Duncton Rising (2 page)
N
ONE
Female Senior Delver of the None Chamber of the Charnel.
P
RIME
Dwarf Senior Delver in charge of Prime Chamber of the Charnel. Half sister of Gaunt.
P
RIVET
Scribemole born at Crowden in the Moors. Daughter of Shire, granddaughter of the infamous Eldrene Wort. Is in search of the Book of Silence, the last of seven Books of Moledom. She is now middle-aged and once ‘loved and lost’ Rooster.
P
UMPKIN
Library aide who works closely with Stour. Now elderly but fiercely loyal to his Master and entrusted with the task of helping to resist the Newborns.
R
ED
R
ATCHER
Rapine leader of the Ratcher Clan of the Charnel Clough. He fathers Rooster by Samphire, the only one of his mates he cannot dominate.
R
OOSTER
Son of Red Ratcher and Samphire, born in the obscure Charnel Clough high on the Saddleworth Moors. Believed to be a Modern Master of the Delve, the first in centuries, but a wild, massive, ugly, unpredictable mole. Once Privet’s beloved.
S
AMPHIRE
Rooster’s mother. Originally abducted from Chieveley Dale by Red Ratcher.
S
ANS
Foster-mother of Shire, a cold disciplinarian.
S
EDUM
Mother of Humlock.
S
EXT
Senior Delver of the Sext Chamber of the Charnel.
S
HIRE
Privet’s mother, and herself daughter of Wort.
S
NYDE
Unpleasant hunchbacked scholar and scribemole who has clawed his way up to be Deputy Master of the Library.
S
TOUR
Master Librarian of Duncton Wood and regarded as the greatest scholar and librarian in moledom. Now near the end of his days, and an out spoken enemy of the Newborns. He is in secret retreat in the Ancient System.
S
TURNE
Unsmiling librarian, one of the Keepers in the Library. Trusted before all others (but Pumpkin) by Stour, who has always appeared to reject him. He alone knows of Stour’s final retreat, and its purpose. Nomole knows that his affiliation to the Newborns is a courageous pretence.
S
WARD
Known as Sward the Scholar. A wandering scribemole of the Moors.
T
ARN
An aide in the Crowden Library, who befriended Shire. Mate to Fey.
T
ERCE
Senior Delver of the Terce Chamber of the Charnel.
T
HRIPP
Sinister but charismatic leader of the Newborns, originally of Blagrove Slide, now resident at Caer Caradoc. He is Chervil’s father, but little else personal is known about him.
T
URRELL
A grike mole living in seclusion on the Moorswith his mate. Myrtle.
W
ESLEY
Scholarly Newborn who helped form Newborn cell in Duncton’s Marsh End. His coming warned Stour how dangerous the Newborn sect might be.
W
HILLAN
Parents unknown. Fostered by Privet after being mysteriously discovered by Stour at the cross-under into Duncton Wood, his newborn siblings dead, his unnamed mother dying. Trained inscribing by Privet and Pumpkin. As yet untried and untested.
W
ORTHING
A Newborn Brother who lives in the Marsh End.
Characters from
The Duncton Chronicles
referred to in
Duncton Tales
B
ALLAGAN
Sometimes called the ‘First Mole’. His story has not been told but he is thought to be the founder of the Seven Ancient Systems, and father of moledom.
B
RACKEN
Duncton mole from the Westside who is hero and leader against Mandrake in
Duncton Wood.
Lover of Rebecca.
M
AYWEED
A great route-finder and aide and friend to Tryfan and Spindle.
S
PINDLE
Former aide at Uffington, befriended by Tryfan, to whom he became a brave and loyal assistant.
T
RYFAN
Bracken’s wise son, born at the end of Duncton Wood. He becomes leader of the followers against the moles of the Word.
W
ORT
The ‘Eldrene’ Wort was an evil ally of the moles of the Word in
Duncton Quest
and
Duncton Found
who caused much harm to the followers. She escaped to the Moors, sought the Stone’s forgiveness, and gave birth to Shire.
CONTENTS
Prayers and Pilgrims
Privet’s Tale
Into Darkness
Caer Caradoc
Duncton Rising
Prologue
So, mole, you lost no time finding your way back to me here in the Clearing by the Duncton Stone!
Though from your appearance this early morning – the rough look to your fur, the bleariness in your eyes, the unsteadiness of your paws – it seems you have had little sleep.
No, no, tell me not about the revelries of last night, of the food eaten and the tales well told; least of all of the new friends you’ve made, whose company, no doubt, you’ll go scurrying after just as soon as you’ve heard the tale I promised to tell you today.
It’s not that I am not interested in life down in Barrow Vale, but rather that my mind is already filled with moles aplenty, and tales, and a time of special trial and tribulation in this system of ours when such triumphs as we had were so hard won.
You see, whilst you made yourself so busy through the night with living moles, I made myself busy too, remembering moles who though no longer here in body, are hereabout in spirit; and thinking how it is that their faith, their courage, and their loyalty to each other and the Stone have lived on through the days and years of time to imbue this Stone with something of its special Light.
That you make the effort despite so long a night to come in time to see the rising of the sun is most appropriate, in view of the nature of the tale that we are about to embark upon. For was it not at this very time of day – though it was a winter’s morning, not a summer’s – and in this very Clearing, that Duncton found its strength and pride again so long ago? It was! And that is what I wish to speak about.
But if you want to hear this new tale, find me food again, indulge my meanderings of thought, and scribe as you have never scribed before, imagining yourself to be not the scribemole taking down the text but the very text itself come into being as I speak.
Since our tale begins at dawn here by the Stone, and for all you may know will end here too, I suggest you call it ‘Duncton Rising’. Yes, yes, scribe it down, mole, scribe that down...
Good. You have scribed it. It will be so then for ever more:
Duncton Rising.
Most suitable and apt.
Even better, you’ve got me some worms, and you’re watching with a worried frown to see that I eat at least a few, almost as if you doubt that I can cling on to life much longer. Be of greater faith, mole, for I am a
Duncton
mole, and therefore I cling on until the rightful end, trusting that my faith in the Stone, and my love of mole, will see me through.
Let us be silent for a time; let us listen to the light wind in the trees and the rustling resonance of the High Wood about the Stone; let us wait here where we are, which is always the best place to begin a tale, for before long, if we have faith enough, my memory and your trust will surely bring to life a mole whose coming will begin our tale for us.
Aye, listen, mole! Can you not hear it now, the sound of somemole approaching? Stance down and be quiet, get your scribing paw ready again, for I do believe that our tale has found its own beginning, and whatmole can speak of the wonders to which it may yet take us!
See,
here
he comes, there, just by the Stone itself...
A timid, elderly, unassuming kind of mole, isn’t he? With less fur than he once had to cover his worn body! But don’t dismiss
him
–
as brave moles go, he is among the very best and most courageous.
I might have known
he
would be the one! For what would Duncton’s rising against the Newborn threat have been without him? See him, listen to him, pay him respect, for we might wait on a hundred years before we found a better beginning to our tale this morning than he will give us, as the sun rises beyond the Stone and we venture back to a great time, to the company of great moles, and seek to learn at last to hear with them the Silence of the Stone.
Based on Mayweed’s map found in Seven Barrows
PART I
Prayers and Pilgrims
Chapter One
November, dawn, and a hurrying mole.
Dank malevolent flurries of wind harried the deserted reaches of the High Wood on Duncton Hill, rushing about the ancient beech trees and threatening at their roots before hurrying on; while overhead, between the leafless treetops, grey clouds dragged after each other across the sky and out of sight.
Dull, poor light as yet; of a dreary, wintry kind, that did nothing to cheer the heart of the humble mole who had made his way up out of his isolated tunnels, across the slopes and now reached the Stone Clearing itself.
Pumpkin, elderly Library Aide to the Duncton Library which had so recently fallen into the censoring paws of the Newborn Inquisitors, had come to say his prayers. It had long been his custom to do so daily, and these days he did so at dawn, for it was only then that he could be sure that the busybody Newborn guards and zealots would not be about, and he could make his way to the Stone unimpeded, free to say words and offer a faith whose daily ritual was his only strength in this time of doubt.
Having journeyed through this particular wintry dawn and arrived at the Stone Clearing, his mind as full as ever of history, self-doubt, and growing fears for others, the mole Pumpkin struggled to cast all thoughts aside and begin his prayers. He stared up at the Stone, he stared away from it, he fretted at the ground, he sighed and turned to face the Stone again.
“Harder, ever harder,” he whispered. “But now...”
He began as he often did by asking the Stone to continue to offer its protection to all those engaged in the struggle against the Newborn moles, though doubts and small rebellions of faith were not far away. Indeed his petition for moles in general, sincere though it was, was usually but the prelude to matters that really concerned him more, and this particular dawn his thoughts turned to absent moles to whom, in better times, he might have turned for succour and support in his self-effacing way. Yet with the Stone, his courage fully summoned, his thoughts getting clearer by the moment, he dared be more direct.
