He seemed oblivious of the arrival of Mandrake and his henchmoles, who stopped for a moment in awe at the sight of him.
But there was one other mole there whose presence was unknown to any of the others, including Hulver. He was hidden among the roots of the great beech by the Stone where Hulver and Bracken had slept their first night in the clearing.
He had left his burrow on the Eastside and come slowly and reluctantly through the wood to the Stone. He had not wanted to come, for he had heard the talk that Mandrake’s henchmoles would be out, yet he knew he must, and he arrived as Bracken drew the others away, in time to watch Hulver start the ritual. He might have joined in, but he felt unworthy to do so, as if he had no right to be there. But he mouthed the words with Hulver, urging the old mole through each one and intending to see Hulver through to the end of the ritual. Then he would go quietly back, back to the Eastside, so that none might ever know that he had watched over the ritual.
But now he saw that Hulver would be cut down before the end and he knew, as perhaps he had known all the time, what he must do. Perhaps he could stop them—he must at least try. In the moment during which Mandrake hesitated with the others at the clearing’s edge he came from among the roots behind the Stone and stood with his back to Hulver, his talons raised towards Mandrake, ready to do his best to stop him while Hulver finished the ritual. Bracken did not recognise him—he was an older, sturdy mole whom he had never seen in his travels around the Westside and Barrow Vale. But Rune knew him, and so did the others.
‘Bindle!’ hissed Rune. ‘It’s Bindle come to be brave.’
‘Bindle!’ roared Mandrake.
But Bindle stood firm as they advanced slowly towards him and holding his talons ready began to join in with Hulver:
‘By the shadow of the Stone,
In the shade of the night…’
Mandrake began to speed his approach.
‘As they leave their burrows
On your Midsummer Night…’
Mandrake’s breath came out rasping and angry, black and dangerous against the gentle combination of the voices of Hulver and Bindle as they continued towards the final part of the ritual:
‘We the moles of Duncton Stone
See our young with blessing sown…’
While Bracken watched in horror from outside the clearing, Mandrake reared his talons up high above Bindle. And then they came crashing down with a terrible force, plunging through Bindle’s own upraised paws and ripping deep into his body. He fell down and back, torn and crippled, as Mandrake rushed past him towards Hulver, while Rune and Burrhead cut at him as they too ran on towards Hulver.
Bracken crouched in the shadows, frozen with fear, unable to move, watching Hulver in anguish as the three strongest moles in Duncton, one of them his own father, bore down upon him with raised talons and ugly snouts. They were shouting or screaming at him, it was hard to tell which, and yet through it Bracken could hear Hulver begin the very final part of the blessing, the part he himself had learned:
‘We bathe their paws in showers of dew,
We free their fur with… ’
But old Hulver got no further. He half-turned at the final moment to face his attackers and Bracken saw that his talons were not raised at all—rather, his paws were outstretched as if he were blessing them. Just as he had blessed the worms at the very first meal they had taken together:
‘Let no mole adown my body
That may hurt my sorrowing soul…’
And then frail Hulver was gone, lost beneath their stabbing, vicious, thrusting, tearing talons, any sound he made drowned by the noise of their screams of anger and the panting of their murderous effort. Torn down where he stood in the shadow of the Stone, at the very heart of the system he loved, uttering the blessing on the youngsters in whose future he believed. Bracken was rooted to the spot, his heart screaming out at the agony of watching the mole he had so quickly grown to love, slaughtered before him. Yet he could not move. He did not have the courage, or the foolishness, to run out into the clearing and face Hulver’s killers.
Then, in a moment, it was over. Mandrake stood back and the others fell away, and without a word to each other, they turned round like a pack of rats in the night and scampered out of the clearing. As they passed Bindle, lying stretched out on the ground, he stirred and moaned, but Mandrake said, ‘Leave him, let him be living owl-fodder.’
They were barely gone before Bracken found his strength again and was able to run out into the clearing to Hulver.
But Hulver was dead, and all he could see was the body of a time-worn old mole, terribly torn, small and crumpled in the moonlight, the left paw catching its light and curled softly like a young pup’s. There was the shiny blackness of blood on him, from his snout to his rump.
