DUNCTON STONE
Under the cruel leadership of Quail, the sectarian Newborns have taken control of many key systems of Moledom, including Duncton Wood.
But the loyal followers of the Stone have not given up. In Duncton Wood itself the library aide Pumpkin has bravely led some followers into the mysterious Ancient System; and in fabled Uffington, Fieldfare inspires resistance to the Newborns. Even in dread Wildenhope, headquarters of the Newborn leadership, the deposed Elder Senior Brother Thripp strives to undermine Quail’s position and right the wrongs he originally inspired.
Meanwhile, followers await news of Privet, female scholar and scribemole, and of her quest for the lost Book of Silence. Any hope of their final survival and victory may depend on her. But now she has disappeared, and no mole can tell what sacrifices she must make to find the lost Book, and whether she will have the strength and faith to bring it back to its rightful place beneath the Duncton Stone.
THE BOOK OF SILENCE
Duncton Tales
Duncton Rising
Duncton Stone
Duncton Stone
WILLIAM HORWOOD
Volume Three of
THE BOOK OF SILENCE
HarperCollinsPublishers
HarperCollinsPublishers
77-85 Fulham Palace Road,
Hammersmith, London W6 8JB
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers 1993
1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2
Copyright © William Horwood 1993
These ePub, Mobi and LIT editions v1.0 by Dead^Man October 2011
The Author asserts the moral right to
be identified as the author of this work
ISBN 0 00 224174 9
Set in Linotron Caledonia
Rowland Phototypesetting Ltd
Bury St Edmunds, Suffolk
Printed and Bound in Great Britain by
Hartnolls Limited, Bodmin, Cornwall.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be
reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted,
in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,
photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior
permission of the publishers.
Moles who appeared in Duncton Rising,
Volume Two of The Book of Silence
WARNING: If you have not read Duncton Tales or Duncton Rising you are advised against reading the character descriptions below as some of the plot of the previous books is given away.
ARUM Loyal helper to Thripp.
BARRE Newborn Senior Brother Inquisitor sent by Quail and Thripp to help cleanse Duncton Wood’s Library. Killed in the Chamber of Roots.
BODEN One of Thripp’s most loyal helpers.
BRIMMEL Female and smallest of Privet’s pups by her Brother Confessor. Died young.
CHATER A journeymole and mate of Fieldfare. Killed at Caer Caradoc.
CHERVIL Thripp’s powerful and charismatic son.
CLUNIAC Son of Elynor and a doughty follower who helps Pumpkin.
COBBETT Librarian at Beechenhill who sets Privet on her quest for the Book of Silence.
DRUBBINS Elder of Duncton Wood and close friend of Stour. Killed by the Brother Inquisitors.
ELYNOR Elderly female follower who becomes friend and help of Pumpkin.
FALLOW One of Chervil’s guardmoles. Son of Feldspar.
FELDSPAR Chervil’s personal guardmole. Father of Fallow and Tarn.
FETTER Senior Brother Inquisitor sent with Barre and Law to cleanse the library of Duncton Wood. Intelligent and cruel.
FIELDFARE Middle-aged Duncton female who befriends Privet. Mate to Chater from whom she is separated on her journey to Seven Barrows where she helps lead a group of rebels.
GAUNT Mentor (i.e. senior delver) in Charnel Clough.
GLEE Female albino puphood friend of Rooster in Charnel Clough.
GREAR Aggressive last leader of the Ratcher moles. Son of Red Ratcher and therefore one of Rooster’s brothers. Rooster kills him at Crowden.
HAMBLE Crowden warrior and puphood friend of Privet and later colleague of Rooster on his campaign against Newborns to the east of moledom.
HOBSLEY Elderly follower who escapes into a coppice named after him north of Caer Caradoc. Privet and several others stay with him.
HUME Delver from Charnel Clough.
HUMLOCK Blind, deaf, mute puphood male friend of Glee and Rooster in Charnel Clough.
LAW Newborn Senior Brother Inquisitor sent by Quail and Thripp to help cleanse Duncton Wood’s Library.
LIME Privet’s sister by Shire.
LOOSESTRIFE One of Privet’s female pups by her Brother Confessor.
MADOC Newborn female (known as Sister Hope) from Bowdler who becomes follower when she is befriended by Privet.
MAPLE Duncton warrior who accompanies Privet and Whillan to Caer Caradoc. Set to lead the followers against the Newborns.
MUMBLE Privet’s only male pup by her Brother Confessor.
MYRTLE Mate to Turrell of the Moors. Not to be confused with Myrtle, Furrow’s mate, both friends of Maple.
NOAKES Enterprising follower, originally from Gurney. One of rebels under Spurling at Seven Barrows.
PEACH Mate to Spurling.
PRIVET Scribemole born at Crowden in the Moors. Daughter of Shire, granddaughter of the Eldrene Wort. Is in search of the Book of Silence and has had pups by her Brother Confessor during a period at Blagrove Slide, from where she escaped to Duncton. Entrusted by Master Librarian Stour to continue the search for the lost Book.
PUMPKIN Stour’s library aide and a brave but reluctant leader of the remaining rebels in Duncton Wood.
QUAIL A high ranking Newborn Brother from Avebury.
RED RATCHER Vile leader of the Charnel Clough grikes and father of Rooster, who killed him at Crowden.
ROLT Brother Rolt is sympathetic Newborn assistant to Privet’s Brother Confessor at Blagrove Slide.
ROOSTER Son of Samphire and Red Ratcher.
SAMPHIRE Abducted from Chieveley Dale by Red Ratcher by whom she has Rooster.
SAMPION One of Privet’s female pups by her Brother Confessor.
SKUA Senior Brother Inquisitor under Quail, and effectively his second-in-command. A pitiless persecutor of follower and Newborn alike.
SLANE The Senior Brother Inquisitor responsible for the Ludlow strettening.
SNYDE Hunchbacked scholar and deputy Master Librarian in Duncton Wood who has gone over to the Newborn side.
SPURLING Follower, and escaped library aide, from Avebury. He is leader to a group of refugees from Buckland. His mate is Peach. Joins Fieldfare on way to Seven Barrows.
SQUELCH Quail’s obese son. His extreme depravity is redeemed only by his wonderful ability to sing and make melody.
STOUR Master Librarian of Duncton Wood and most famous in moledom. Goes to the Silence taking the Six found Books of Moledom to their resting place beneath the Stone.
STOWE A loyal follower, and Elder at Bourton in the Wolds.
STURNE Keeper in the Duncton Library and asked by Stour to bravely pretend to be a Newborn, whilst still aiding the follower side. A friend of Pumpkin’s, the only mole who knows his secret.
TARN One of Chervil’s guardmoles. Son of Feldspar.
THRIPP Charismatic leader of the Newborns, originally from Blagrove Slide. Has turned against Quail.
WAYTHORN Son of Turrell from the Moors.
WEETH A Newborn from Evesham turned follower. Assistant to Maple.
WHILLAN Adoptive son of Privet. Father is Rooster, mother Lime.
WORT The Eldrene Wort was the notorious persecutor of Beechen and grandmother to Privet.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
PART I
Wildenhope
PART II
Strivings
PART III
Dissenters
PART IV
Quail Paramount
PART V
Book of Silence
EPILOGUE
AUTHOR’S NOTE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Based on Mayweed’s map found in Seven Barrows
Prologue
Forgive me, mole, but, yes... I have been avoiding you. These molemonths of summer past I have wished to be silent and unavailable. Yet I have been aware that you were asking after me. Now you have tracked me down and find me much aged since last we spoke. You left then with my tale of Duncton’s rising against the Newborns incomplete. No doubt when you returned to the Stone to hear the rest of the tale a day or two later, as we arranged, you were disappointed and alarmed to find that I had gone.
Indeed, I’ve heard you were angry, and then concerned, and set off in pursuit of me through the tunnels and glades of our once summery wood. But by the time you caught up with me a little wisdom had caught up with you, and you left me alone. You thought-and you were right-that it was best to leave things until I was ready to continue. Well, I freely confess I have not wanted to talk again to you until now that September’s come. A long time it’s been and though the sun’s been warm my old fur’s grown thin, and I have shivered even on the hottest days. Now, as autumn looms, my bones ache with the morning mists. Yet here I am at last, willing to talk to you once again, and tell you how it was that the Book of Silence finally came to Duncton Wood.
You have waited well and patiently. I fancy from your face, and even more your eyes, that you have learned much since you first came up into the High Wood and persuaded me to tell you of Privet, enabling you to scribe down the Book of Tales and then that of Duncton Rising.
How long ago it seems since you and I first talked-longer even than the tales we talked about! Does time play tricks when a mole grows old, or does he enter a new reality? Whatever... you seem to have learned a little more about life, and faith as well. And courage too, I’m sure.
No, no, tell me not of what you’ve learnt! I do not need to be told-I know; I feel it, I have heard it from others, and I see it in your face.
Now, mole, you’ve been a good companion on my journey back to the days of which I have told you, the kind that any wanderer would wish to have: attentive, intelligent, concerned, and, above all, trusting. You have dared let yourself be led by me, who am but an old mole now, and one few find time to listen to, let alone wait about for. For that I am grateful, and for your willingness to scribe down the words I speak, that others in times to come will be able to learn of these things as well.
Why then have I been so unwilling to talk to you again until now, and finish the tale you persuaded me to begin? You must know the answer to that question if you are to understand the last part of the tale I want to tell you. I have been unwilling because... because I have been afraid. I am old, I am ill now, and I fear death. I see now that this telling of a great tale to you, which concerns the final coming of the Book of Silence, is the last journey I shall ever make. I, who have journeyed so far in my life, and seen so much of moledom, and heard so many moles tell their tales, can now travel only in memory. I know that each word I speak to you now, each memory I evoke, each place I describe, each character I depict, each moment of history I recount, is one more step I shall never retrace. In speaking now to you I talk away the last moments of my life.
Yet now I see that if the mole is to know the Silence he or she must make this final sacrifice: must cast off the past, turn away from memories both good and bad, and face unflinchingly the present moment. Now, now, now is when we live; and we must strive not use our past as defence against the present. So as I talk to you and whisper out this tale that others may know it, and journey through its light and shade, I denude myself of all defence against the present terrible moment, the ‘now’ I have avoided all my life, the now which all moles seek to avoid. The now which Privet sought so long to flee from but which her whole life led towards.
I do not expect you to understand easily. You are young and can see the trees ahead, and the Stone beyond them, and the light beyond even that. Or think you can. It gives you hope, as well it might. But I... why, my sight is dim. I have barely strength now to raise my head to look for what I can no longer see.
Yet, strange as it may seem, I sometimes think I see more clearly than I ever did before. I see the trees, I see the Stone, I see its Light. Not as you may do, beyond yourself, there somewhere in the future, but here and now, about my frail paws, about this decayed leaf-litter on the ground, aye, and here within my heart.
So I am afraid because my life is ending. Just when I begin to see things that have eluded me for so long I feel a dread of the Silence I yearn for. This is what drove me away from the Stone where we first met, and where my telling to you began. Uncertain of myself, ill and lonely, I wandered off through the wood these long summer days past, avoiding company, seeking shadows, staring into tunnels that once, when I was young, I scampered down, but which today put fears into me, and strike me dumb.
Miserably, I came over here to the Eastside, ignoring the pleas of friends to move into less austere quarters, or to rest in my burrow when the winds blew cold and the days began to shorten. I have been rude to some and silent with others.
Until today. Until now...
The autumn leaves have begun to fall about me and perhaps in their going I sense something of my own departure.
No, no, don’t protest! It’ll be a relief, believe me. Aching bones are not much fun, and nor is failing sight. But despite the tiredness that autumn’s brought, I’ve rediscovered something of my old spirit, the same spirit that took me on many a journey, and makes me one of the few moles living who remember a life that to others is already history, if not legend!
Now I have a desire to see the Stone one last time, but I must confess I need somemole’s help to get me back there, the last journey I shall ever make. It is not quite as simple as putting one paw in front of the other and tottering back upslope to the Stone itself That I could just about manage by myself.
No, no... the journey that I wish to make must take in some savage moments of history, and confront some moles whose nature and confusion might easily put me off my course, if not subsume me entirely. This is where you come in. I need your youth and optimism. I need your faith. I need the hope that you still have. Then, too, I do not wish all I know to die with me. You and I began a journey together, a journey which without your coming I doubt that I would have started. Now I am ready to end that journey, and I wish to do it in your company. So if you’ll listen, and scribe down what I say just as you did before, I’ll be able to tell you of how Privet came back to our system, and how the Book of Silence was found. A story which will take us back to Duncton Stone in the way I most wish to return to it.
But be warned! I’ll not be willing to stay in one place. I’ll want to venture into this tunnel, or that burrow, and I’ll need help to do so. I’ll want to look at trees I thought I had forgotten, and venture into tunnels I thought were lost. I’ll be a nuisance! I’ll be demanding! I’ll be... bad-tempered. And worse of all to a scribemole like you, I might not even have the strength to finish my tale!
Oh yes! That could well be how things turn out, and it’s no good pretending otherwise. If you want to reach the end of this tale you might well have to journey the last part of it without me. I mean what I say! Indeed, it may well be that that realization is what the coming of the Book of Silence is all about: that finally we must cast off our past, our memories, even our companions, and make the last part of the journey alone. Is it that which makes me so afraid? Is it that which makes the Silence so awesome? Is that why I have called you to my flank?
But let’s face that when we have to. Meanwhile we’ll find comfort in each other’s company, and resolve. But you’ll have to cajole me! And find good worms! Or make me a scrape if the weather
grows bad. Which it does now, for look at how those trees sway in the blustering wind. Feel the chill breeze in your fur. Sense how winter approaches through the veil of autumn. For it’s with winter that this last part of our tale must now begin...
PART I
Wildenhope
Chapter One
January. Chill, still, air. The bleak landscape of Mid-moledom; leafless trees, silent grey rivers, the streams and brooks that fed into them already frozen. Only the black flight of starving rook and the sharp bark of lonely fox gave life and sound to a melancholy world from which all colour, all joy, all pleasure seem to have fled. A January like no other before and – the solitary wanderer grimly hoped – like no other ever to come again. For this was moledom cast down not just by a freezing winter but by the freezing of hope as well. No wonder that the journeying mole stared along the route ahead, and back over the path just trod, with a shivering spirit, and a disconsolate eye.
No safe haven for him. No warm tunnel in which to hide from his pursuers in safety, no welcoming burrow in which to rest; no cheerful companion or offering of food and friendly conversation.
“No respite,” muttered the mole, whose face, though lined and scarred, held clear determined eyes, which told of a fugitive who knew his business, and was never going to let himself be caught without a struggle.
“We go on,” he said.
The “we” he spoke did not mean he had others with him. Rather, it was as if by using it he might for a brief moment enjoy the illusion that he had company, to encourage him on along the bleak and bitter way. But this was no weak mole, nor one who, beyond a temporary pause to summon up new energy to proceed once more, gave any impression other than strength, experience, and purpose. This was a mole on a mission he was determined to fulfill, and even if that January had been yet chiller, yet bleaker, he would not have been diverted from his onward path. For this was Hamble, lifelong friend of Privet, stalwart companion of Rooster in the struggle against the Newborns, and now journeyer to Duncton Wood.