‘We’ve grown beyond that now, and many of us,’ and Rune glanced slowly round at them all in turn, his dark gaze settling finally on Hulver, ‘no longer accept the kind of invocations and nonsense that the Midsummer ritual involved.’
This was too much for old Hulver, who found that a combination of anger and fear ran through him as he listened to Rune’s words: ‘I am the oldest here,’ he started, sensing immediately that it was just the wrong thing to say, ‘and I tell you that our ancestors would shudder if they thought that the Midsummer trek, the happiest celebration in the system, was talked of as a sentimental tradition. It is a part of the system, a celebration of the fact that, individually, we are nothing’—and he looked at all of them in turn as Rune had done, including Mandrake, who sat brooding at the end of the burrow—‘but that we acknowledge in the Stone the presence of something beside which we may feel we are nothing but without which, I tell you all, we truly are nothing, however strong we may think we are.’
His words, especially the last ones, hung ominously over the meeting for a while as everymole there expected Mandrake to react to them. But he stayed still, listening. Then Hulver came forward into the centre of the burrow so that he was in their midst, his ageing, wrinkled snout and greying fur contrasting with the younger, glossy fur all about him. ‘Something has happened in our system,’ he said quietly, ‘something more difficult to fight than owls, or wormless soil, or a gang of Pasture moles. I wish I had the words to explain to those who do not understand how bold and true Duncton moles once were. They were warriors, not fighters; believers, not arguers. And that is how they still could be and how, deep down and with the right leadership from us elders, they still are.’
He paused for a moment, sensing that of them all only Bindle was truly listening and even he, for all his love, could not understand.
His snout wearily touched the burrow floor for a moment, despair seeping through his body, for he had not the strength or the words to say what he meant. He wanted to wrench out the feeling that was so strong in his heart and show it to them and say, ‘Look, now can you see it, now can you see what we must do?’
The system under Mandrake changed as a wood changes when dirty fog invades it; the trees are still there, the flowers still have colour, but everything looks different and feels sinister.
So it was in Duncton Wood. The Westsiders still fought and struggled in the usual way; the young moles went to Barrow Vale to go on to the surface as they always had; Dogwood carried on finding worms where no other mole could; owl talons still cut through the evening air to kill the careless young and weakening old; and the wood itself still swayed and stilled to the passing of the days.
But under Mandrake’s thrall, the tunnels seemed darker and burrows far less safe. Males felt threatened even in their own home burrows, while the females became dissatisfied and bitchy, wondering what mole it was that could so terrify their mates. Moles had to watch what they said, too, because Mandrake’s henchmoles seemed everywhere. Sadly, the one way of getting any security and the freedom to travel in the system was to do what Rune and Burrhead had been the first to do—declare yourself a supporter of Mandrake and do his bidding.
Not that his bidding was very specific, which was one reason there was so much doubt and suspicion in the system, even among the henchmoles. Nomole ever quite knew what Mandrake wanted. He did, at least, make clear that there were certain things he did not want. He did not like moles who went too far from their home territory, for example, because ‘it makes for confusion and uneasiness’. So a henchmole who found an adult wandering too far from his home burrow felt he had Mandrake’s sanction to ask the reason why, and if he wasn’t satisfied, to fight and, if necessary, kill. In this way, each area in the system became more insular and suspicious of outsiders, ready to drive away a wanderer by force with the righteous confidence that they had official sanction to do so.
What was worse, as his first winter in Duncton approached, Mandrake let it be known that he did not like a mole to go on to the surface unless it was for a good reason. ‘Too many of us are being taken by owls and badgers, so this is in the interest of everymole and the strength of the system,’ was the way he put it to Rune, who was beginning to act as his main agent.
But it happened that a great many moles went on to the surface for no other reason than that they liked the sun on their fur, or the sound of wind in the trees, or to get a breath of fresh air outside the oppressive atmosphere that the tunnels seemed increasingly to possess.
