‘With your visit we have now heard from all six of the seven major systems—Duncton, Avebury, Uffington, of course, Stonehenge, Castlerigg and Rollright,’ said Skeat.
‘What’s the last one which you haven’t heard from?’ asked Bracken.
‘It’s the great system of Siabod in North Wales. Nomole has come to Uffington who knows what has happened to it in the plague. Perhaps nomole survived, but I think that is unlikely… the Siabod moles are famous, or notorious, for their toughness. Of all the seven systems this is the least accessible and the most difficult to live in.’
Bracken listened fascinated, for Siabod was Mandrake’s old system, the one where they spoke a different language, even today.
‘Is there a Stone there?’ he asked, hoping to find out something more.
‘Now that is something we would very much like to know! The records have no account of a Stone on the Siabod system itself, but there is a constant reference to a Stone or stones at a place nearby mysteriously called Castell y Gwynt, and there is a single reference in the records of Linden, referring to the travels of Ballagan to the “Stones of Tryfan” which we think is a group of the Stones in this other place. Perhaps bigger than the rest.’
‘Why’s it so important?’ asked Bracken, his mind racing with these mysteries and strange names.
‘Because while other systems come and go, the seven great systems have always been occupied and lived in. Some, like Duncton, have been cut off for long periods, but moles there have always finally come forward who have maintained the traditions laid down by Ballagan himself, as you yourselves have now. We do not know—we have never really known—if the moles of Siabod worship at whatever Stone it is that stands at Castell y Gwynt. Their language is different and no scribemole that I know has ever bothered to learn it.’
‘Does it matter?’ asked Bracken, rather regretting the question when he saw the look of patient tolerance that flickered over Skeat’s face for a moment.
‘I think so, Bracken. We live in a time of trial and trouble. Worship of the Stone is really at the centre of all moles’ lives, although it has been forgotten by so many. But we in Uffington are to blame for that. There was a time when scribemoles visited each of the systems at least once in a generation and the seven main systems more regularly than that. And from those seven the strength would go out to the others. It is now no longer possible to visit Siabod. We have too few scribemoles even to service Uffington itself, but if we knew that the Stone was at least honoured in all of the seven systems, that would be a start. And we do—for six of them. For these have been visited and by the Stone’s grace even Duncton, so long cut off, has made itself felt again. But Siabod… we know nothing of it. Siabod has always been an exception. It requires a mole of exceptional fortitude of spirit and body to reach it, let alone return from it.’
Skeat was silent for a while before starting to talk quietly again, almost as if thinking aloud. ‘The systems, the worship of the Stone… it has all slipped into disarray. Now the plague. We have a chance to start again—perhaps we already have, for your visit, like Medlar’s before you, fills me with hope. But what strength it would give us in Uffington to know that all seven of the major systems were centred on the Stone… to know that Siabod, too, worships the Stone! You must both forgive an old mole his dreams. Perhaps this office makes a mole overreach himself. Well, now, to other things.’
He asked them a great many questions about Duncton, a subject Bracken had not particularly enjoyed listening to Boswell talk about in the library. There was something special about his experience by the buried part of the Stone with Rebecca that made him recoil instinctively from having it talked about in public. However, Skeat seemed to sense this and his manner was so gentle and understanding that soon Bracken was describing what had happened two Longest Nights previously in a detail, and with a passion, that even Boswell had not heard.
Skeat wanted to know a great deal about the location of the Stillstone after this—how accessible it was, what the Chamber of Roots consisted of, whether any other moles knew of it, and many things more—and his interest and concern extended to the story of Bracken himself, and Rebecca, Mandrake, Rune, Mekkins… they all played a part in the story Bracken was induced to tell. And Skeat was especially interested that Mandrake was said to be from Siabod, and fell silent for a long time thinking about it.
Then suddenly, it was over. Skeat had finished with his questions and there seemed nothing more to say.
‘Leave us now, Bracken, for I have to talk to Boswell alone for a while…’ and Bracken found himself excluded, cut off from the mole with whom he had shared everything for moleyears on end, and at a loose end in a system where the moles were strange and there were long silences, and great spaces, in which a mole like Bracken felt restless and uneasy. He was taken back to his burrow by a silent mole, who responded to all questions with a bland smile and a maddening shake of the head which might have been ‘Yes’ and might have been ‘No’ but seemed most likely to be ‘Perhaps’. Yet when they arrived and the mole seemed about to leave, he hesitated and asked suddenly: ‘
Did you really see the seventh Stillstone?’ And then, before Bracken could even begin to think what to say, the mole added, ‘I’m sorry. I should not have asked such a thing.’
But Bracken, a little fed up with all the secrecy, said boldly, ‘Yes. I did!’ and added with what he thought was obvious irony, ‘It was ten times as big as a mole and made a noise like a bumblebee.’ Bracken regretted this expression of irritability the moment he had uttered it, for the mole scurried away as if he had been stung by a bee and no amount of calling after him would bring him back. With a sigh, Bracken returned to the burrow, laid himself down, and in no time at all was asleep. He had done more talking than he realised, and there is something about memories recalled in detail that makes a mole tired.
He was woken up by Boswell saying, ‘Bracken! Bracken! I’m sorry about all that. But it’s not important…’
‘What did he want to say to you?’ asked Bracken, but immediately his voice died miserably in his mouth because he could see Boswell stiffen uncharacteristically and lower his snout, indicating that he didn’t want to talk about it.
‘I can’t say, Bracken. You must try to understand that there are things here which are impossible to explain…’
‘All I understand is that they’ve no use for what they call nonscribes around here,’ said Bracken angrily. ‘All this bloody way and there’s secrets all around. What’s this with Medlar, for example? Why can’t he be seen?’
Boswell lowered his gaze to the floor, his normally peaceful face troubled with Bracken’s feelings of being excluded, which, of course, he was. Perhaps, though, what had happened to Medlar was something he could explain. Surely it would do no harm.
‘Medlar has gone to a place which is to the west of Uffington Hill where the Silent Burrows are. It is not far, perhaps two miles at most, and it is connected to Uffington by a tunnel.’
‘What happens there?’ asked Bracken.
‘Well, that’s hard to explain. Nothing really. Nothing at all. There are special burrows there in which certain moles, only a very few, choose to live and rarely leave. In fact, the entrances are sealed up and they stay there in silence.’
‘What for?’ asked Bracken, incredulous.