Gradually Rebecca noticed that she seemed to be talking to two or three plants in particular and though Rebecca couldn’t see that they looked different from the others, they definitely were, in some way. They seemed more… more… there.
Suddenly Rose’s words became more distinct and Rebecca heard her singing:
‘Wild flower, kind flower,
Petals for the sick;
Wild plant, kind plant,
A healing for the ill.
Leaves for the sorrowful
And stem for the sad,
Bless them with your essence
And their bodies will be glad.’
As Rose sang these words, she picked a stalk from each of the plants she had been concentrating on, touching the rest of each plant gently with a paw. Then she brought the stalks over to where Rebecca was and placed them on the ground by her.
‘All over, all done,’ she said, yawning. ‘Oh, I am tired today!’ Then she told Rebecca, ‘Now, don’t you forget about picking plants at the right time, although you already seem to know something about that.’
But before Rebecca could ask herself if she did know something about it, Rose continued: ‘And never pick too many, because you won’t need them. The less you use, the further they go—that’s why you can smell them better from further off than near to.’
‘But I don’t understand what you mean at all,’ said Rebecca, ‘or what you meant before when you said…’
Once more Rose didn’t let her finish. Instead she laughed and said, ‘Now, Rebecca, my love, you take “understand” right out of your vocabulary as quickly as you can and then you’ll understand all the faster. I don’t understand anything myself, my dear, not one single thing. Well, of course, I do, so that’s silly. I understand that when you pick plants you must get on and use them, otherwise you’ll lose so much.’
‘I don’t understand again…’ sighed Rebecca. Rose didn’t seem to answer any of her questions. ‘What do you mean, Rose?’ she asked finally.
‘That’s better! What I mean is that generally when plants are ready to pick, they’re ready to use, which is what I’ve got to do with these now. There’s a mole that needs me in Duncton and I really only came here just to pick these and take them with me.’
By now it was mid-afternoon and the wood had a warm, sleepy air about it. There was little birdsound, for with the passing of spring and early summer, their calls and songs had died away, leaving only the trills and whistles of yellowhammer and greenfinch along the woodland’s edge. Sometimes, as now, the distant harsh call of a crow would come cawing through the wood high above their heads, making it seem vast and roomy in the summer stillness.
It was hard to think that anymole could be ill on such an afternoon but as Rebecca automatically followed Rose as she made her way towards the wood’s edge, she wondered again about the unease she had been feeling for so many days.
‘Rose?’
‘Mmm, my love, what is it?’
‘Can I come with you?’
‘No, my dear, not yet. I’ll let you come one day when you’re ready.’
‘Rose?’
‘My love?’
‘Which mole is it that’s ill?’ There was real concern in her voice, for the unease she had felt seemed now to turn into a sense that a mole was ill and was calling her from somewhere in the wood, for she could feel the suffering almost as if it was her own. She looked about as if expecting to see some suffering mole right there before them both.
‘I don’t know,’ replied Rose quietly. ‘I often feel the call for help long before I know what it is, or which mole is calling.’
By now Rebecca’s afternoon content had been replaced by a restless unease as the strange feelings of distress she had felt, and which she had put aside, returned ten times more strongly. Oh, she could feel another mole’s pain and it was drawing her somewhere… where? She looked again about the still wood where only ants stirred and bees and wasps hummed.
‘Rose?’ She spoke the name almost as a call for help. ‘When a mole is ill, how can you feel it? Is it like… a… well, like a restless breeze that pulls you along, or a tunnel sucking you into its darkness, or a storm rising in the sky, higher and higher until you feel you’ll burst with it? Is it like that, Rose?’
As Rebecca spoke, Rose felt a great releasing flow through her body, as if she was returning to a welcoming burrow whose nest was warm and where she could lay her head and sleep at last. She had only ever once heard another mole describe the force of compassionate love that pulls a healer from her burrow, however weary she may be, so that she may find the strength to tend and cherish the distressed and sick. The last mole that spoke such words to her was the old female who had first taught her about healing. In all those long and often lonely moleyears since, she had forgotten how gentle was the sound of a healer’s voice when it sounded in her own ears.
From the moment she had scented Rebecca coming with the wildflower smell of her kindness and youth, Rose had sensed, but not dared to believe, that another healer was near. Everything Rebecca had said to her had shown that her instinct was right, but again and again, as they had talked, Rose had not dared to accept the idea, for fear that it was her own hopes rather than the Stone’s desire talking. But now, hearing Rebecca describe the restless impulse that leads a healer to the sick, she knew that her instinct about Rebecca had been right from the first.
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘that’s what it’s like, Rebecca. That’s what it will always be like.’
If only she had the power to save this young creature from the pain and suffering the process of becoming a healer seemed so often to bring. But she had learned long ago that there were things nomole could change—a mole’s freedom lay only in finding the courage to face with truth the darkness and light which the Stone would bring.
‘Well, if it’s like that,’ said Rebecca firmly, surprising herself with what she was saying so boldly, ‘then I think the mole you’re going to is called Bracken. You’ll find him somewhere up on the Ancient System. He was a friend of Hulver’s when Hulver… before my… before Hulver… He told me to take care of Bracken but I didn’t know what he meant, since I didn’t even know him and have never met him.’
Rebecca continued, less excitedly and more slowly as, with a brief glance to the south where the Ancient System lay, she turned to face her own part of the wood. ‘Hulver did say to take care of him but, well, perhaps he just meant for me to mention his name to you so you’d know. Mekkins told me he was dead, but I knew he wasn’t. In fact, I thought he was all right at first, but now I think something’s wrong—I’ve been feeling that restless feeling for days, but I didn’t know what it was. It’s what brought me over here today.’
She finally stopped and Rose could feel how troubled she was. ‘I’ll take care of him, my love, just as you would—try not to fret about him, for he will be safe.’
‘Who is he, Rose? Why is he special?’
Rose could only shake her head, for she did not know the answer. She only understood that Rebecca, too, was special, more special than anymole in Duncton could know, thought Rose, looking at her passionate innocence and watching her light-hearted ways.
‘You leave your Bracken to me for the time being. I will take care of him, really I will.’ Rose moved gently over to Rebecca and nuzzled her in the soft part between shoulder and neck. ‘My dearest creature,’ she whispered. Then, taking up the ramson, she turned back towards the wood’s edge so that she might take a route along it up to the Ancient System, and was gone.