Duncton Rising (65 page)

Poor Whillan, doing his best to comfort Privet; he looked round helplessly at Madoc and his eyes expressed his bewilderment: “She’s smiling now, even laughing” they seemed to say. Madoc came over and Whillan left her to complete the job he had begun. As she did so and her paw went out to Privet’s, he could not but think that Madoc was the gentlest, kindest, most endearing female he had ever met.

The moles in the procession into the chamber had long since made their way to allotted places, Squelch having guided his singers to his original position, which he had now assumed. Thripp had stanced down on the near side of the chamber almost beneath them and unfortunately was barely visible. But Brother Quail at least could be clearly seen, for he was on the opposite side and nearly facing them.

He was a powerful and charismatic version of his fat, strange son. His paws were large and well-made, his flanks and back fleshy yet dangerously muscular, and his head as extraordinary as the Duncton moles had heard: large, round and bald, pink-grey and shining. His eyes were intelligent and clear, his snout handsome, his demeanour friendly yet awesomely personable, wise yet authoritarian, concerned yet impatient. He was a mole it was impossible for others to keep their eyes off once he was in the chamber, as if nothing of import would happen until he
made
it happen. And yet...

There was the smaller, quieter, Thripp, whose face they could not see, yet whose effect was as powerfully benign as Quail’s was disturbing. And between them was a tension that began, as dusk advanced to night, to dominate the proceedings absolutely. They had been warned several times that it was here that the future course of the Newborns would be decided, and for all Quail’s devastating takeover of the Convocation, and control of the proceedings, there was still a sense that somehow or other Thripp would find the power to countermand all Quail had done.

“There’s Chervil!” said Maple, who had been looking out for him for some time. “Over there.”

Thripp’s son was stanced on the far side of the chamber near the back, as darkly impenetrable as ever. Once he was seen he was not to be missed, for like his father, and like Quail in a quite different way, he had the charisma that attracted moles’ gazes to him. Though he was a little separate from the main body he was not alone, for either side of him, and behind as well, were three very tough-looking moles indeed. Two were younger than he, but it was the older one, who was on his right flank, who looked the toughest of all. His fur was short and grizzled and his face was lined with experience; his eyes looked this way and that all the time, alert and ready.

“It’s Feldspar,” whispered Arum.

“A good sign,” said Boden.

“What, the older mole at Chervil’s right flank?”

“Aye,” said Boden, “and two of his sons. The one behind is Fallow and that large one on the left flank – aye, that one – he’s Tarn. Brother Chervil has found himself some henchmoles.”

“Henchmoles and not guards?” said Maple doubtfully.

“Well...” began Boden, “that is a possibility, I suppose. We’re not sure of Feldspar. He used to be the Elder Senior Brother’s bodyguard years ago and I doubt there’s a more experienced fighter among the Newborns. But Brother Quail lured him across for duties concerning the Inquisitors, who certainly needed protection on some of their earlier journeys. It seems that Brother Quail has appointed him to watch over Brother Chervil.”

“But you think he and his sons may be obedient to Chervil?”

“Hard to ken. Feldspar gives little away and is not one, and never has been, to involve himself in matters of religion and faith. He regards himself as a fighter, not a brother.”

Maple looked at Feldspar with some interest, for he looked the kind of no-nonsense mole he liked. Anymole who succeeded in surviving with Brother Quail while refusing to be a “brother” must be a survivor indeed, and one who knew his own mind. As for his two sons, Maple saw they were about his own age, and what was more unusual, his own size as well.

As for Chervil, now Maple was witness to his powerful and brooding presence he realized he was as much an important part of the pattern of power in the chamber as Thripp and Quail – indeed his presence completed it. More and more Maple was glad that they were here at the Convocation, for he was beginning to feel a pattern of rivalry and change in the Newborns which opponents to them must surely understand and exploit if they were to challenge them, and properly defend the liberty of followers of the Stone.

“So now they’re all finally in place,” said Privet ironically, “and all we can do is to wait and see what the turning-point between them is going to be, and who is best prepared to meet it. So far, apart from that poor mole who has been singled out and now awaits his punishment, we have not seen much!”

“I think we’ve seen a lot,” said Whillan, “and I can’t imagine what’s going to happen now. The atmosphere in the chamber is getting heavier by the moment, as if a storm is building up which will break before Longest Night is out.”

The singing and chanting had stopped and after a period of quiet, expectant chatter, and whispering counsel among the moles on the dais, a hush had fallen; Skua, the sleek Chief Inquisitor, came forward. He bowed to Quail and then to Thripp in a brief impersonal way, lowered his snout, and began to speak. Unlike the solemn and sometimes tedious commonplaces of routine liturgy his voice was vigorous and his words challenging:

“Brothers in the Stone,

Awake, listen and respond!”

The gathering was utterly silent for a moment before with one powerful voice it replied:

“With the Stone’s help,

We shall.

In the Stone’s name,

We will.

For the Stone’s sake,

We must.”

Then Skua continued, his speech quick and his voice deep and compelling:

“Oh Stone,

Who has warned us of what

Thou wilt require of those

To whom thy grace is given,

Help us.

Make us strive together this holy day,

Make us work together this holy night,

Renew our zeal to act as one.

Oh Stone,

Save us from the consuming snake,

Protect us from the cankers of doubt,

Put into us your avenging power,

Help us.”

The response was unexpected, for while the whole gathering began with the words “Oh Stone” some continued with the following three lines, others with the next three, and a final third with the last three, until all finished simultaneously by repeating “Oh Stone!” and then a loud “Help
us
!”

The hissing echoes of
“us”
had not faded before a mole near Skua thrust his head forward towards the gathering and said:

“Brethren, it is decreed that when we are gathered in one place we shall together declare our faith aloud, that all may know in what we believe, and to what tenets our lives are made dedicate; therefore let one among you, to whom the spirit comes, rise up and state the beginning of our creed that others may remember that though we speak these words in public and together, their meaning is at its greatest when they are spoken in the silence of our hearts. May one speak now, and all follow.”

The silence was brief but impressive, and then, somewhere in the midst of the gathering, a young mole rose and spoke these words:

“I believe in Stone the Maker Almighty,

Creator of Silence and faith...”

then the rest spoke the Newborn Creed:

“I believe in Stone the Maker Almighty,

Creator of Silence and faith:

And in Beechen of the Stone our maker,

Who was conceived of the Light immaculate,

Born of the Holy Stone,

Suffered at the talons of the Word,

And was snouted, dead, and lost;

He descended into darkness,

But rose again, up into the Light,

And is stanced now in the Silence

Of the Stone, to know us and to judge.

I believe in his holy power,

In the venging of his talons,

In the savage thrust of death.

I believe in the resurrection

Of the faithful,

And the eternal damnation

Of the faithless.

I believe in Stone the Maker Almighty,

Creator of faith,

Creator of the Silence.

All this I believe.”

Whillan listened to this statement of faith with fascinated horror, and reasonable though most of the words were of themselves he was as aware as the others of the menace in them, of the threat of eternal damnation to unbelievers, and of the terrible earnest tone in which the brethren spoke.

As for the invocation of Beechen, and the story of his vile death at the paws of the Eldrene Wort acting in the name of the Stone, he was surprised, and curious. He had often wondered why the Stone followers of Duncton had not made more of Beechen and his teachings of peace and nonviolence, and understood why a creed such as this might invoke his name. But so aggressively? So judgementally? Surely this – all this – was not the Stone’s proper way, nor did it express Beechen’s vision of how moles should worship together. Yet it was impressive, and there was something to be learned from it.

As silence fell, the leader of the litany did not let thoughts wander, or allow the mounting sense of passion and purpose to dissipate. The purpose of the Convocation, it seemed, was to lead the participants on a journey whose beginning would be with the season’s turning this Longest Night, but whose ending would be far from Caer Caradoc in the months and years ahead, and would be Newborn, and absolute. A tide of history was beginning to flow before the very eyes of the Duncton moles, of a colour and in a direction they did not like but were beginning to wonder how they could stem, or re-direct.

Now Brother Skua raised a paw and cried out; “Oh let thy mouths be filled with praise!”

And the others replied, “That we may sing of thy glory this Longest Night.”

Then the next part of the statement and response came, and the next, and the one after that as the leader spoke fester and more vehemently and the gathering grew more and more frenzied and eager in its responses.

Oh let my mouth be filled with thy praise,

That we may sing of thy glory this Longest Night.

Turn thy gaze, Stone, from my sins,

And put out all our misdeeds.

Cleanse my heart of the snake and the filth of doubt,

Renew right spirit within us.

Cast me not away from thy Silence,

Nor take thy light from our dark lives.

Give me the benefit of thy close help,

And preserve us from the wicked and profane.

Strengthen my paws for thy just work,

Deliver thy enemies to us, Stone.

Weaken not my heart to the sinner,

But give our talons thy power to punish.

Save me,

Kill the snake.

Forgive me,

Punish the hypocrite.

Love me,

Destroy our enemies.

Thus did this extraordinary litany of personal statement counterpointed by general response end: brutally. From their aggressive looks, their wild breathing, their physical restlessness, it was all too plain that rather than talk about it any longer, the gathering wished now to actually kill the “snake”.