one behind – would have kept them all trapped without difficulty. But they pressed on, heaving and panting where fallen rock fragments presented obstacles, until with a pull from the front and a helping shove from behind they reached a spot where the fissure widened into a tunnel once more, a damp one too, for water dribbled in fits and starts down its centre; evidently, on wet days, it served as a temporary drain.
“Not a good place to be if it rained,” muttered Maple, ever the mole to be aware of the dangers of routes from which there were no quick escapes. But with Maple around others always felt safer, and knew that if a crisis arose he would know how to deal with it.
Rolt gathered them together and told them that quiet was essential, and careful movements.
“We’re soon going to be at a vantage-point from which you will be able to watch the Convocation more or less without being seen – but the emphasis is on the more or less... so be careful.”
The tunnels they were in were some of the most peculiar the Duncton moles had ever seen, being no more than cracks and fissures between solid rock which followed the rocks’ grain and fault lines, and ran straight in one direction and then angled abruptly in another, their gloomy overhanging walls towering above. The sound of the gathering nearby was as changeable as the direction they followed, being loud at one moment, soft and sibilant the next, and sometimes fading away altogether. Their route was evidently seldom used, as the soft wet sand underpaw had few prints in it, and little scent of mole.
Rolt slowed, looking back once more to indicate the need for extreme caution, and led them round another sharp comer, and what they saw took their breath away. Stretching out beneath them was one of the largest chambers any of them had ever seen, and it was filled with what at first seemed a confusion of moles – some chanting, some silent, some hurrying busily about, and other just stanced down and staring around as bemused perhaps as the Duncton moles.
The chamber was a great deal lighter than the tunnel through which they had come, and the high arched gallery in which they now silently took rest. The cavern’s roof was pitted and fissured in places with the roots of vegetation trailing down or twining about the moist rock, pale green and sinewy. Here and there the reddish-black roots of bracken and broom hung, and just off to their right a mass of them ran down the wall and disappeared into the floor below, a living column amongst the subterranean rock.