He was lonely. He wanted to talk to a mole again as he had talked so long before to Hulver; he wanted to learn something from a mole who could tell him what to learn. He wanted knowledge, but did not know where to find it. And Longest Night, which he knew was near, and when all moles shared a joy together, simply underlined the fact of his isolation from the Stone, from the heart of the Ancient System, and from all other moles.
‘Rebecca! ’Ere, Rebecca! I’ve got a surprise for you, my girl!’ It was Mekkins, full of the joy of the season and suddenly back in Curlew’s burrow with many a whisper and a laugh on the way down the tunnel to it. He had brought Rose.
She took one look at Rebecca and said, ‘My love, how frail and thin you have become. This certainly will not do.’ She said it kindly but firmly, crouching down snout to snout with Rebecca and examining her with motherly care.
‘I’m sorry, Rose,’ said Rebecca. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I’m sorry.’ And faced by Rose’s love, she started to cry as she had never cried, ever before. She tried for a moment to stop, for little Comfrey, who was snuggled up against her, started up frightened, but Curlew took him to her and played a game with him, which had him and Mekkins running out into the tunnel, leaving Rose and Rebecca alone together. So that Rebecca could cry.
Rose was too wise to think that jollying Rebecca along to get her out of her depression would be useful. She saw that much of Rebecca’s spirit had been killed and its rebirth was not something a healer could bring about quickly by herself. As she talked to Rebecca and heard the indifference to life in her voice, Rose saw that the best she could do was to push her in the right direction and trust to the Stone that she would finally be able to find the right way herself.
When Rose watched Rebecca play with Comfrey, she was pleased to see that there, at least, was something she wanted to do, though she saw that even Rebecca’s interest in Comfrey was sometimes little more than dutiful. The sounds of love were there, for sure, but spontaneous love, or trust, or faith, or hope, or life? These were the drives that Rebecca had had so much of before, but which somehow she seemed not to be able to pass on to Comfrey, for they were no longer in her.
The pup was growing well, Rose observed, but he would need to be given much more than food and grooming if he was to reflect in his life some of the quality that Rebecca had once had in hers, and surely still could have.
‘But how?’ asked Mekkins, who understood well what was wrong with Rebecca. ‘What can we do to make her see that, terrible though the death of her litter has been, life, for her, has barely begun?’
‘Mekkins, my dear, you have a good heart, I sometimes think better than anymole I know! But Rebecca’s problem lies deeper than in simply having things to live for. You see, my love, she has experienced evil—she has seen it with her eyes, smelt it with her snout, and felt its dark talons tearing inside her body. It tears at her still. She has felt enough of its power to destroy an ordinary mole but, as the coming of Comfrey shows, she is in some ways graced and surely a special mole. The only power that can heal her lies in the Stone—though you must understand she may never be the same kind of mole that you once knew. If a mole feels evil as she has done, only the light in the Stone can erase its shadow. Then may she continue to grow again.’
‘But how can she be made to see it?’ asked Mekkins. ‘There is no way a mole such as I, or you, can predict how the power of the Stone will be felt, or when. Often we may not even know if it has been. But Longest Night is coming and I think Rebecca should make the trek to the Stone. Perhaps, if she goes near it, something of her spirit will be reborn…’
‘But what about Comfrey, and how will she get there?’
‘You will guide her there, Mekkins, and Curlew will take care of Comfrey—something I suspect she has prayed she might be able to do—by herself for a while. He is no longer suckling and she can look after him very well by herself. ’ But what seemed a good idea to Rose, and eventually to Mekkins, did not appeal to Rebecca. She simply was not interested. She shook her head. She said she would not leave Comfrey. She said it was too far and Mekkins had done too much. She said there was no point. She grew angry with them all and attacked the idea that the Stone was anything more than mystic nonsense beloved of silly old moles. She had a temper tantrum.
Until, the problem still unresolved, Rose herself had to leave to get back to the pastures in time for Longest Night. Mekkins accompanied her, for she was now growing old and frail. Her last words to him when they came to the wood’s edge on the west side of Marsh End were ‘You must try once more to get her to go, Mekkins. The fact that she is so opposed to going convinces me that she should go—even if you have to drag her there!’ They both laughed a little at the idea, but their laughter was sad.
‘I’ll do the best I can,’ said Mekkins.
‘I know you will, my love,’ said Rose. ‘I always knew you would. The day will come when all moles will remember you and will take heart from the story of your loyalty and of what you did for Rebecca.’
‘Me, Rose? Don’t be silly!’ said Mekkins, adding, ‘Now you take care of yourself on those pastures, and have a good Longest Night.’
‘And you,’ said Rose, running back and nuzzling him. ‘And you, too, my love.’ Then with a smile of affection they parted. And hour by hour Longest Night crept nearer.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Bracken knew when the trek to the Stone on Longest Night had begun by the sound of chitter and chatter and laughter coming from the clearing—he could even hear it in his deepest burrow, to which he moved in a sullen irritation. Some moles, who evidently did not know the best way to the Stone, wandered over the surface above his tunnels telling their stories, singing ridiculous songs, racing and dancing about, and generally annoying him. He wanted none of it.
But as the evening drew on, the sounds changed from revelry to reverence—for the first moles there were always the ones who came simply for the fun of the trip and wanted to get it over as quickly as possible so that they could get back to their burrows for the real festivities.
Only later did those who were moved by the mystery of Longest Night and remembered Linden, the first White Mole, with real thanksgiving in their hearts, come in ones and twos and crouch in reverence by the Stone.
By this time Bracken was too restless with annoyance at the disturbance of his peace—or what he considered his peace—to be able to stay still, and so crept as near as he could to the Stone to watch the proceedings. He felt alienated from each mole there, and from the Stone itself, and watched it all almost as if he was not breathing the same air or sharing the same cold frosty December night as anymole else. There was a moon low to the east which, since the night was clear, cast its light into the Stone clearing, the Stone a black silhouette in the centre, the moles forming gently moving shadows around it. The shadow of the Stone ran directly towards Bracken when he arrived, shortening and swinging to the south as the evening passed on when the moon rose and swung to the north in the sky.
Moles continually came and went from the clearing, with a little banter and gentle laughter on the edge, but none at the centre itself.