time, unknown to him, Cluniac followed in the shadows, ready to do his young best to protect Pumpkin, with his very life if need be. For the day was surely coming when the Newborns would no longer tolerate the survival of the rebel followers in the High Wood, and begin to flush them out.
Finally, that day did come. In mid-April it started: surprise patrols, shouting through the wood, the sudden rush of guardmoles from out of nowhere, the eerie thumping up on the surface by Newborns who had deduced that such simple tactics would produce terrifying Dark Sound underground.
A shadow came over the followers’ spring as Pumpkin, Cluniac and the fitter of the others desperately tried to keep the followers together, and protect them from their own mounting fears and doubts.
“If we give ourselves up, like some of them have been shouting at dusk, they’ll surely treat us fair...”
“I can’t stand the strain any more, Pumpkin, sir, I just can’t...”
“It’s no good, Pumpkin, it’s never been any good; it’s all hopeless now...”
These last were the final words of an old Eastsider, worn down first by the winter, and now by being harried from tunnel to tunnel. He could take no more, and one April morning as a sun that might otherwise have seemed beautiful rose through the dew-gemmed High Wood, he died in Pumpkin’s paws.
Then, two days later, two foolish followers, disobeying all instructions, ventured out on to the southern pastures in the hope of finding better worms than they had fed on in molemonths past. They did not return. Their cries were heard, the hulking forms of guardmoles were seen, and then they were gone, and Pumpkin spent his last strength persuading Cluniac and one or two young moles from trying to rescue them.
It almost broke Pumpkin’s heart, and for the first time he could find neither words nor example to encourage the followers and give them hope. They waited in vain for their two friends to return, but nomole came until four days later when some guardmoles appeared up by the Stone, thumping and shouting.
“We know you’re there, and we know your numbers. There’s...”
The brutal voice told how many there were, mentioned many names, and spoke of the chamber on the far side of the High Wood where they had hidden, but which Pumpkin had forbidden them to return to against just such a discovery as this.
“Your friends died lingeringly and horribly, for they were sinners and suffered just punishment. Crush a mole’s snout slowly enough and he’ll tell you anything. By the end they had nothing left to say. Give yourselves up! Give yourselves a chance to live, for you’ll not be punished. But if you resist the true path longer you’ll one by one go the way of your two friends.”
Aye, April became a dark time in the High Wood, and Pumpkin had no way of alleviating it, for he felt as dark and oppressed as any of them. Even praying by the Stone became nearly impossible, and very dangerous, for the guardmoles were often posted there, and twice more he was nearly caught.
“Don’t risk it any more. Pumpkin!” Elynor begged him. “For all our sakes don’t! Things will get better; you’ve always said it, and now I’m saying it.”
But he was not cheered, for he could no longer believe it, much as he wanted to.
For three more days he barely moved, and scarcely tasted the meagre worms that Cluniac put before him. Then, finally, he slipped up to the surface, “Just to see the Stone, just to keep my spirit alive...” and at a nod from Elynor, who knew that part of the secret at least, Cluniac followed after him.
But he did not go over towards the Stone Clearing, but instead, as Cluniac had rightly guessed, he headed towards the Great Library, no doubt to try to meet Sturne. But Pumpkin never got that far. Somewhere along the way his luck ran out. Two guards reared out of the shadows of some roots and challenged him, and all he could do was turn back the way he had come, running for
Finally, that day did come. In mid-April it started: surprise patrols, shouting through the wood, the sudden rush of guardmoles from out of nowhere, the eerie thumping up on the surface by Newborns who had deduced that such simple tactics would produce terrifying Dark Sound underground.
A shadow came over the followers’ spring as Pumpkin, Cluniac and the fitter of the others desperately tried to keep the followers together, and protect them from their own mounting fears and doubts.
“If we give ourselves up, like some of them have been shouting at dusk, they’ll surely treat us fair...”
“I can’t stand the strain any more, Pumpkin, sir, I just can’t...”
“It’s no good, Pumpkin, it’s never been any good; it’s all hopeless now...”
These last were the final words of an old Eastsider, worn down first by the winter, and now by being harried from tunnel to tunnel. He could take no more, and one April morning as a sun that might otherwise have seemed beautiful rose through the dew-gemmed High Wood, he died in Pumpkin’s paws.
Then, two days later, two foolish followers, disobeying all instructions, ventured out on to the southern pastures in the hope of finding better worms than they had fed on in molemonths past. They did not return. Their cries were heard, the hulking forms of guardmoles were seen, and then they were gone, and Pumpkin spent his last strength persuading Cluniac and one or two young moles from trying to rescue them.
It almost broke Pumpkin’s heart, and for the first time he could find neither words nor example to encourage the followers and give them hope. They waited in vain for their two friends to return, but nomole came until four days later when some guardmoles appeared up by the Stone, thumping and shouting.
“We know you’re there, and we know your numbers. There’s...”
The brutal voice told how many there were, mentioned many names, and spoke of the chamber on the far side of the High Wood where they had hidden, but which Pumpkin had forbidden them to return to against just such a discovery as this.
“Your friends died lingeringly and horribly, for they were sinners and suffered just punishment. Crush a mole’s snout slowly enough and he’ll tell you anything. By the end they had nothing left to say. Give yourselves up! Give yourselves a chance to live, for you’ll not be punished. But if you resist the true path longer you’ll one by one go the way of your two friends.”
Aye, April became a dark time in the High Wood, and Pumpkin had no way of alleviating it, for he felt as dark and oppressed as any of them. Even praying by the Stone became nearly impossible, and very dangerous, for the guardmoles were often posted there, and twice more he was nearly caught.
“Don’t risk it any more. Pumpkin!” Elynor begged him. “For all our sakes don’t! Things will get better; you’ve always said it, and now I’m saying it.”
But he was not cheered, for he could no longer believe it, much as he wanted to.
For three more days he barely moved, and scarcely tasted the meagre worms that Cluniac put before him. Then, finally, he slipped up to the surface, “Just to see the Stone, just to keep my spirit alive...” and at a nod from Elynor, who knew that part of the secret at least, Cluniac followed after him.
But he did not go over towards the Stone Clearing, but instead, as Cluniac had rightly guessed, he headed towards the Great Library, no doubt to try to meet Sturne. But Pumpkin never got that far. Somewhere along the way his luck ran out. Two guards reared out of the shadows of some roots and challenged him, and all he could do was turn back the way he had come, running for
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