Duncton Rising (36 page)

Then one afternoon, with Caradoc now but a day or two away, news went among the journeyers that Senior Brother Chervil was back, come to lead the moles into his father’s unholy stronghold. Privet had not forgotten her wish to talk to Chervil again, and since the strettening at Ludlow her desire had been increased by a kind of angry despair at the futility and injustice of what had happened. What was a sect worth if it killed moles who disobeyed its rules from a natural desire to see mothers and sisters whose society they should never have been denied in the first place? How could such force be justified? Or such hypocrisy, which pretended that strettening was not a sentence of death at all, and it was the Stone’s will if a mole survived it, or did not? These and many other questions and accusations Privet turned in her mind, and wished to put to Chervil, feeling perhaps that once they reached Caer Caradoc it was unlikely she would get a chance, and more than likely she would not see him again to talk to privately, as she might now along the way.

The following dawn she woke with a sudden start, wide awake, as moles sometimes do, with the feeling that if the dawn was a clear one she might enjoy it alone. She had cherished her moments of seclusion on the long trek across the Wolds, but since joining the Newborns there had been no chances for such privacy. In any case they were normally well watched by their “helpers” and it was hard to get away. However, in this later stage of their journey, and especially since Ludlow, the guards seemed to have understood that they had no intention of fleeing, and had left them more alone. So it was that Privet was able to rise quietly amongst the slumbering bodies of her friends in the communal chamber, and slip up a side tunnel unchallenged and out to the surface above. The dawn was indeed as beautiful as it had felt below ground, with a clear sky, and cold air, and shining dew on the stems of the grass of the sheep pasture where they had stopped.

They had arrived as night fell and so it was only now with the dawn, as she turned and looked about, that Privet saw that the hummocky ground below gave way to a view of a winding valley, filled for the moment with slowly drifting mist. As the sun rose its light caught the mist and turned it silver and shimmery in the dawn, and here and there across it trees rose, like islands out of a gentle sea. Where Privet stanced the sun cast its weak winter rays on the rough ground about her. She moved a little way from the exit, disturbing some rabbits which bobbed upslope and out of sight. She followed them, partly to get a better view, partly to increase the pleasant sense of being alone, of renewing herself. But as she moved round the corner of a little rise of ground, out of shadow and towards the sun once more, she was astonished to see, stanced quite still and with his snout towards the rising sun as he stared down at the still, misty valley. Chervil, all alone.

Her first instinct was to retreat, not from fear of him but because she could see he was taking time alone as she was, and would not wish be disturbed – or observed. But since she was now to one side and still in shadow, and the sun was full on him, she had the advantage, and the chance to look at him in a way she never had before, so she stayed where she was, remembering too that this was perhaps the only opportunity she might have to talk with him alone, and perhaps reach into his Newborn heart in a way that would be impossible with other moles about.

He seemed a different mole out on the surface, stanced quiet, thinking about nomole-knew-what – not so commanding as when others were about; just an ordinary mole born to take an extraordinary role. He was well made, and his paws were set and firm, his fur unmarked by scars. Neat, well ordered, a little too sombre perhaps, as if he had never quite laughed out loud. A mole, it seemed, who knew his mind and accepted his destiny; yet in such a moment as this, when he thought himself unobserved, might there be a brief pause for doubt, and a fleeting wish to be a different, more ordinary mole?

Such were Privet’s thoughts, and her hesitation turned to impulsive decision; feeling it wrong to intrude, whatever mole he was, she was about to move quietly away and rejoin her companions when suddenly Chervil turned absently towards her, thinking still of whatever had been behind his silent gaze across the valley. As he did so, and his look caught hers, she saw not a Newborn mole, or one in command, but a younger mole from whose face the dogma and rule of strict belief had lifted. He seemed to see her not as a member of the female gender that he had been taught to despise, but simply as a mole, a female mole, who might tell him something he did not know. Only for a moment did this vulnerable, open and almost longing look remain; then it was replaced by one of extreme dismay at having been seen as he was, and by her of all moles.

“Well?”

How self-possessed he was again, how distant – but what she had seen briefly, the mole behind the Senior Brother, was now part of her knowledge of him, and he could never deny it. The Stone had shown her the way to reach beyond Chervil’s facade, and this she knew was as it wished things to be. Better than questions and evasive answers, better than playing with words; she had seen the mole behind the mask of authority, and both of them knew it. Privet stared at him and felt a power over him, and no need to reply to his second puzzled and peremptory, “Well?”

She smiled beyond the mask, beyond the role he played, and said, “I have come out to see the dawn rise as you have, mole, as I did sometimes when I was young, when I saw it across the Moors. I disturbed you, as your presence disturbed me, but for a moment stolen from the long trek to Caer Caradoc I will speak to you as mole should speak to mole.”

She was surprised to feel at ease, and to find herself moving towards him and talking as if she had the right to the assumption of intimacy, and that this way of being with a mole – direct, unafraid, yet not assertive – was the only proper way. Had the Stone found her so slow a pupil of life that it was only now, with a Newborn, she could be herself, and (as she guessed) only for this magical dawn moment before full day, when normal reservations to behaviour felt lifted?

He stared in silence at her, and strangely seemed more vulnerable still as he opened his mouth to order her away, or to make some excuse to leave; but he said nothing and made it possible for her to continue.

“As I gazed across that valley moments ago I was wishing I was not making this trek to Caer Caradoc, but was stanced instead in some quiet place with a companionable mole in whose silence I could be at ease. I was thinking of other misty valleys I have seen and how very few are the quiet uncluttered moments in a mole’s life. What were you thinking, Chervil, before you saw me here?”

“Of Duncton Wood,” he said after a moment’s hesitation, “to where, as you know, I was sent a cycle of seasons and more ago. I did not want to go; when I left I did not want to leave, least of all in the Deputy Master Snyde’s company. I was discovering that I miss your system. Librarian Privet. That was all I was thinking of.”

But Privet knew there was more. “Mole —” she began.

“Librarian Privet, you should not address me like that, and must not again.”

“But now I will. Chervil, now and for this dawn, I will. Caer Caradoc and all it means cannot be far off. I have a feeling that all our lives will change there, for Thripp, your father, and others close to him have set in motion policies which seek to alter moledom. Perhaps they are already apaw, indeed I am sure they are, but it will not be too late for us to add our wishes to them. As long as there is one mole among the Newborns with the courage to open his heart to real change there will be hope that all may follow. You must not make moles do what their hearts tell them not to. No faith is so true, no dogma so certain, no rule so right that it empowers moles to trespass into others’ hearts. You need only look at those who gather around you, the Newborn brothers, and look into their blank eyes, to have to ask if such a way is right.”

“They have free choice.”

“There is no free choice for male pups torn from their siblings and mothers at birth and taught that what is right is what they are told by Senior Brothers, and what is wrong is that they should ever question it. No choice for their female siblings, segregated and forlorn, and if the rumours are true, put in the way of death.

“And speaking of death. Senior Brother Chervil, you will be aware that your Brother Inquisitor Slane permitted the public torture of two moles, and the murder of a third, but a few days ago.”

“It is unfortunate —”

“It
was
unfortunate! For three moles very unfortunate indeed!”

“When you have so large a force to command, rule and discipline are necessary. Mistakes will happen.”

“For moles of evil intent, perhaps, and those who wish to impose their will on others. But those whose intentions are honourable, whether one or thousands, the only discipline needed is of the spirit, and the heart and the mind.”

“You do not know of what you speak. But... but my father never condoned such excesses as torture, or supported such practices as strettening.”

“Yet his moles —”

“The Newborn faithful today are not his moles, or anymole’s. They are the Stone’s.”

“The Stone does not condone such discipline.”

“Oh, you are sure of that, are you. Privet?”

“I have kenned the texts, I know the Stone Mole’s words, I know the truths in my heart, and in those of the communities in which I have lived.”

“Indeed! And so do I!”

They stared at each other, the sun growing brighter and more beautiful about them, its rays angling across the grass, the valley below all green and blue with distance.

“Librarian Privet, I have never in my life argued with a female before. It is... strange.”

“Think of me as a mole. Senior Brother, not a female, and you will find it easier. My heart and mind and spirit are no different from any other mole you might respect.”

A glimmer of a smile passed across his face, and it made him look younger and something nearer to the mole she had caught a brief glimpse of when he first turned and saw her there.

“Your heart and mind and spirit. Librarian Privet, are all rather stronger than in most moles I know! In fact I know only one in whom they combine to be stronger and he —

“Your father Thripp?”

“The Elder Senior Brother Thripp, yes.” Chervil turned from her and stared across the valley. “I said I was thinking of Duncton Wood when you caught me stanced here unawares. I was also thinking of my father. He is misunderstood by some and perhaps has not had the time he should have had to see places in moledom others take for granted. He has dedicated his whole life to moledom and wishes only for its improvement, and to advance the work that the Stone Mole began.”

“And you were thinking of this?” She had come a little closer to him, and he to her, and they stood nearly flank to flank, looking not at each other, but at the birth of a new day. There were no shadows where they looked, no dark corners. The world seemed made of light.

“I was thinking of how I will explain to him why I regretted leaving Duncton Wood.”

“Well, mole,” she said, unaware of her unconscious familiarity, “I regret not having the time or occasion to talk with you in Duncton Wood.”

“Yes,” said Chervil, “yes, so do I.”

“And does the Elder Senior Brother think that moles can improve on this sunshine the Stone brings?”

“Of course not.”

“And yet the Newborn Sect thinks it can improve on mothers, for they take them away, and sisters, and —”

“The Stone Mole —”

“The Stone Mole gave no sanction to such cruel stupidity!”

“You go too far!”

“I do not go far enough. Can you be sure that if I spoke thus at the Convocation of Caradoc I and my friends would live to tell the tale?” She turned and stared at him.

“No harm will come to you, whatever you may say.”

“Really? Can you promise that?”

“No harm will come to you,” he said, frowning and near to anger.

“You promise it? By the Stone? You have such control over your Brother Inquisitors?”

“No... harm... will... come... to... you!” Chervil was close to real anger as he said the words.

“And moledom? What of that? And innocence? And truth? And —”

“You go too far, Privet of Duncton, and you malign the genius of my father! He intends no harm to any mole!”

“I would like to see
him
stance there and promise no harm to moledom, as you promise that no harm shall befall us! It’s easily said!”

“He... my father... the Elder Senior Brother could not stance here, nor look at this rising dawn, nor speak as loudly as I have done. I believe my father is dying, as he has been for a long time. Why do you think I was summoned to Caer Caradoc? You think I don’t feel the hurt as he does, when moles’ excess and over-eagerness threaten his great work? I feel it deeply, as he taught me to.”

Privet stared in astonishment as she heard these words, and saw the troubled lines of conflict on Chervil’s face, where duty to the cause struggled with desire for freedom, and the wish for privacy fought with the need to speak to a wider world, such as she now faced him with. She sensed that her moments with him were dying now, her further chances to reach into his heart fading, and perhaps this made her desperate. In his strange exposure there before her, and his confusion, she remembered a mole she had faced out on Hilbert’s Top, and learned to love.

“And what did your
mother
teach you, mole?” she said sharply. “It is a pity she probably never had the chance!”

He seemed to loom over her then and stared at her with hatred, as Rooster had loomed, though
he
had raised his great paws! He had grabbed her! Rooster had almost hurled her out of the tunnels on to the surface of Hilbert’s Top, he... and she found that she was smiling, and she knew there was fondness and remembered love in her eyes. If her earlier question had shocked him, her laughter, gentle though it was, seemed to confuse him, and then to anger him.

“Forgive me, mole,” she said, “I am not laughing at you but at myself. I had a memory of a mole I loved who stanced over me as you do now, who looked angry and confused as you do, and who came as near to striking me as perhaps you have just done. Please...” Instinctively she reached a paw out to him and touched his, and felt a surge of pity and love, of sympathy and concern, and gratitude as well. “You have courage. Senior Brother Chervil, as the mole I loved had.”