Duncton Quest

by William Horwood

  For now, it was enough that he saw how powerfully entrenched the grikes had become, and how wise Tryfan had been to retreat and disperse to await such time as conditions were ripe for the Stone followers to re-emerge into light. System after system that Alder passed near or actually went through was well organised for the Word, with powerful and effective eldrenes, obedient moles, and no evidence of much interest in the Stone. Such as there was was negative, for moles did as the sideem had planned they should, which was to blame the Stone for the plague years, and to see Henbane and the grikes as their saviours; and, most alarming of all, to dismiss the period of snoutings and massacres and outcastings as a necessary time of countering the evil of the Stone believers’ indulgence and superstition with the Atoning redemptive might of the Word.

  News of Duncton’s defeat had gone ahead of Alder and Marram, along with stories of cowardice and treachery by the Duncton moles themselves. Since Alder and Marram knew these to be false, they were well able to disbelieve the more ominous story they also heard, of Tryfan’s capture and his betrayal of his fellow moles. Yet such stories naturally concerned them, and might in moles of lesser faith have bred doubt and disaffection. But Alder’s reaction to such false rumours was to make him all the more determined to establish contact with other moles of the Stone and organise resistance.

  But Alder and Marram did more on that journey than observe the state of different systems. They also had the opportunity to learn something of what moledom had been before the decline of faith in the Stone. Coming as they had from systems of the Word and with a faith in the Stone that was so far untutored, they had none of the experience of rituals and traditions which moles from Stone systems had.

  But they had curiosity, and for that reason, on the way to Siabod, Alder and Marram began to deviate from a direct route here and there to investigate those places which Tryfan had told them were once strong of the Stone, and still must have their Stones where a few brave followers might still be. No doubt they realised that such moles, if they still existed, would in future moleyears be needed and not only for the power of their talons. In fact they met few moles at such sites until later in their journey, and instead the visits were a time of wonder and contemplation as they stared, in simple awe, at the great deserted Stones and wondered where their power came from.

  Alder remembered always the strange interlude with Tryfan out on the surface of Buckland, when by some power that Tryfan had drawn on he was made to see plain the wrongs of the Word as if he could see them all the way across moledom. He remembered too the peace he had felt afterwards, and something of its Silence, and matter of fact though he was by nature, that memory had left such a mark on him that he desired to meet moles who had faith, that he might learn from them, and know more of the Silence he had so briefly been made to hear.

  In a strange way Marram understood this, as if Alder emanated some light from the memory he had and Marram could see it, and seek to follow it as well. Indeed, quite often, while Alder was busy assessing the systems they went through for their strengths and weaknesses Marram, dour though he might seem at times, was able to discover places of the Stone and lead Alder to them as if to say: There you are, it’s nothing much to do with me, but I thought you might like to see this Stone....

  So it was that on the way to Siabod they visited many obscure Stone sites and found that while most of these places were quite deserted, some still had fresh tunnels and signs of mole habitation, though nomole came out of hiding to greet the two travellers.

  “I get the feeling at the Stones that we’re often being watched,” said Alder.

  “More than likely, but it’s no good chasing after shadows because these moles, if they’re here, will be used to hiding and evasion.”

  “Aye, that’s right, they’d have to be to have survived a grike invasion this long.”

  It occurred to Alder only after several such Stone visits that perhaps there was something they could do to make contact with moles of the Stone.

  “If I was really educated to the Stone like Tryfan or Spindle,” said Alder one day, “and I was watching moles like us visit such a place, what would I want to see? I’ll tell you Marram: I’d want evidence that the visiting moles believed in the Stone. So from now on, whatever Stone sites we go to, we touch the Stone and generally make it look as if we are experienced followers. Right?”

  Which is what they did for the rest of their journey, touching each Stone they found, crouching by it so long as they were reasonably certain that grikes weren’t about, and generally acting as they imagined followers would act.

  “And the strange thing is, Marram,” Alder said one day in November as they were reaching the higher ground of the Welsh Marches and beginning to sense that they would soon reach Siabod, “I enjoy touching the Stones, I feel better for it! Maybe they do have the powers Tryfan believes they have after all!”

  “Maybe!” said Marram.

  But for all his unwillingness to admit such a thing Marram still insisted on touching each Stone as well, and would look round at them with longing as they left such sites, the more so if he thought Alder was not looking.

  “Well, we’ll be at Caer Caradoc tomorrow, and that’s one of the seven Ancient Systems, though not lived in for generations according to Tryfan. But if any Stones have an effect on us those at Caradoc should,” said Marram. And they did.

  They reached Caer Caradoc as the first snow of the season came, light and powdery and making those higher parts look cleaner and more clear after the drudgey look of autumn when bracken wilts and the leaves of trees have begun to disintegrate across the ways moles go and make them difficult to pass.

  So they came to Caradoc, and hurried among the Stones that rise there to find shelter from the biting wind.

  They stared about, snouted here and there for enemy, found none, and then, ever mindful that they might be watched by Stone followers, chose the finest Stone of several there and, shivering a little and keeping their snouts from the wind, touched it and made obeisance.

  It was as they were doing this that they both, simultaneously, sensed mole nearby, watching mole, and they stiffened ready for attack.

  With the slightest of gestures Alder indicated that they would stay still until provoked: he had the feeling that in the shadow of the Stone a mole of faith does not attack another first.

  So they waited, and the movement nearby increased and then stopped as a mole watched from somewhere behind, uncertain and, perhaps, afraid. After what seemed a long wait they heard a slight movement again and a voice said, “Welcome, moles, to Caer Caradoc!”

  Alder swung round as Marram stepped back to take a covering stance.

  The mole was two cycles of seasons old, and unkempt, as if he had been in a strong cold wind, and his voice was thin and accented. He crouched before them openly but with a diffidence approaching fear, and said, “I was expecting you! You’re the moles who —”

  “Expecting us?” asked Alder.

  “Word gets about, especially of moles who make a point of visiting Stones as you have done. But whether you were grike spies or followers, we did not know.”

  “Do you know now?” asked Alder.

  The mole laughed nervously.

  “Followers, I think and hope! But if you are spies we’ll know soon enough from what you say, and you’ll not leave these parts alive.”

  “And you, mole?” said Alder, speaking in the way of natural authority that had come to him by then: “Your name?”

  “You may call me Caradoc. I watch over these good Stones, and have done since my father died. I am the last mole of this system, or the first when the good day comes.”

  “The good day?” said Alder.

  “The great good day, when the Stone Mole comes. That day Caradoc will be re-born.”

  “He’s coming here?” said Alder, looking about the desolate place with surprise. “Aren’t there better places for the Stone Mole to go to?”

  “Better places, yes, and I’v
e no doubt he’ll go there first. But this is one of the Ancient Seven and he’ll come here one day. My father said it, his father said it, his father said it, and his father before him; and I? I believe it. Well, I’m the last until I have some young and one of them will believe it as I do, and one after that if need be. But I hope I see the Stone Mole myself.”

  There was silence then and the wind blew and though the mole looked cold and his snout was blue he seemed not to feel it much.

  “Whither are you bound, moles, and why?” he asked. “I know what you have said in systems you’ve visited, for I’ve been told, but it can’t be the reason.”

  “What did we say?” asked Marram.

  “That you are on a special mission and on the way to Siabod. You’re not grike spies, are you?”

  “No we’re not,” said Alder simply, and he knew he was believed. Knew, too, that before the Stone a mole does not easily lie and this mole Caradoc knew it as well, for his eyes had not left Alder’s once.

  “I see you speak the truth,” he said.

  “We come from a long way off to the east, a very long way. And we go to Siabod because we’ve heard it is resisting the grikes and we will join the moles there, and help them if they’ll let us.”

  “Where are you from then?” asked Caradoc.

  “I thought you knew everything about us!” said Alder with a smile.

  “Not everything, no. Only heard of you in August and you haven’t been saying anything of where you came from.”

  “From Duncton Wood,” said Alder.

  The mole heard him but, if he looked anything at all, it was doubtful.

  “Your accent is northern,” said the mole. “Duncton’s southern.”

  “He didn’t say we were born there, he said we came from there,” said Marram.

  “You’re not pulling my paw are you?” said Caradoc, his eyes suddenly excited and hopeful.

  “No,” said Alder, “we’re not.”

  “We’re too bloody tired to go round pulling moles’ paws,” said Marram.

  “But —?” began Caradoc, evidently too full of questions and excitement to know how to continue.

  “You trusted us, mole, we’ll trust you and tell you who we are and what we wish to do,” said Alder. “Perhaps you can help us. We were sent to Siabod from Duncton by a mole called Tryfan.”

  “Tryfan!” exclaimed Caradoc. “Well bless me!”

  “Aye, Tryfan sent us,” continued Marram. “We’re going to Siabod and....”

  “And we have much news for the Siabod moles, and much to ask them. They stand alone now against the grikes, and we’ve heard they stand bold. But the grikes are getting stronger. We know of fighting, and we know of grikes, and we know much that might help them. From Tryfan we bring messages of hope and purpose and greetings of the Stone. Tryfan is our leader and we his emissaries.”

  “What message do you bring?” asked Caradoc.

  Alder looked up at the Stones about them, and on to the snow-touched hills beyond, and said, “That though night has now come to moledom and the grikes rule wide and strong, yet light will return and with it a different sound than that which dark talons make will be heard by allmole.”

  “And what sound would that be?” whispered Caradoc.

  “The sound of Silence,” said Alder.

  Caradoc’s eyes filled with tears as he stared at Alder and heard his words. The wind blew cold about them and yet not one of them felt it.

  “Though we come from Tryfan, we know little of the Stone ourselves,” said Alder. “We desire to know more. We’ve been visiting Stone sites all along our journey, and we’ve felt other moles watching, but you’re the first who has come to talk to us. So tell us, mole.”

  “The most a mole can do is reveal something of himself,” said Caradoc, “and that’s not easy. But I’ll tell you how I came to be here, and why I came out into the open to ask you who you were....

  “Moleyears ago two moles came here as you have done. It was before I was born, before you were born, I think. Their names... aye, I see you know their names. Their names were Bracken and Boswell, one of Duncton and one of Uffington. They came here at Longest Night and they prayed by the Stones and a mole watched them as I watched you. That mole watching them was my father.

  “He was timid, was my father, and yet he had faith. That’s why for so many Longest Nights he came up to this abandoned place and said the rituals as he had been taught. That night he came up and found those moles here before him and he was very frightened, for he feared they might hurt him. He had been too long alone in his faith, you see.

  “So he watched, and he heard what that mole Boswell said as he prayed to the Stone, and he told me it was like nothing he had ever heard before: it was beautiful, he said. Then he knew they were not moles to fear....”

  “So did he greet them?” asked Alder.

  Caradoc shook his head and lowered his snout, as if ashamed of his father.

  “Felt he wasn’t worthy, you see. Felt he was nothing. Felt ashamed for his system. He sensed that the mole Boswell was special, very special. Not much of a mole to look at – he had a withered paw as a matter of fact and limped – but my father was frightened of him.

  “Later, when they had gone, he heard who they were. How they went to Siabod, how another called Rebecca came, heard all of that. Moles hereabouts know that story well. Aye, many said that it was the beginning of the Stone Mole’s coming. Most believe that.

  “Well now, my father changed after that Longest Night. Come the spring he found a mate, which wasn’t easy for a nervous mole like him. That was my mother. Out of the three pups born I was the one he put his faith in because he said I was the most timid of the three, as he had been!” Caradoc laughed affectionately at this memory. “Aye, well... I was the one to carry on. He told me all he knew. He used to say he had only one regret and that was that he did not have the courage to speak to Boswell and ask for his blessing. He said to me, ‘Look lad, when moles come up here you’ll be afraid, but don’t do as I did and hide. You trust the Stone and say hello. Promise?’ So I promised!”

  “So when we came today you did as you had promised him,” said Alder.

  “I did,” said Caradoc, “and I’m glad I did though I’ll tell you this: when two great moles like you, with strong talons and fierce expressions suddenly appear, it’s a bit of a shock to a mole. Not that you’re as big as some of the Siabod moles, but you’ll do!

  “Now, you’ll need help to get to Siabod, for the grikes are entrenched around its accessible eastern and northern parts now. Even if you got to its tunnels you’d not easily find the moles you need to find.”

  “Will you help?” asked Alder.

  “I will!” said Caradoc excitedly. “I’ll take you to Capel Garmon which is as near as you can get to Siabod without needing guides. There I know moles who’ll take you on to where you need to go. I know the Stone sent you, I do know that!”

  “How do you know?” asked Alder.

  “Because moles like you are needed now. You know why I came up to the Stones today? I came to pray. I came to ask for help.”

  “Why now?” asked Marram.

  “Because Siabod is nearly Siabod no more. The Siabod moles are tired and dispirited and nearly beaten. Many have fled, many have gone over to the grikes. They’re bold, yes. They’re fighters, yes. But moles can only go on so long alone and they’ve been alone too many years. All the moles hereabouts know that, but there’s not much we can do against the grikes. But the Stone... well, I thought if I came....”

  “So long as there’s one mole prepared to take stance and fight then the grikes can still be defeated,” said Alder.

  “Then come with me, Alder and Marram, come now, for there’s moles who need to hear you say that, and be shown how to take stance. They’re not moles you’ll ever be ashamed of to have at your side.”

  “Then take us to them!” said Alder, and northwest towards Siabod they went.

  The final part of th
eir journey to the edge of Siabod was into high, rough country and took them some moleweeks.

  “It would have been quicker to go by the river valleys Bracken and Boswell followed when they came to Siabod, but now those parts are grike-controlled and even if you could bluff your way through some of them it’s not worth the risk,” explained Caradoc. “Also it may be best if your coming is not suspected by the grikes or even some of the Siabod moles.”

  Alder must have looked surprised at this for Caradoc added cryptically, “Traitors and cowardice. I understand that the grike siege has broken the spirit of many Siabod moles and they are willing to inform on their system in return for a promise of safety. So far the grikes have not accepted that.”

  “They wouldn’t,” said Alder shortly. “It is their way to engender so much fear in a system that when they do finally enter it the moles give up without a struggle and fall over themselves to inform on their fellows and serve the Word.”

  “Well, that’s how it is at Siabod now, and I’m told the communal tunnels are heavy with suspicion. Nomole trusts another. But we of the Stone have our ways of knowing others who are true, and if I can get you to Garmon then I can put you into the paws of moles you can trust.”

  But perhaps “if” was the more important word for now. The weather had worsened, which in North Wales means that it had gone from bad to very bad. The powdery snow that had made the landscape seem chilly but tranquil at Caradoc had given way to bitter winds that carried hail and sleet, and drove into the eyes and snout of an advancing mole to make his vision blurred and his spirit low. They had hoped to catch an early sight of Siabod itself but were disappointed.

  “Are we near Siabod yet?” they asked Caradoc from time to time.

  “Not far,” said Caradoc. “You may be eager to see it but it’s a sight to shrivel a mole’s hopes. Not a place for normal mole.”

  “So when were you last there?” asked Marram.

  “Me, mole? I’ve never been there. Never will. Warned off it by my father.”

  “What did he know of it?”