Duncton Rising (79 page)

But whatever power it was that seemed that night to be drawing the thoughts of so many across moledom towards Duncton Wood, there was not much evidence of it yet in Duncton itself All poor Pumpkin could think of was how to stay upright on his paws as he was rushed along an obscure night-fraught path by young Cluniac, a mole he was beginning to dislike intensely. All this “Please hurry up” and “Watch that root!” and “We’re never going to make it if you stop for breath!” was not doing Pumpkin’s heart any good at all.

“I am being as quick as I can, young mole,” he puffed at one point, as Cluniac heaved him to his paws again after yet another tumble, “but it’s... not easy in this dark, following a path I’ve never been on and aware that moles hereabout might well have another go at killing me! Drowning isn’t very nice, I can tell you.”

“Please, sir, stop talking and put your best paw forward!”

“Best paw forward indeed!” muttered Pumpkin to himself. “I’m not a pup in need of homilies and encouragement, I’m... I’m...”

Well, he knew what he was: he was alive, and he was a lucky mole. This night Sturne had proved himself a friend beyond compare, and this brave, young, and marginally irritating mole was no doubt risking his life for him as well. No, no, Pumpkin said to himself, I’m not really annoyed at all.

Thwack!

“B... b... botheration!” exclaimed Pumpkin as a stem of bramble bashed him in the eye. “How much further?”

“Not far,” whispered Cluniac, pausing for a moment as he too caught his breath. “We’re clear of the Marsh End now where I was most worried about getting caught, and now we’re heading up to the Eastside.”

“To escape, you mean?”

Cluniac nodded wearily.

“No, no, I forbid it!” cried Pumpkin, despite his aches and pains and weariness. “Others will be in danger once Brother Inquisitor Fetter discovers I have escaped. We must do what we can to alert them, we must!”

To Cluniac’s astonishment Pumpkin clearly meant what he said, and began to snout about towards the west, no doubt in an effort to find a path towards Barrow Vale. For a moment the youngster was so amazed that he did nothing but watch the library aide. Until Longest Night just past he had always thought of him as a stubborn old mole with nothing much about him at all. He had said as much to his mother Elynor, who had rounded on him fiercely and said, “Pumpkin? He’s one of the finest there is, and don’t you ever think otherwise. It’s moles like him preserve our liberty, as they always have. You think it’s been easy for him pretending to be Newborn, and working up there in the Library” for that treacherous, cruel mole Sturne? No, don’t you underestimate the power of a traditional Duncton mole once he’s riled. Oh yes, Pumpkin’s a mole in a million all right, and we older moles know it.”

Now, as Cluniac watched the old mole forget all about his fears and hurts in an effort to go to the aid of others, he knew it too; and knew as well that what he had done this evening had been the best thing he had ever done. To save such a mole, to assist him...

“Sir! It’s been taken care of! You’ve no need to worry, it’s not just us who are escaping.”

Quickly he told Pumpkin what had happened – about the missive he had received, and how he had gone down to the Marsh End while the secret followers gathered themselves to escape up to the Stone according to a plan pre-arranged by Drubbins and Elynor before the former’s death.

“There’s others led by my mother Elynor on the Westside and they’ll be waiting for us. We’re to join a few older moles here on the Eastside, and then all go on together to Elynor, though they may have gone ahead by now. We didn’t

know how long it would take to rescue you, you see, sir.”

“Onwards and forwards and upwards then!” cried out Pumpkin with renewed spirit. He knew well enough whatmole must have sent the missive to Cluniac – Sturne, of course. His resourcefulness knew no bounds!

“Before it,” said Pumpkin to himself, “what are my puny aches and pains? What are my fears? As nothing!”

Then, seeing that Cluniac appeared to be slowing. Pumpkin urged him on: “Hurry, mole! Don’t dawdle! No time for pauses!”

“Yes, sir!” puffed Cluniac, thinking that for the first time in his life he was beginning to see what this Duncton spirit old moles rabbited on about really was. Well, if an old library aide like Pumpkin could display it after all he had been through, he was not going to let the system down!

So it was that a short time later the two moles chased up a final slope, rushed round a tree root and found... nothing.

“They’ve gone on!” said Cluniac with some concern and disappointment. “Gone on across the system to where Elynor will be. I thought one of them at least might wait.”

“No matter,” declared Pumpkin, who felt disappointed too and wondered how he would keep on going. “At least we’re on more familiar territory. On we go!”

The wind was stronger now, though they were deep enough in the wood for its full force to be taken by the leafless branches above their heads. But sleet was scudding between the dark treetrunks in a most unpleasant way.

“I’ll take tunnels where I can!” said Cluniac, his spirit revived by Pumpkin’s.

They ran on through the night, pausing only twice more; once because Pumpkin thought he saw guardmoles lurking, and the second time because they heard the growl of alien voices in a nearby tunnel.

They diverted on to the surface, for the first time thankful for the noise of the rising wind which masked their pawsteps. On they went, across-slope to the west until at last they neared the meeting-point. Up a slope, past a timid watcher, and they were falling exhausted among a cluster of wan and frightened moles who had been waiting for them with increasing trepidation since darkness had fallen.

“Cluniac!” said the doughty Elynor, 1 knew you’d be all right. And you Pumpkin, battered but not bowed!”

“Correct, madam,” said Pumpkin, at whose name the moles about them let out a ragged cheer.

He had been feeling more tired yet more excited with each step he and Cluniac had taken since the Eastside but now he only dimly knew the way, for much had changed since he was young. Above them the night was wild and bitter, the wind hurling the debris of soil, humus and sleet down at tunnel entrances, while where roots of trees broke into tunnels they heaved and stressed dangerously, seeming positively alive.

The light was livid and strange, as it often is when wild winds blow through a wintry snowbound wood. In some places there was absolute darkness, but mostly it was shadows and light, and the sense that anything might move, and all spelt danger.

To Pumpkin’s surprise the followers Elynor had gathered were out on the surface of the wood – huddled in the twisted protection afforded by the roots of an ancient oak across which one of its branches had fallen long ago. There were fourteen or so moles huddled there in all, with two posted as lookouts. On the last part of the journey to reach them, which was on the surface, Pumpkin had found himself battered by sudden violent assaults of wind, which hurled sleet into his eyes and made easy balanced progress quite impossible.

“We had better set off immediately!” said Elynor the moment Pumpkin and Cluniac arrived. “You can tell us about your journey later. The others were disturbed and so they came on, with a couple of moles taking another route in an effort to divert the Newborn guardmole who nearly found the group. I pray they may join us later.”

“Did you get the two you mentioned?” asked Cluniac.

Elynor nodded in the direction of the others and Pumpkin saw two very old moles, both of whom he vaguely remembered, though he had long since forgotten their names. They were a pair, both frail but with the female looking a little stronger and doing her very best to protect her mate from the cold winds. His flanks shivered pathetically and he looked frightened and despairing. Instinctively Pumpkin went nearer, and the rest of the huddling group raised their heads against the elements to look at him, some hopeful, some weary, all trusting.

“He’s come... he’s here!” Pumpkin heard them whispering to one another. Why, some had been too old or infirm to see that he and Cluniac had arrived.

He was surprised at how old most of them were, contact with Elynor before having given him the impression that the rebel followers would all be younger. The very few youngsters among them Pumpkin did not recognize, and he guessed that these were ones who had gone into hiding when the Newborns came, fearing that otherwise they would be taken for special training, or something worse.

“Bless you, sir!” cried out one of the older ones.

“Aye, bless you for what you’ve done,” came the cry.

While one or two of the very old ones who could not see or hear too well grew confused, asking, “Eh? What is it? Who’s there?” at which others explained and reassured them.

“You had better say a few words!” said Elynor, to Pumpkin’s dismay. The only words he felt inclined to say were that this was not what he had expected, and the chances of getting such a group up to the safety of the High Wood in such conditions quickly were not good. His own escape had been a miracle, and the chances of surviving this night at all...

“Er, well, it’s good to see you all,” he said, to shouts of “Speak up, sir!” and “What’s he say?”

Pumpkin decided to make it short and sharp. “We’ve got a long trek ahead of us,” he cried out, the wind snatching the words from his mouth, “but if we stick together, and don’t think of anything but getting there, we’ll all make it. We’re going first to the Stone in the High Wood...”

“The Stone! The Stone!” repeated several of the moles, delight and hope in their eyes. Since the Newborns had taken power the only time they had been to the Stone Clearing was on Longest Night, for rituals they did not like, and then to witness Stour’s death. Now they were going for a different reason, and if their faith seemed to Pumpkin a little hopeless, well, it was all they had.

“So if you get tired, if you begin to doubt, think of the Stone. It’s what’s kept
me
going these hard molemonths past, and it’ll keep
you
going now and guide you to safety!”

“Well said, mole!” cried out one or two of the fitter, older ones.

Pumpkin felt suddenly he wanted to say just a little more. “Friends,” he continued, “fellow followers of the old ways, I want you to know that Master Librarian Stour warned for a long time that such dark days as these would come. He never liked or trusted the Newborns, but there was no easy way to stop them, and even if we in this system were inclined to violence, which we are not, he did not believe in it. What he
did
have faith in was that when the need came there would be moles in Duncton who would have the courage to stance forth, put their trust in the Stone, and face their enemies, not with talons of hatred and violence, but with the powers of love, and faith, and peace.

“I know that nothing gave him greater solace in the moment of his death on Longest Night than the fact that many of you were able to come and be with him! Tonight we are fleeing for our lives to the Stone’s sanctuary, but there will be a tomorrow when we can turn to face the darkness, when it will fade into light once more and we can return to our homes, and the simple way we wish to live. So turn your snouts towards the Stone, and continue to believe in it.”

“Well said!” came the cry again, and there was another cheer, this one a little less ragged than the first.

“It would be best if you younger moles take up the flanks and rear of the party,” said Elynor. “Cluniac, who you all know, will go back and forth making sure we don’t lose touch with each other.”

There were muttered explanations in the shadows as these instructions were passed on to the less able, and then, without more ado, and greatly inspired by Pumpkin’s words, the moles broke out of their shelter in an orderly way to begin the long trek upslope.

So far as so violent and harassing a wind could be said to have a direction, it was against them. Had it been wholly from the east they might have trekked along the very edge of the Pastures in the lee of the wood itself, which would have made the journey easy, and the route-finding straightforward, but it was not, as they discovered when they tried it. The wind, laden with stinging hail and sleet, blasted down the Pastures straight at them, forcing them back into the shelter of the trees. But there the contrary wind swung viciously round roots, shot down from the roaring, swaying darkness above them, and constantly did its best to dishearten them.

Nor had they recourse to the tunnels of the Westside below them, for those mainly ran east to west, and the only communal tunnel that ran upslope from Barrow Vale to the Stone was known to be patrolled by the suspicious Newborns – which was why so few had dared venture up to the Stone in recent times. So they were forced to take a surface route in conditions which, in ordinary circumstances, nomole would have attempted, least of all an infirm one. As for such a party as Pumpkin now found himself leading in company with Elynor, well, only fear of the Newborns behind them, and faith in what they would find ahead, kept them going.

But progress was painfully slow, and became slower still as, the night advancing, one after another of the party faltered and needed attention, obliging all to stop. It soon became clear to Pumpkin and Elynor that they were not going to get to the Stone much before dawn.

“We can’t risk lying low through the day,” said Pumpkin, during one of the halts, “and nor does it seem wise for the fitter among us to go on ahead – I know little about such matters, but dividing up a party does not seem a sensible procedure. Anyway,
I’m
not leaving moles behind who cannot fend for themselves!”

The words cheered up the ailing moles about him, and fortified by the rest, and further encouraged by being told that the Stone was not
much
further, on they went, helping each other around and over obstacles, whispering prayers, and finally lapsing into silent, dogged plodding in which their only ambition was to get one paw in front of another, and for the wind to cease its relentless onslaught into their eyes and snouts.