The dream seemed to continue. As Bracken watched, still half conscious, he heard a fifth mole slowly enter the chamber on his left. He turned his throbbing head towards it, and there he saw Mullion standing open-mouthed, taking in the scene before him. Bracken could almost hear Mullion’s thoughts think themselves.
Three moles lying around the chamber walls as if swept aside by a raging storm and in the centre an old mole crouched still and peaceful, aged paws stretched harmlessly before him, snout settling down comfortably on to them.
‘Impossible!’ Mullion was thinking.
‘Oh no, it’s not,’ thought Bracken. And then, ‘Oh no, you don’t!’ as Mullion started angrily towards the old mole. But he got up, turned his snout to Mullion, seemed suddenly more powerful than anything Bracken had ever seen in his life, and without so much as flexing a talon, brought Mullion to a respectful halt.
The dream ended. To his right Bracken saw the big mole stirring and heard him groan and gasp. To his left he felt Boswell’s paw, against which he had fallen, moving as the mole from Uffington slowly came to. He felt himself stretching, aching and pained, as he righted himself back to his paws, and turned to look at the old mole again.
‘It would be a courtesy if you told me your names,’ said the old mole in a kindly, wise voice.
‘Mullion, of the Pasture system,’ said Mullion, awed and respectful.
‘Bracken of Duncton,’ said Bracken. The old mole turned to look at him, nodded gently and said nothing. He turned to the big mole at the side of the chamber, who raised his snout, shook it, and said, ‘My name is Stonecrop, also of the Pasture system.’
At this, both Bracken and Mullion started with surprise. ‘Stonecrop!’ thought Bracken. ‘Stonecrop. Brother of Cairn. Known to Rebecca. So that was why…’
‘Stonecrop!’ said Mullion delightedly, but with the old mole so much in command he did not dare move.
The old mole smiled and turned to Boswell who, instead of saying his name, got up slowly and moved out into the chamber before him.
‘My name is Boswell of Uffington,’ he said, lowering his snout respectfully to the old mole.
‘May the blessings of the Stone be with you, as they must have been to have brought you safely so far from the Holy Burrows,’ the old mole said to him. ‘And may they be with the rest of you. My name is Medlar of the North and it would be better if there were no fighting in these tunnels—not at any rate by moles such as yourselves who are prey to ignorance and fear.’ He said this severely, as a father might to a recalcitrant youngster.
Then he turned to Mullion and said gently, ‘I think you have come to learn how to fight, but I tell you, your nature is not that of a fighter but a friend. Anymole that counts you as a friend will be stronger by far than if he stood alone.’
Medlar turned to the other three and looked at each of them in turn and then said: ‘I do not know what forces have brought you here, or indeed have led me here myself. But in all my long life I have never met three moles who have more to learn about the way of fighting, or have given me the sense that they will learn as much. I hesitate to speak of this and after it will say little more on the subject. Each of us has a task and with the Stone’s grace only may he fulfil it. All moles may choose to be a fighter if they wish, though many do so who are not fitted for that way. All moles perhaps may be warriors, too, though few, too few, can find the way to it. My task is to try to show you the difference between a fighter and a warrior and it may not be what you expect.
‘Each of you stands now in a tunnel, the start of which is far behind you, the end of which is far ahead. I am but a mole who meets you on the way. Others ahead of me will talk to you as well, and many try to take you down false paths with them. These are your real opponents. Do not give in. Some will invent ways of distracting you. Learn to recognise them. Only the spirit in your heart will keep you going. Hear it. Follow it. Let courage and patience enter your talons and love of your opponents enter your heart.’
Medlar looked round at each of them in turn again. As he looked at Bracken, his old eyes kind and wrinkled with age, Bracken felt as if his soul was stripped bare and this strange mole knew everything there was to know about him. Bracken felt at once frightened and exultant.
‘Now,’ said Medlar, ‘leave me here and go and sleep, for each of you has made a long journey to get here—and each must soon make a long journey again. So our time is short. Eat and sleep and tomorrow I will begin to show you what you need to do.’
Tomorrow came, and with it the start of what, for Bracken, was to be the first long period of settled peace in his life. For the days and nights passed slowly, sliding through the molemonths as April gave way to May, and May grew warm with sunshine and birdsong, until a full moleyear had gone by.
