Then as Feverfew encircled him with joy, and licked him, the moles who watched dared come closer. And as they did they heard that pup’s first mewing cry go up and cross the sky.
Then with joy those pupless moles came to gaze on him, and sigh as his mother pushed him to her and he sucked. The old, the diseased, the unsure; all were allowed to see, all to share. All moledom was represented that night before the Stone where he was born. Even those of the
Word were there, and those with no belief. And some near death, like Thrift, who yet lived to see the Stone Mole born. And even those who could not see came near.
“’Tis I, Tryfan, Teasel. Now show me where to look.”
“But you can see, Teasel. Your darkness is gone.”
The light of the star touched the flank of the Stone Mole, and seemed to shine on Teasel’s face; and so she saw and knew a miracle.
“Why he’s special, he is,” said Teasel with joy, and she passed on to let others take her place and see as she had done. This was the first healing the Stone Mole made.
Hay was there, and Heather, and so many more. A pup had been born to moles who felt they had nothing. That night was a beginning indeed.
Until, when the last had seen, Tryfan spoke to Feverfew and she nodded. She took the pup up and slowly carried him out of the circle and down into the tunnels to a burrow where Rebecca and Bracken had lived; where Tryfan himself was born.
There Feverfew encircled the Stone Mole and said, “Leve us nu, wee ar wel, and welbiloved. Lev us to slep, myn der.”
Which Tryfan did, going back up to the surface, staring at the Stone, and feeling that strange wonder and fear such as a father might feel on a birthing night. Wonder at the life that has come, fear at the beginning and change the birth marks.
Then out of the darkness beyond the Stone more moles came, and their gait he knew, and their voices he had heard before. Smithills, then Bailey, then Marram and finally Skint, who all gathered about him.
Light shone upon the group of moles and though all had their sorrows all felt joy too.
“We shall celebrate as Spindle would have had us do.” said Tryfan, though his voice was a little sad.
Above them that star shone, and in the wood and down the slopes wondering moles went, joyful and glad.
“As I remember there’s as good a communal tunnel here in the Ancient System as we’re likely to find,” said Skint. “Must be worms, must be moles, must be song.”
“Aye,” said Smithills, “and between us we’ve got tales to tell!”
Tryfan thought then of the many moles he and Spindle had met on their journeys. Of them all it would have been hard to say which ones he would have had with him that night in Spindle’s absence.
He was glad to see Bailey, younger than them all and a mole who had travelled far, though he might only know that in time. Glad, too, that of all moles it was good-natured Smithills and reliable Skint who had made their way back to Duncton that night. Content to see Marram, who had been one of those at the Seven Stancing in Buckland, when he had felt that something had changed in moledom and a journey was begun.
He looked about him. Four and himself made five. Five to bless the Stone Mole. It was enough and yet he wished....
Just then there was a rustling among the trees to their right, a certain surreptitiousness. Then silence. Moles snouting about. Moles coming near.
“Sideem!” whispered Skint, taking firm stance.
“Guardmole!” said Bailey going to his side.
“Grike!” said Smithills. “If it’s a fight then count me in,” he added raising his talons for the third time that day.
Then out of the darkness came a voice, a much loved voice, a needed voice.
“Misguided and about-to-be amazed Sirs, Mayweed regrets that not for the first time, nor for the last, you are wrong. Humble he is not sideem, or guardmole or grike, but simply humbleness himself.”
Then Mayweed – and the others were indeed amazed – came out into the open by the Stone saying, “He greets you in the fur and flesh and says, “What a night! What a time for a mole to be alive!” He asks you to welcome, too, his comfortable consort Sleekit! And saying that, humbleness finds he has nothing left to say until he is greeted and offered a worm, or two.”
“Why ’tis none other than Mayweed himself!” said Smithills.
“Agedly rotund Smithills, you are perspicacious,” said Mayweed. Smithills laughed and clapped Mayweed on the shoulder.
“Nomole would be more welcome here tonight than you, Mayweed,” said Tryfan, speaking for them all, “and nor is there one to whom each of us owes more.”
“Aye,” said Skint, “every word that Tryfan says is true. Nomole is more welcome to me, or to Smithills here!”
With which, with nods and smiles, both Bailey and Marram agreed.
Mayweed opened his mouth to speak, but the more he saw the moles about him, and the way they stared at him with such love and good cheer, the less did he find himself able to speak. So he turned to the Stone with the light it held shining on him and his scalpskinned flanks, and he bowed his balded head, lowered his snout before it and all he could say as tears came was, “Stone, Mayweed is a happy mole tonight.”
Then he turned back to his friends and as they touched him and Sleekit with affection and love, so they touched the others. Then, looking about them all, Tryfan saw they were seven now, and he knew that the Stone spoke to him, and told him where that night each would know Silence.
“Come,” he said softly, “for we have a prayer and a dedication to make, and when we’ve made that we shall talk indeed, to find out by what various ways we came here, with Mayweed to talk last, for surely his way will have been the most mysterious! Now come....”
Then he led them to the tunnel down which earlier he had taken Feverfew, and took them quietly to the burrow she was in. Softly then they entered, and in their eyes, and on their faces, and over their paws did the light of the Stone Mole shine.
Tiny he was, and vulnerable, but he was moledom’s own to protect and nurture until the day might come when he would show all moles how they might hear the Silence for evermore.
Then those seven moles encircled the sleeping Feverfew and her pup and one to one their shining paws did join.
“Seven moles are we, come to the Stone and the Mole it sent,” said Tryfan. “Seven moles to witness as guardians and friends. Whatever moles we are, whatever moles we were, whatever moles we may still be, we make a Seven Stancing and dedicate our lives to him who has come and the Silence he brings. We remember the moles we loved who had faith that he would come, we think of the moles we have yet to know, whose faith will draw us on. Seven moles are we, come to the Stone and the Mole it sent. Before him we offer what Silence we have found, and wait to hear the greater Silence he will give.”
In the centre of that burrow in the ancient part of Duncton Wood, the Stone Mole stirred, and turned, and was safe. Blind he was, and vulnerable, but nomole ever had better guardians than he as those seven who encircled him; nor a mother who put her paws about a pup with such faith, and gentleness, and trust. Then the seven left his burrow in peace, to talk into the night, and share their memories and speak of their hopes.
While above them all, rising it seemed to the very star itself, the Stone shone forth, and its light seemed to travel far across moledom. For that night of nights moles began to know themselves at last, turning one to another to say, “He has come at last; the Stone Mole has come.” Everywhere moles knew it to be so, and that knowledge touched their hearts with love, and hope, and joy. And moledom was filled with their song.
Epilogue
Far have we travelled with Tryfan, and soon further must we go to know the final truth of Boswell, of the Stone and of Duncton Wood. The tale must be told of the Stone Mole’s life, and the great Teachings he brought; with that, too, we must relate the story of the mole whom Boswell prophesied would come, whose knowledge of the Stone, whose wisdom, and whose courage, led her to be
the first mole to know full Silence in life and so make all moles see that they might know it too. Such will be the story of Duncton Found.
Duncton Found, the third and final part of The Duncton Chronicles, will be published in 1989. Moles, and others, who would like to reserve a signed copy of the hardback should write to William Horwood, c/o Century Hutchinson Publishing Group Ltd, Brookmount House, 62-65 Chandos Place, Covent Garden, London, WC2N 4NW.
The ePub edition will be available September 2011.
Table of Contents
Title page
Copyright
Contents
Prologue
PART I
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
PART II
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
PART III
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
PART IV
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
PART V
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Epilogue
Duncton Quest Page 91