Duncton Wood

by William Horwood

  They wound and wriggled on the ground, extending their heads into a thin questing point to escape. Bracken made to stop them but Hulver said quietly, ‘Let them go. Eat yours, but let mine go.’

  Then he blessed them gently and, snout on paws, watched his three worms make their slow escape.

  It was too much for Bracken. ‘They took a long time to find,’ he complained. ‘If you don’t want them, I’ll eat them.’

  ‘Ah, I do want them,’ said Hulver, ‘but it is no longer important. I would rather those worms lived with my blessing than died without it.’

  ‘But I’ve only got three,’ said Bracken, ‘and there’s a lot to face up to this evening.’ He hated to see the worms he had worked hard to get disappearing before his eyes.

  ‘If it troubles you, imagine that I have eaten them. If you would be less hungry for my having eaten them than for my not eating them, then your hunger is in your head and not your stomach. So satisfy your head. Meanwhile, let the worms go off and find their own supper; I hope with your blessings as well.’

  It seemed to Bracken that there was something illogical in Hulver’s reasoning, but he could not work it out. The whole thing left him irritated, the first time he had felt like that since he had been with Hulver. By the time the three worms had finally disappeared, Hulver had dozed off again, while Bracken had worked himself up to the point where he had to get going.

  Eventually the late afternoon light lost the last of its lustre and Hulver stirred. It was time to set off for the Stone. With a final last look back at the great bushes of gorse on the edge of the pasture, whose flowers looked like yellow lights in the evening, they turned down into the darkness of the wood.

  * * *

  The night was clear and warm but Bracken felt shivery. He was afraid, and as he followed behind Hulver he felt as if they were both walking to their death. He had the sinking heart of a mole committed to a course of action that may result in disaster but with no option other than to go through with it. Every leafcrackle made him jump, every dark shadow hid a dozen moles, each rustle of wind behind him heralded a rush of talons through the air.

  Yet each step forward found them safe and unharmed until they approached to within a few molefeet of the Stone clearing, where they stopped to listen for moles. They had approached in a wide arc, bringing them on the far side from the slopes, for they both suspected that Mandrake and his henchmoles would wait by the slope side for Hulver to arrive.

  Now they were still and silent Bracken felt a little safer, for they could not be surprised where they crouched. At the same time some of Hulver’s calm came through to him and his heartbeat slowed and his breathing grew quieter.

  Beyond the trees and lower than the top of the Stone, the moon began to shine. Bland and white at first, it gained in brightness as it rose higher, casting the soft light that Bracken loved. The only part of Hulver it caught was his snout, which moved occasionally by his paws as he eased his position. The wind was very gentle in the beech-tree leaves high above them and there was no birdsound at all. Somewhere far below them they heard an untidy rustle, indifferent to being heard—probably a hedgehog.

  Not until the moon was on a level with the top of the Stone did Hulver suddenly touch Bracken’s shoulder and, bringing his head closer, point his talon to the slopes side of the clearing. At first Bracken could sense nothing but then, among the shadows, a darker shadow moved, and he could feel its vibration. Silence. Rune. Or probably Rune. Which mole else could move so silently?

  The mole snouted about the clearing, padding about its perimeter and peering beyond, into the wood. At one point it appeared to look in their direction and Bracken froze, even though he knew the mole could not possibly sense them. He sniffed and snouted about the clearing, coming at one point to within fifteen molefeet of where they crouched. The moonlight was full on him, making him lighter than the Stone behind, and Bracken watched as his form moved across the Stone and then back again, towards the slopes side. Then they heard a scuffling and two noisier moles came chattering into the moonlit clearing.

  ‘Ssh!’ said the mole they had been watching.

  ‘Sorry, Rune,’ said one of the others.

  ‘That’s Dogwood,’ whispered Hulver. ‘That must mean that Mandrake is keeping them to their word and so they’ll all be here to… to see what happens.’ He stopped himself from saying ‘kill me’ because he didn’t want to alarm Bracken, who was going to need all his courage.

  ‘There’s nomole here, that’s for sure,’ said one of the other moles.

  ‘It’s Burrhead,’ gasped Bracken, suddenly very frightened.

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid it is,’ said Hulver softly.

  ‘… And there won’t be anymole here at all if you carry on scuffling,’ said Rune. ‘Have none of you learned how to move silently? Remember, movement carries further than words.’

  That did the trick, and they crouched down in the clearing quite still, right by the Stone where they could clearly be seen.

  ‘I must have been right,’ whispered Hulver. ‘They wouldn’t stay in that position if they weren’t pretty certain that anymole coming from the slopes was going to be intercepted. Mandrake and the rest must be down there.’

  This was soon confirmed by Rune, who whispered: ‘Now, remember what Mandrake said—if he slips through here before Mandrake gets him, he must be kept alive. Is that clear?’

  Horrified at this exchange, Bracken glanced at Hulver, but only his snout was visible in the moonlight. Even his form merged into the blackness of the beech leaves and stems of the wood ivy in which they were crouched. But to Hulver it was as if they were talking about somemole else, and he was very peaceful—he knew that what he had to do had the blessing of the Stone. There was nothing anymole could do to stop him performing the ritual with all the love and dignity he could muster.

  However, he could sense Bracken’s fear. ‘Wait a little longer yet,’ he whispered, ‘for if you start now it will be too early for the ritual to be said. It needs to be said at midnight, or near it.’

  To fill in the time and to take Bracken’s mind off his task, Hulver told him to repeat to himself the words he had taught him and to think about their meaning as he did so.

  This was so effective that Bracken was surprised when Hulver nudged him gently in the dark and told him it was time. Now Bracken felt cold and frightened. The wood seemed suddenly a very dangerous place. Surely it was somemole else who was slowly rising to his paws so near the three dangerous moles in the clearing. Some other mole who stole away into the night, forgetting to say a word of good luck, or goodbye to Hulver as he left? Not this mole who was utterly alone in the wood, moving through the silent night, afraid of stirring even a beech leaf!

  So Bracken began his long, nerve-racking trek round the clearing, down towards the slopes and then turning back again by the route they had originally taken to get to the Stone when they first came up to the Ancient System. He crept from shadow to shadow; he held his breath at each tiny noise he made; and he dearly wished, every inch of the way, that he had been allowed to explore the Ancient System that lay somewhere beneath his paws, so that he might exploit its tunnels now to bring him safely underground to the point on the slopes where he must materialise and start his impersonation of Hulver. Behind him, Hulver watched the three moles by the Stone. The clearest thing about them was the spot of moonlight on their snouts, and from this he saw them occasionally move restlessly in the dark.

  Meanwhile, far below, Bracken finally reached a point on the slopes where he could cut across with the contour of the hill and begin his more ostentatious climb up.

  He was acutely aware of all the reference points of location about him. As he turned up towards the Stone, the pastures lay some distance away to his right. Far to his left was the void of the chalk escarpment, running right up into the pastures which swung around beyond the clearing. There were a couple of fallen beeches in the wood to his left which he had passed on his way down, and these were usefu
l points to remember. Apart from that, all was the wood, the silence, and his progress up the hill into danger.

  Now that he was committed to the task, he found he was icy cool in his thinking. He was nervous, sweating a little, but his mind had never felt more clear.

  He proceeded up the hill towards the Stone, as he imagined Mandrake and his henchmoles would have expected Hulver to proceed, with care, slowly, and keeping well hidden. This suited him, because if he was seen even for a moment in the moonlight by one of them, then surely they would realise he was not Hulver. He stopped to listen frequently as Hulver—as anymole—would have done. He kept to the dark patches and slightly off the communal surface pathway—as Hulver would have done. He made just enough noise to be detected, but not too much to be taken for a fool.

  At last, off to his right, he sensed what he had taken to be part of a root move. It was only fractional, but roots rarely move even fractionally, not on the surface anyway. After this, he carried on, now totally committed, because a henchmole was now behind him. It made him proceed a little faster because he wanted to get as near to the clearing as possible before he was challenged. That way he would be able to draw off Dogwood, Burrhead and Rune as well as the others. By a movement, the slightest of vibrations, he detected a second mole off to his left, this one lurking in what must be a temporary burrow.

  Somewhere, far off below them all, a creature moved heavily in the wood. A badger, a fox, perhaps only a hedgehog. He was getting nearer to the clearing—indeed, he could see the top of the Stone caught beyond two trees ahead of him in the moonlight, just as Burrhead himself had once described it to him. Any moment now, he knew, he would be attacked or stopped. He had to make his move ahead of the challenge. That would give him surprise and a split second’s advantage in time.

  Ahead of him lay the two beeches and beyond them, the clearing. There must be one other mole at least by the trees, probably lying among the roots between them, waiting for him to come into sight. He thought he detected a movement behind him, perhaps one of the moles he had passed closing in.

  He was beginning to move to the right round the tree ahead, expecting the third mole to come forward and challenge him at any moment, and then—and then he made his move. Realising he was heading into unavoidable moonlight, he swung back sharply to the left, giving him an advantage on anymole who might be waiting for him by the tree and throwing whatever mole was behind him off balance. With a mighty thrust, he pushed narrowly past the beech tree, with the clearing and the Stone to his right, scattering beech leaves behind him.

  The uneasy silence of the night suddenly shattered. As he passed the tree, he caught the briefest glimpse of the biggest mole he had ever seen, in the moonlight. His talons were swinging round in the air, his body was arching round as if he had been facing the wrong way, but his snout was already round towards Bracken, huge and horrible. Mandrake!

  Bracken deliberately ran close to the clearing before swinging off into the wood, to draw Rune and the others away from Hulver, who was on the far side. It worked. He heard Rune call, some shouts, and then there was a rush of moles from the clearing adding to the noise of Mandrake and the others following behind and on his left. Then he swung away into the wood, taking them all with him and leaving the clearing free for Hulver. He felt alive and full of energy and ran at great speed through the wood, weaving in and out, listening to the confused shouts of the rushing moles behind him. His instinct was to burrow to safety and again he regretted that he had not found a way into the Ancient System. But there were so many moles chasing him that he felt a safety in their confusion. The wood was dark, for the moonlight could not penetrate the thick canopy of beech leaves above them, and there was so much noise that nomole seemed to know where he was going. But Bracken did. He started on a long arc towards the slopes, much the same route he had taken so nervously before.

  Behind him, beyond the clearing, old Hulver rose slowly to his paws as the noise of the fleeing Bracken and his pursuers died off into the wood. He approached to the very shadow of the Stone. There he crouched still for a moment or two, for a mole must be calm to say a ritual properly. Then, as if there was all the time in the world, Hulver began the ritual of Midsummer.

  * * *

  Bracken ran on through the night, twisting and weaving among the trees, working his way towards the fallen beech that he had passed on his way up from the slopes with Hulver. He knew the moles about him were confused— indeed, one of them had called forward to him, thinking he was Dogwood, and told him to cut off to the left, which he had obligingly done. He heard Mandrake shouting from time to time, and Rune; and he realised that nomole knew exactly where he was.

  It was then that he saw the great dead beech ahead of him and hid in the shadows among its dry branches, his chest heaving with the effort of running. The chase continued around and about him until, one by one, they came to rest in a group on the ground not far from where he lay hidden in the fallen tree.

  It was some moments before any of them had caught breath sufficient to speak, and then it was Rune. ‘He has escaped, Mandrake, and gone down to the slopes where he lives. At least he cannot do the ritual now.’

  They were gathered in a spot dappled with moonlight filtering through the gap in the canopy by the fallen tree where Bracken lay hidden. Bracken peered down to look at Mandrake. His presence was huge—he was massive, more like two moles than one. He seemed blacker than the night itself and Bracken could see that he held his head forward and low, as if about to attack the whole world.

  ‘You say he has escaped? But who has escaped?’ demanded Mandrake. ‘I do not believe that the oldest mole in the system, who appeared to be hardly alive at the last elder meeting, could run through the wood like a youngster and elude the’—he looked around him sarcastically, as if he was not one of them—‘the toughest moles in the system. That was not Hulver.’

  At this, they followed his gaze down to the slopes. Then, quick as a flash, as they looked back up towards the distant Stone lost somewhere above them in the night, the realisation came to all of them that they might have been fooled. They all started back for the Stone as one, and as fast as they could—Mandrake at their head.

  Bracken decided that he must follow them. It would be easy enough to avoid them now, and they were making sufficient noise to cover his sounds.

  One makes faster progress than six, and so it was that Bracken arrived on the far side of the clearing when Mandrake came to it from the slope side.

  * * *

  Hulver was there, clear in the moonlight, back to the Stone and paws raised towards Uffington. He was in the final stages of the ritual, his figure commanding in its calm, his voice awe-inspiring in its aged strength. Behind him the Stone towered up into the sky.

  He seemed oblivious of the arrival of Mandrake and his henchmoles, who stopped for a moment in awe at the sight of him.

  But there was one other mole there whose presence was unknown to any of the others, including Hulver. He was hidden among the roots of the great beech by the Stone where Hulver and Bracken had slept their first night in the clearing.

  He had left his burrow on the Eastside and come slowly and reluctantly through the wood to the Stone. He had not wanted to come, for he had heard the talk that Mandrake’s henchmoles would be out, yet he knew he must, and he arrived as Bracken drew the others away, in time to watch Hulver start the ritual. He might have joined in, but he felt unworthy to do so, as if he had no right to be there. But he mouthed the words with Hulver, urging the old mole through each one and intending to see Hulver through to the end of the ritual. Then he would go quietly back, back to the Eastside, so that none might ever know that he had watched over the ritual.

  But now he saw that Hulver would be cut down before the end and he knew, as perhaps he had known all the time, what he must do. Perhaps he could stop them—he must at least try. In the moment during which Mandrake hesitated with the others at the clearing’s edge he came from among the roots behind the S
tone and stood with his back to Hulver, his talons raised towards Mandrake, ready to do his best to stop him while Hulver finished the ritual. Bracken did not recognise him—he was an older, sturdy mole whom he had never seen in his travels around the Westside and Barrow Vale. But Rune knew him, and so did the others.

  ‘Bindle!’ hissed Rune. ‘It’s Bindle come to be brave.’

  ‘Bindle!’ roared Mandrake.

  But Bindle stood firm as they advanced slowly towards him and holding his talons ready began to join in with Hulver:

  ‘By the shadow of the Stone,

  In the shade of the night…’

  Mandrake began to speed his approach.

  ‘As they leave their burrows

  On your Midsummer Night…’

  Mandrake’s breath came out rasping and angry, black and dangerous against the gentle combination of the voices of Hulver and Bindle as they continued towards the final part of the ritual:

  ‘We the moles of Duncton Stone

  See our young with blessing sown…’

  While Bracken watched in horror from outside the clearing, Mandrake reared his talons up high above Bindle. And then they came crashing down with a terrible force, plunging through Bindle’s own upraised paws and ripping deep into his body. He fell down and back, torn and crippled, as Mandrake rushed past him towards Hulver, while Rune and Burrhead cut at him as they too ran on towards Hulver.

  Bracken crouched in the shadows, frozen with fear, unable to move, watching Hulver in anguish as the three strongest moles in Duncton, one of them his own father, bore down upon him with raised talons and ugly snouts. They were shouting or screaming at him, it was hard to tell which, and yet through it Bracken could hear Hulver begin the very final part of the blessing, the part he himself had learned:

  ‘We bathe their paws in showers of dew,