If there was one mole who knew what Midsummer meant better than any other, it was Bracken, who had been the fearful witness to the terrible death of Hulver in this very spot twelve moleyears before on the last Midsummer Night. Then he had spoken the words of the Midsummer blessing, moving himself towards adulthood as he said them. Now, Bracken was nearly back, rustling into the long grass and the old year’s leaves at the wood’s edge as he re-entered Duncton Wood.
‘We’ll soon be there, Boswell,’ he whispered, ‘and you’ll see the Stone at last.’ Behind them Mullion and Stonecrop crept, wishing they could go straight down to their own tunnels on the pastures but agreeable to sticking with Bracken right to the very foot of the Stone. And anyway, they wanted to see it.
‘We’ll approach slowly and silently, because I don’t know who may be up here tonight. If Mandrake has gone and Rune has taken charge, then he may be here. Rune doesn’t like the Stone, especially at this time of old rituals. He’ll want to see that no ritual is said.’
They crept forward so silently that the first Rebecca knew of them was when she saw the shadow of a mole sliding out of the darkness on the far side of the clearing to stand, in bold silhouette, looking at the Stone. Then another mole, smaller, came out, and even in the moonlight Rebecca could tell that he was limping as his snout moved forward and up with each sequence of steps. Then two more moles, one very large, who looked around the clearing a little uneasily before stopping and settling his gaze on the Stone also.
‘Well, I’ve got to say it! You’ve got us here, Bracken!’ said the big mole.
The world seemed suddenly an unreal place to Rebecca as the name Bracken came across the clearing to her. She looked in wonder at the four moles, trying to make out from the confusion of their silhouettes whether one of them was indeed her Bracken.
Then the small mole spoke, his calm, clear voice full of awe and reverence as he broke away from the other four and went right up to the Stone. ‘So I have finally reached the Duncton system,’ he said. ‘So many moleyears in the travel and all of them survived only by the Stone’s grace.’
Rebecca watched him fascinated, while her heart raced for Bracken, if Bracken it was. The small mole put a paw to the Stone, touched it, and then turned and faced the other three and said quietly, ‘You know there is nothing else but the Stone. Finally, there is nothing else.’
His head turned a little towards Rebecca, where she crouched in the shadow of the wood, and for the first time she saw his face. His fur was grey in the moonlight; seeing him for the first time, his eyes clear and soft, his face filled with the peace of the Stone, Rebecca felt she had never before seen anymole who made her sense the wonder of the Stone so much. The three in the clearing seemed to sense it too, for they all stayed quite still, though she could not tell if they were looking at the small mole or at the Stone that soared so high above him.
‘Am I glad to be back!’ said one of them, moving out clearly into the light. ‘I never would have known how much!’ And Rebecca saw that it was Bracken, it was her Bracken, safe and well, and back in the wood they both loved. She had come unknowing to the Stone and he had come as well as, if she had thought about it, she should have known he would on Midsummer Night.
In the shadows, the youngsters’ eyes peered at her, trying to see what she wanted to do, wondering if these moles were enemies from whom they should run. She turned to them and smiled, touching the one nearest her, and as they relaxed in her confidence, she turned back to the clearing and started out into the moonlight towards Bracken, her shadow running before her.
It seemed to Bracken, and to the others as well, that Rebecca appeared out of the night and before the Stone as if she was part of a mystery in which all things—the moonlight, the trees in silhouette against it, the wood, the Stone, her presence and the darkness behind her—were at one with each other. It was as if, for a moment, he was able to see beyond Rebecca to the powers of life, and death, that had brought her there at that moment and which she was not separate from but a part of.
‘Rebecca,’ he said, for there was no other word.
‘My love,’ she said, saying what he felt.
‘Rebecca?’ he said again, advancing towards her, all sounds and sights of the night but her quite gone from him.
‘Yes,’ she said softly. Then they nuzzled each other as softly as the softest fur, because he almost thought she was a dream and she knew he was her love, and their touching again was as precious as life. They nuzzled each other’s neck and face, she smiling and he serious, she purring and he growling, his body strong and big to her at last, no more the fugitive mole she once had seen. ‘My love,’ they said together, ‘where have you been? Where have you been?’
Their greeting took no longer than it takes to see the beauty in the moonlit Stone; then she was laughing in the night and saying, ‘Boswell? From Uffington? From Uffington!’ and, ‘Stonecrop, dearest creature,’ and then speaking to Mullion, shy before her, whom she cuffed gently because there was no need to be shy. And back to Bracken, who was looking at the Stone, touching the Stone as Boswell had done and understanding that there is no love but in the Stone. And thinking that there was nothing that could disturb a love strong and clear as theirs. Nothing!
Nothing? There was a crashing through the wood from the pasture’s edge, a running and drumming of mole paws, and each one of them was suddenly tense and separate, turning to face the noise, with great Stonecrop moving to their front. Moles were coming, but the nearer they got to the clearing, the more Stonecrop relaxed, as Medlar had made him understand he must. Boswell was the same, his eyes clear into the darkness of the rustling sound, while Bracken sighed and stepped forward to be beside Stonecrop. The three had learned their lessons well. Behind them Mullion stood more tensely, uncertain what to do, while Rebecca silently crossed the clearing to where the youngsters lay, staying in the light and unable to see them, but signalling with a smile for them to stay still and feel safe.
The advancing moles came quickly and, without even a pause, broke cover from the wood into the clearing, only then stopping to look at where Bracken and the others stood ranked by the Stone. There was silence on both sides as each took a moment to recognise the other.
It was Brome and Mekkins, come from the pastures with Pasture and Marsh End moles, but it was one of the Marsh End females in the shadows behind Rebecca who broke the silence.
‘And where the ’ell have you been, Mekkins my lad!’ she said ironically, breaking cover herself.
Mekkins smiled but ignored her, turning instead to Brome and saying, ‘There you are, Brome, me old mate. I said they’d be here, and they are. And where’s Rebecca? Come on, she’s not normally bashful!’ Rebecca moved forward and laughed and everymole relaxed. And then Mekkins was surprise itself when he saw Bracken, and Brome was lost in delight when he saw Stonecrop and Mullion before him.
There was relief and reunion, levity and laughter, but not for long. It was Mekkins, speaking in a whisper to Bracken, Stonecrop, Brome and Rebecca, who gave them the warning that, in his heart, Bracken had feared.
‘There’s a bloody army of henchmoles coming up here with you-know-which mole leading them. Brome put a couple of his moles over by the wood’s edge at dusk, just to see if they could learn anything and they did. Them henchmoles are the worst blabbermouths you could wish to meet and they found out that, sure enough, Rune is planning to bring the whole lot of ’em up ’ere to see that there’s no way anymole can celebrate Midsummer Night.’