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.’
Mekkins looked round at them all and grinned. ‘Well, of course there ain’t no way I’m going to leave ’ere, and since by some miracle of the Stone’s magic we seem to ’ave none other than Bracken ’imself come along ’specially for the occasion, the only mole in Duncton who knows the blessing, I suggest we sit tight, get rid of Rune when ’e comes, get on wiv the ritual blessing and show these Marsh End youngsters what tonight’s all about.’
They all turned to Bracken who, not for the first time, was surprised to find that they were looking to him for some kind of lead. It was as if, by virtue of his having lived near the Ancient System for so long, they regarded him as in some way the guardian of the Stone and all its secrets. It was a role he felt inadequate to play, since he did not think he knew enough about the Stone, and was very conscious that what little he did know came from Hulver, who had known so much more. Boswell sensed his doubt, and to encourage him said ‘What do you think we should do, Bracken?’
Bracken looked up at the Stone for a moment and then said simply ‘We must say the blessing. Hulver said it twelve moleyears ago, with only Bindle to help him and myself— though I was too young to protect him, just as these youngsters are too young to protect us, though one day theirs will be the strength to decide and to do what must be done. May the Stone give them its help as it has helped each one of us.’
He looked slowly at them all in turn, his eyes falling finally on Rebecca’s and staying there longest. As he spoke, his voice had gradually grown more powerful and now, as he continued, its strength and force brought all the moles gathering around him in silence.
‘In another hour or so, when the moon is at its peak, it will be the moment to say the blessing before our great Stone. Its power travels to all the other stones set up in the chosen systems by Ballagan, the first Holy Mole. This is not a night for fighting, but for peace and blessing. But the time in which we live is strange and troubled.’ He turned and pointed up at the Stone, whose crevices and facets seemed infinitely complex in the moonlight. ‘Look at our great Stone,’ he said, feeling as he did so its power flowing into him, and his ideas, his very voice, taken over by it as they had been once before when he had spoken to Cairn about Rebecca, and found his words flowing from a source beyond himself.
