The grace of suffering
The grace of wisdom
The grace of true words
The grace of trust
The grace of whole-souled loveliness.
We bathe their paws in showers of light,
We free their souls with the talons of love,
We ask that they hear the silent Stone.
‘Repeat, repeat,’ Hulver would command Bracken. ‘The rest you can learn when the time is ripe, but these words I want to hear you say until they are part of you. You need not understand them yet—indeed, they will change their meaning with the passage of time—but you must know them.’ So Bracken repeated them, whispering as the sun rose, saying them into the wind from the void, whispering them into sleep.
Though he grew tired of repeating them, he learned to love the words he was taught, and he wondered where the moles who had first made them had gone. Why had they left the system?
They heard molesounds only once, carried on the wind and in vibration in the soil from the direction of the Stone. They waited silently for the sounds to come nearer, but they never did and they were left again in trembling peace.
Only when Midsummer Day itself came did Hulver tell Bracken his plan. ‘There is only one way to complete the ritual, and even that is risky and I have my doubts that it will work. It will demand great courage from you. It depends on my belief that they do not think I will come with another mole. If this is so, then, if you advance from the direction of the slopes, they will mistake you for me. You will come towards the clearing so that you are seen, run off and draw them away, so that I can move into the clearing from another direction. Then, with the Stone’s help, I can repeat the ritual.’
The old mole stopped, for that was his plan, all of it. Bracken didn’t like it—too simple, too much to go wrong. Supposing they didn’t all chase him; supposing they caught him? But though he racked his brain for a better plan, he could not find one: there were too many imponderables whichever course they took. So in the end, Hulver’s simple plan seemed the best.
As the afternoon fell away into evening, Bracken grew restless and hungry. Hulver had calmly fallen asleep, but Bracken was too nervous to do anything but toss and turn. Finally he went in search of worms and found six. He woke Hulver as dusk fell and laid his worms before him.
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?’