Naturally in the seven Ancient Systems, or at least those ones like Avebury, Duncton, Siabod and Rollright which were occupied by grikes, patrols and watches over the charismatic Stones were always vigilant, especially at times like the solstices when followers like to visit the Stones. Indeed, it is said that even at times of greatest curfew or abandonment many Stones were visited by a believer at Longest Night and at Midsummer. The Book of Martyrs contains several names of followers who were led by their faith at such times to such Stones, knowing that their lives would be forfeit. So did the revered Herbert of Avebury die in the dark age of Clayne in that system; and
Ferris, who gave his life at Fyfield in evil Lewknor’s time; and more recently beloved Brambling, who suffered martyrdom at Seven Barrows at the talons of the grikes.
But now it is to Rollright that a mole must go, hiding amongst the stand of oaks and ash that lie a little to the south east of the Stones there, to learn of the true beginning of Tryfan’s mission north, when in courage and humility he would seek to tell allmole of the Stone as it had been taught him by Boswell himself.
Rollright has a circle of Stones as Avebury has, but naturally in Henbane’s time the circle was heavily guarded lest followers should attempt to enter at the surface to gain the healing such circles are said to give.
Yet there are other Stones at Rollright and ones the grikes overlooked, perhaps because their name makes them sound ominous and an unlikely place for dissidents to meet.
These strange Stones, which stand to the south east of the circle, lean strangely together as if protecting each other, and perhaps a superstitious mole in the past felt they were like stoats whispering to each other before taking prey. For local moles call them the Whispering Stoats.
The wind reaches only softly into the enclave they make, for they lie in the lee of the hill where the Rollright circle rises. There, secretly, dissenters met in those days, almost within earshot of the patrolling grikes, and whispered their rituals, asking that the Stone might bring its light back to moledom and grant its Silence.
Sometimes only two or three moles met beneath the Whispering Stoats, for the followers’ numbers were hard-pressed by grikes and the spies of the sideem, and many disappeared or died. Yet always others came, whose heart had been touched by the Stone’s light and who dared speak out their faith.
A watching mole in those days when Tryfan seemed lost to the followers might well have sensed a longing in such moles; for the way of dissent is a hard one, and lonely, and such a mole finds his paws taking him through the tunnel of dark night when only hope, and faith, and love may lead him on.
Is it any wonder that at such a time, when to followers the whole of moledom seemed like a dark night, that that longing for the Stone and its Silence should find its expression in a need that then of all times, now, the Stone Mole might come? Oh, now, Stone, send him that he might help us... such was the prayer a watching mole might have heard spoken in the shelter of the Whispering Stoats....
Tryfan, Spindle and Mayweed found, as so many travellers have, that the return journey is the swifter and easier of the two. Mayweed had taken a northern route out of the Wen and it proved a wise choice, for though the obstacles and dangers were many yet the routes were fast, and before many days had passed they were back to wormful soils and safe halts while Mayweed decided on the next stage.
They had left in May, and by mid-June were clear of the worst of the Wen and able to veer north west towards Rollright. It was Tryfan’s hope to reach it by Midsummer for he believed that though the meeting with Skint and Smithills at Longest Night was past, and it was unlikely that they would have waited for so long, yet it was probable that they had arranged some message for them knowing they might themselves go to Rollright then or, like themselves, send a messenger.
But though they had started swift they began to slow as June progressed and by Midsummer were still some way outside the environs of Rollright. But at least Tryfan knew of the Whispering Stoats from Boswell, for such knowledge is part of the lore that scribemoles traditionally learn as part of their training in the lines of the Stones themselves, so they had an objective.
Spindle and Mayweed had both noticed that Tryfan, who had been quiet ever since his mating with Feverfew and the terrible events of her pupping, had become even quieter since leaving the Wen, though “quiet” is too passive a word for the state he was in.
If they had expected grief and a sense of loss in him for what he had left behind, they did not find it. Nor was his silence a matter of fatigue after the rigors of the Wen period. It was, rather, the nervousness or doubt that a mole may experience before embarking on a course for which he or she may not feel quite ready, but which circumstances dictate must now begin.
Spindle, who knew Tryfan so well, gave his support in ways few moles would easily have understood though he often seemed to go his own way and followed his interests. Yet when Tryfan needed him he was always there, as he had promised Boswell he would be, and though he never said as much in his own chronicles of his life with Tryfan, we may guess he understood that as Tryfan travelled nearer to that Silence that he sought, the demands on Spindle would become greater and more difficult to fulfil. So perhaps Spindle’s reported irritability on the journey between the Wen and Rollright reflected his own unspoken nervousness of the trials that lay ahead; and his growing realisation that they would be great indeed.
For though it is true that Tryfan was continuing with the journey that started at Boswell’s behest on Uffington Hill – although some would say that it began at Duncton’s Stone when he first left for Uffington with Boswell, and others, subtler still, would say his journey began before even that – what Spindle must have realised was that with the start of Tryfan and Feverfew’s love the nature of Tryfan’s journey had changed and deepened, and its physical direction and objective had, in a profound way, become less important than its spiritual goal.
Tryfan had loved and he had mated; and he had seen his young die. He had felt a silence between himself and his love, great and empty, and he desired to fill it, yet he knew not how but by seeking a way that would for a time take him away from where his heart desired to be.
But was Boswell’s call from Whern real? Had he imagined it? Was he running from a reality that stayed where he had left it in the Wen? And was that the way to understand the meaning and purpose of Dunbar’s scribings? Was it wrong to leave them behind rather than to go back to them, and sound them once more? And what of his dead young, whom he had failed to save? What of that?
Such questions might do more than slow a mole’s paws as he makes trek to Rollright; they might take him into his own individual dark night and leave him troubled and confused, and doubtful of his faith, or its purpose. And coupled with the passage of moleyears that had seen the loss of Duncton Wood, and the death of so many he might have loved and for whom he felt responsible, it might make that dark night seem much more than just a night, but enbleaken his whole life, and numb it. So, yes, Tryfan did slow in his progress towards Rollright, as if he sensed that once there demands would be made on him that he must fulfil, or he would finally be seen to have failed. And, yes, Spindle did grumble and complain, for he was as confused as Tryfan was, and, finally, as afraid.
Yet, it is one of the wonders of the Stone’s ministry over moles’ lives that when they strive to reach beyond the darkness towards the light, it sends them the means to do so; as if purpose and the courage of faith, especially in the darkest times, brings forth from the Stone its special and most active grace.
Active grace demands practical means, and that usually requires the right mole at the right time. It is a truth too many moles forget, or never even know, that the Stone will put them in the way of moles who can most help them when they most need them, even if such moles may not be of the Stone, or especially seeming of worthiness. But then how is a mole in darkness to make such a judgement, even assuming he has the right to do so? He had best trust the Stone to do it for him!
There came a night of crisis for Tryfan, after many days when he had said little, when they were but a day or two’s journey from Rollright. Tryfan was stressed and silent; Spindle angry and discontented. Yet not so much so that he did not have the sense to tell Mayweed, “You talk to him, for there’s nothing I can say at all. He’s morose and ill-tempered and has been contemplating the night sky for hours now and seems to have no intention of doing anything. You talk to him, Mayweed, and make him smile again.”
“Trusting Sir, Mayweed will do so, but Mayweed doesn’t happen to think that a joke or a laugh will serve. Tryfan needs something more substantial than that!”
“Well, I don’t know what it is. Just that you might be able to help.”
“Humble me will try, Sir, yes Mayweed will. He remembers that courageous Tryfan was in a tunnel under a river once, and that Tryfan was afraid. He remembers he was able to comfort Tryfan then. He thinks that perhaps Tryfan is in a tunnel again now, but a darker and longer one, without hope of light or memory of comfort. Mayweed will try to give him hope and comfort, though Mayweed is not worthy of much, so he can only do his best. He would only ask before he tries that wise Spindle blesses him, for he is very frightened too, and sometimes, like now, he shakes with fear that he might one day have to go back to the tunnels of darkness Tryfan helped him be free from.”
Then Mayweed lowered his snout and Spindle said, “Well, I’m not much of one for blessings, but I think perhaps if Tryfan was his normal self he would put his right paw on your own like this, and I think he would say...’Then Spindle fell silent, thinking of the blessings he knew and seeking to find one Tryfan might say.
Then he spoke these words softly:
Stone, bless thou this mole fearing:
By flank, by snout, by talon,
By eye, by heart he’s fearing.
Stone, guide thou this mole seeking
By flank, by snout, by talon,
By eye, by snout he’s seeking.
Stone, help thou this mole loving
By flank, by snout, by talon,
By eye, by heart he’s loving.
Stone bless and guide and love
This mole, trusting.
Mayweed found Tryfan on the surface “contemplating the night sky” just as Spindle had said he would be, and he took a stance near him without a word. He saw by such light as there was that Tryfan’s eyes were empty and desolate.
Mayweed said nothing, but crouched still and close to Tryfan so that he knew he was there to share the night with him. He stared at the darkness around them, so rich in its change and variety, and he heard the sounds that share the surface with a crouching mole. He did as Tryfan had taught him to, as Boswell had taught him, which is to breathe slow and feel each paw upon the ground one after another, one after another, as if in that rhythm a mole may become grounded again, and find his way forward.
So Mayweed felt that dark night come into him, and the dark earth beneath, and the presence of a mole he loved near him, and he whispered, “Help him, Stone, help him.”
Much later Tryfan sighed, and turned a little towards Mayweed, and said, “I am not worthy, Mayweed, although I know you think I am. But I have failed so many and come no nearer to the fulfilment of my task.”
Mayweed said nothing.
Later Tryfan said, “There’s so much to do and I know you and Spindle are waiting for me to decide where we are to go, and what we must do first. I know that....”
Mayweed said nothing.
“But I don’t know what I can do, or how I can do it, or where. I just feel I have to go to Whern, but I don’t know why. I feel Boswell must be there. But the further towards it I go, the further it takes me from Feverfew and I feel I must be there too! Moles do not like a scribemole to be in such doubt.”
Mayweed asked a question: “Troubled Sir, whom Mayweed has grown to love and trust, how do you imagine humble me finds my way in tunnels where others lose themselves? How do I choose between one way and another?”
“You must need to be very quiet to do it, very listening. I spent much of my time with Boswell learning to listen, and yet I sometimes think I never learned a thing! Which is what I told him often enough. And you know what he said? He said “Don’t try so hard. Enjoy life!’”
Mayweed laughed.
“Mayweed sometimes wishes he had met Boswell, and he hopes one day he will, since he sounds like a mole after his own heart. In fact, battered Sir, Mayweed thinks Boswell would know how to find his way through tunnels very well.”
Tryfan smiled and said, “He would be pleased to hear you of all moles say that, Mayweed. How do you choose between two routes when both seem equally attractive, or equally difficult?”
“Striving Tryfan has asked Mayweed a question which he has often thought about and will now try to answer. Humble he learned something very useful when he was small and frightened, which Tryfan may have lost sight of in the darkness he now finds himself in: a mole faced by two choices of action may forget he always has a third, which is to do nothing. Mayweed has discovered that while he is quietly doing nothing moledom shifts and changes, and the choices he faced shift too so that one that seemed difficult becomes very easy. Mayweed suspects that Tryfan has forgotten Boswell’s advice to him to do nothing and enjoy life. Mayweed humbly suggests to Tryfan that he forgets all about the choices he has to make and concentrates instead on putting one paw in front of another enjoyably. He may then find that the correct route finds his paws, leaving him free to snout about towards the light a bit more.”
Mayweed fell silent and Tryfan relaxed. Eventually he said, “Would you like to make any other suggestions, Mayweed, since that one seems to me very sound?”
“Satisfied Sir, I will make a statement rather than a suggestion. It is this. This mole, me, Mayweed by name, has found much happiness in the company of Tryfan, and he is sad that Tryfan is beset. He does not intend to leave Tryfan or scholarly Spindle, nor withdraw his guiding services from them. He is aware that both those courageous moles wish to get to Whern, and though he has never been that way he will take them there by a route that may meander somewhat since, in his view, fast is not always best. If he, modest Mayweed, guides, that leaves Tryfan and Spindle free to do what together they are best doing, which is the second part of Mayweed’s statement.
“The second part is this: Mayweed repeats what he said once before in different circumstances, namely, that when Tryfan found him he was an unhappy mole, yet today as a result of being in Tryfan’s presence he is a happy one, very happy. He humbly suggests, in fact he boldly avers, that if Tryfan would let himself be guided through this dark period by humble me, while permitting those dark visions that pass before his snout to, er, be, then in the freedom that will give him he may usefully talk with other moles we meet as he has talked with this humble mole, through which process trusting Tryfan may find he is terrific again.”
“Talk of what?” said Tryfan.
“Mayweed is not the mole to advise on that. He can only say that what may be important is not what you say but that you, Tryfan, are trying to say it. That’s what humbleness here thinks anyway.”
The two moles were silent almost to dawn when Tryfan, sounding more peaceful, said, “And what about you, Mayweed? What do you hope for now? A mate at last, as you told me when we were in Wen? Are you going to find one?”
“Meek Mayweed is not much to look at, but he cheers himself up with the though
t that nor are many females either. All in all, humble he is quietly confident on this subject. He has also concluded from observation of others that love comes when a mole least expects it, a point the troubled Sir should remember in the continuing context of striving to get somewhere when he is not sure where. So: Mayweed expects to fall in love with the mole he least expects to love. When that happens, Mayweed will try to put into practice all he has learned and hope his friends will help him as best they can.”
“We will, Mayweed!” smiled Tryfan. Then they both noticed that Spindle had quietly joined them, and Tryfan said, “Won’t we Spindle?”
“Yes!” said Spindle. “Mayweed in love would be a remarkable sight.”
“Sparkling Spindle was not there a moment ago,” said Mayweed.
“Sparkling Spindle was feeling in need of a stretch,” said Spindle.
“Well,” sighed Tryfan, “I think we all need that. So, Mayweed, where are we going today? You are now our guide north.”
Mayweed grinned.
“Rollright first,” he said. “Mayweed will snout about and ponder the point and then proceed. He suggests that Tryfan and Spindle follow sharpish as once Mayweed sets off in a cheerful mood he doesn’t like to stop!”
“Yes, Mayweed,” said Tryfan.
“Indeed!” said Spindle. “Indeed it is so!”
It was with a freer spirit that Tryfan arrived at Rollright some days later, knowing that from now on Mayweed would take all responsibility for guiding them, and feeling that in this the Stone was directing.
They made their way cautiously into the system from the south west and reached the Whispering Stoats without a mishap. There was nomole there, but they decided to stay quietly among the trees nearby in the hope that a St one follower might come who could give them news of the friends from whom they had parted so long before. They settled down for a long wait.
Duncton Quest Page 68