The Green Ember (The Green Ember Series Book 1)

by S D Smith

Heather wanted to ask about Uncle Wilfred’s wife but was afraid to. There was too much of loss and sadness already in this tiny boat. She was afraid to raise another ghost to haunt them. Perhaps, she thought, our aunt has been killed, along with who-knows-who-else? It is, she considered gravely, a terribly dangerous world. She supposed it always had been, but she was only now really experiencing it.

  “Heather,” Uncle Wilfred said quietly. He nodded at Picket, who Heather could see, as she turned, was fast asleep. Finally able to relax, Picket had fallen asleep with his arm around Heather. He was leaning against her. She leaned into him with her head, snuggling against him, then laid him gently down and patted his hand.

  Heather realized she was more exhausted than she could ever remember being. Her eyes drooped.

  “You should get some rest too, Heather dear,” Uncle Wilfred said, and he never looked more like Father, sitting there, smiling kindly down on her as the sun sank behind him. She half expected him to kiss her cheeks and whisper a blessing in her ear.

  But he went back to caring for Smalls.

  Then she did feel lost. Where are you, Father? Where are you, Mother, and Baby Jacks? She turned to look behind as all the world she knew disappeared in the far distance.

  After the mad rushing and horrible noise of the last hours, the river was gentle and the surrounding country quiet. She crumpled beside Picket and fell asleep before the first star appeared.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Boat Answers

  Heather could tell the sun was high in the sky even before she opened her eyes. She lay still, trying to remember where she was and why she was hurting all over.

  Then it all came back to her: the storm, Lady Glen, the terrible fire, the wolves, her family killed or captured, and the wild flight to escape from Redeye Garlackson and his horrible band. So much had happened.

  She felt the gently bobbing rhythm of the river as they continued to drift down it on the old boat. She felt Picket’s presence beside her. Judging by the sound of snoring in her ear, he was sleeping deeply. At least that hadn’t changed. She didn’t want to disturb him, so she lay still a little longer. She opened her eyes for a moment and saw that Smalls was awake and huddled with Uncle Wilfred at the prow of the boat, their backs to her and Picket. As Uncle Wilfred shifted to look back at them, she closed her eyes.

  She wasn’t even sure why she did it. She just did. The two of them were talking. She felt like it was wrong to eavesdrop on these two who had been so kind to her, but now she wasn’t sure what else to do.

  “I think we should make for Cloud Mountain,” Uncle Wilfred whispered, “wait it out a little while.”

  “That’s what they want,” Smalls said, anger just touching his words. “That’s what they’ll expect, for us to go to cover, to hide somewhere. Which is why I say we don’t do it. What if we head straight for the First Warren?”

  “The First Warren?” Uncle Wilfred said warily. “I don’t like it. It would be so dangerous. The protectorate won’t listen to us anymore. Winslow as good as banished us. Morbin’s been in his ear for months. And anyway, what about these two?”

  “Can we set them up somewhere—somewhere they can get up the mountain? Wouldn’t Tommy Decker take them up?” Smalls said.

  Heather could feel their eyes on her, and she tried to breathe easy and not move. Picket’s sometimes raucous snorting snores made it hard to hear.

  “We could leave them at Decker’s and go on,” Uncle Wilfred said. “But nowhere’s really safe if Morbin’s willing to send wolves this far out. I think we’d do best to go up ourselves. There’ll be a citadel congress soon, and we should be there. Anyway, this is my family, these two. I think we’d all be better off to go on up.”

  “Maybe you’re right. I want them safe, Wilfred,” Smalls said, and there was a heaviness to his words. “I really do. But we have more than just them to think of.”

  “I know,” Uncle Wilfred said. Heather squinted and saw that Uncle Wilfred had his hand on Smalls’ back. “You know I’m on—” But he stopped talking as Picket snorted, stirred, and yawned loudly.

  Heather was irritated. She wanted to hear more. Picket sat up, stretching, and Heather did the same.

  “Welcome back to the land of the living,” Smalls said.

  “I was already awake,” Picket said, rubbing his eyes and looking around, confused.

  Heather shook her head. Of course you were.

  “Good morning, shipmates,” Uncle Wilfred said. “You’re true sailors now, having passed a night on the water and under the stars.”

  “Add that to the list of firsts,” Heather said, smiling weakly.

  Smalls smiled back at her. “You were amazing yesterday, Heather,” he said, crossing and extending his hand. Heather took it. He said, “I’m Smalls. I’m so glad to finally meet you when both of us are awake.”

  She laughed.

  “My pleasure to meet you, Smalls. How’s your head?”

  “Nothing life-threatening,” he said. “I’ve had much worse.”

  “Thank you so much for rescuing me,” Heather said. “I would have been finished, for sure, without you, and you, Uncle.”

  “And Picket was very brave as well,” Uncle Wilfred said.

  * * *

  Picket didn’t believe he had been brave. He believed he had been saved, had stood by as his sister had been saved, and then had been lucky to be saved again. He was losing count of how many times he’d failed and needed rescuing. He saw Baby Jacks in his mind’s eye and squinted against the rush of tears. He shook his head.

  “You were brave, Picket,” Heather said.

  “Of course,” Smalls said, laughing and turning to him. Smalls slid over and slapped him on the back. Picket pitched forward a bit but rebalanced quickly, looking sideways, back and forth. “You,” Smalls said, pointing at him, “are my favorite mathematician. When … well … I’d love to see you as an engineer. Building things, solving problems.”

  Picket frowned. The dislike for Smalls he had felt when they first met was creeping back. Little things about the white rabbit irritated him. His fancy black scarf, the plain sword sheathed at his side, his strength. Why these things should bother him, he couldn’t say. They just did. Picket imagined himself like a magnet and Smalls as another magnet, turned the wrong way. He looked at Smalls for a moment, then looked down and said quietly, “Thank you, Smalls. You saved Heather when I let her down, and I’ll never forget that.”

  “C’mon, Picket,” Wilfred said. “You never let anyone down. We all did what we could yesterday, and it turned out all right.”

  Picket wanted to argue, but he kept quiet.

  For the next few minutes, Uncle Wilfred looked them each over, consulted his little book, and offered advice or encouragement about their many pains and wounds. He had clearly been around wounds of many kinds and was not alarmed by anything.

  “You both should be fine with some rest and food,” he pronounced, smiling at them. How much he looked like Father. It was both comforting and sad. Pain settled down deep in Picket. Since the disaster of yesterday morning, everything he saw and heard felt like another chapter in an awful story of pain.

  “I am so sorry about your ear, Heather,” Uncle Wilfred said, taking a small strip torn from a cloth in his satchel to bind the split ear together. “It’s not anything that will hurt your hearing, but I’m afraid it may always be like that.”

  She smiled, but her eyes unfocused for a moment, and she winced. Picket saw that she was remembering a terrifying trial from yesterday. So much pain.

  “It could have been much worse,” she said.

  “It’s a mark of distinction,” Smalls said. “It in no way diminishes your beauty.”

  Picket bristled.

  “Uncle Wilfred,” Heather said quickly, “where have you come from? How did you know we were in trouble? Why have we neve
r met you?”

  “Well, Heather dear,” he said, “I know you have these and more questions. You’re far too clever to be satisfied with ignorance. I like that.” He grinned at his niece. “But we really need to get some food and rest. How about I give you the quick and almost totally unsatisfactory version?”

  “Fine,” she said. Picket realized he was starving.

  “We’re about a mile from Decker’s Landing,” Uncle Wilfred said. “It’s run by an old friend, name of Tommy Decker. So how about I give you a bit of the rundown on things? Then we’ll see if old Decker has a meal for us. Later, we may have a chance to talk more.”

  “Thank you, Uncle,” Heather said. “I don’t know where we’d be without you and Smalls.”

  “Don’t mention it, dear,” he said, smiling down at her.

  “I’ll paddle,” Smalls said, hopping to the oars with unexpected energy. He displayed his surprising strength as the lolling boat shot forward. Picket sniffed.

  “Well, well,” Uncle Wilfred began, “where to start?”

  “Why not tell us where you and Smalls met?” Picket asked.

  “Picket,” Heather said, “can’t you tell that Smalls is Uncle Wilfred’s son? He’s our cousin.”

  At this, Smalls faltered at the oars for a moment. Uncle Wilfred stammered a moment, then said, “Well, my dear nephew and niece, Smalls isn’t …”

  Smalls picked up as he trailed off. “I’m not his natural son. He has … adopted me.”

  Uncle Wilfred paused, then said, “Right.”

  “So you don’t have a wife and kids?” Picket asked.

  Heather shushed him. “Let him talk, Picket.”

  “No, Picket,” Uncle Wilfred said sadly, “I don’t have any family like that. Not anymore.”

  There were a few moments when no one spoke and the splashing of the oars was the lone, insistent sound. Smalls worked on, his black scarf trailing in the breeze.

  “Uncle,” Heather said, “what can we do to get Father and Mother and Jacks back? If they’re still … you know. If they’re all right.”

  Picket sat up and clenched his fists.

  “I’m sorry, dear. We can do nothing for now,” he said. “We will alert those who need to know. But I’m sorry to say that they are best considered gone for now. And probably forever.”

  Picket’s insides churned. He leaned over the side and was sick. He looked back to see Heather hang her head and cry. Picket closed his eyes, gasping. He saw a vision of Jacks looking up at him and, with an expression of unbearable sadness and confusion, wordlessly asking over and over, “Where were you?”

  A long silence followed. The only sounds to be heard were the plunge and splash of angry strokes as Smalls tore at the water.

  “They’ll be taken to the Great Wood, or worse,” Smalls said.

  “What’s so bad about the Great Wood?” Heather asked softly, tears standing out in her eyes.

  “It is a ruin, Heather,” Uncle Wilfred said. “And the crumbled wreck is ruled by pathetic puppets. Smalls and I came from the Great Wood. We were on our way to see you. I haven’t seen my brother in many years and haven’t seen you, Heather, since you were a baby.”

  “You’ve seen me before?” Heather asked.

  “Yes,” Uncle Wilfred said. “I’ve seen you, but never Picket. Your parents are very dear to me. But I had work to do, and when you were born, they decided to leave, along with most families who could.”

  “We’re coming up on Slender Bend in a few minutes,” Smalls said.

  Picket looked ahead at the bending river, then up and away to the right. He noticed how much the scenery had changed from when they sped away from Nick Hollow the previous day. There were high hills rising in the distance, the highest of which were ringed with mist.

  “Ah, good,” Uncle Wilfred said. “Up around this bend, our friend Decker has a home on the Whitmer. He’s been here for years, gardening and living his own way. He was like your parents. He left the Great Wood for the safety of the wider world. Of course it used to be the reverse. People would never think of leaving the Great Wood for safety, and people flocked there for protection.”

  “And now you’ve left the Great Wood as well,” Picket said. “Why?”

  Uncle Wilfred and Smalls exchanged a knowing glance. “Because,” Uncle Wilfred said, “things finally got so bad that we had to get out as well.”

  The oars bit hard into the water, and they shot forward. Smalls seemed to be seething.

  “I’m sorry,” Heather said, as much to Smalls as to Uncle Wilfred.

  “We didn’t know about the wolves at first,” Uncle Wilfred went on. “We were away up north of Nick Hollow for a little while. But when we came south, we saw some signs of trouble. We made good time trying to get to your home. But we were too late. When we arrived, the elm was burning, and we knew there were too many enemies to attempt a rescue.”

  “You saw Mother and Father?” Heather asked, and Picket’s breath caught.

  Uncle Wilfred nodded sadly. “And the baby.”

  “Jacks!” Picket said. “How were they?”

  “They were hurt,” Uncle Wilfred said. “I won’t lie. Your father looked bad.”

  Picket’s head drooped. He sniffed and said, “I’m sure he kept fighting until they made him stop.”

  “I think so,” Uncle Wilfred agreed. “That would be like him. But they were all alive. At least, they were then.”

  After a few more moments of silence, Smalls said, “Nearly to Slender Bend.”

  Picket saw ahead that the river started to shrink, bent a couple of times, and then disappeared around a corner.

  “What will we do, Uncle?” Heather asked.

  “I’m not sure yet,” he said. “Eat and get some rest at Decker’s Landing. Then figure out where to go from there.”

  Picket shook his head. “I can’t believe they’ve been taken.”

  “Get used to it, lad,” Smalls said curtly, rowing harder and harder.

  “I’m not your lad,” Picket spat, his anger and resentment boiling over. “Sorry if I’m upset that we just lost our family.”

  Smalls laughed bitterly and shook his head.

  “Picket, don’t—” Uncle Wilfred began.

  But Picket’s pain was rising inside him like bile, and this sword-bearing, scarf-wearing little rabbit was going to hear it. “How would you know,” Picket shouted, “how it feels to lose those you love most? I’m sick of your charming, stuck-up attitude and your ‘lad’ this and your ‘lad’ that. I’m not a kid anymore. I don’t need permission from you to think or talk. I don’t like you, and I don’t want to hear you talking to me like I’m a little child.”

  Uncle Wilfred made to speak again, but Smalls shook his head. He stopped rowing for a moment as the river narrowed around them. He turned to look at Picket, and there were tears in his eyes. “Picket,” he said quietly, “stay angry. It’s okay if it’s at me, for now. If you aren’t angry about the wicked things happening in the world all around, then you don’t have a soul.”

  There was silence as they rounded the S curve of Slender Bend. Then Heather screamed. Everyone looked ahead.

  Decker’s Landing was ablaze.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Forest Flight

  We need to get to shore,” Uncle Wilfred said. “Now!”

  Smalls stabbed the water with one oar, and the boat spun quickly to face the shore. Then he dug in with both oars, and they shot forward. The boat raced ahead to the rocky shore of the Whitmer River a little ways upstream of Decker’s Landing. Heather could see it was once a pretty little place with a long, wide deck and a cozy home on a high frame above the water. She thought of home and clenched her fists.

  “Stay low,” Uncle Wilfred said, though he didn’t need to. They had all shrunk low as if an owl was flying above. He was looking al
l around, and Heather did the same, searching for signs of movement anywhere. She saw them first.

  “There,” Heather whispered sharply, pointing to several loping wolves on a ridge above and behind the burning home. “Seven.”

  “Yes,” Uncle Wilfred said, nodding. “Well-spotted, Heather.” He motioned for quiet and pointed at some reeds near the shore.

  “It’s not Garlackson, is it?” Heather whispered.

  “No,” Uncle Wilfred whispered back. “It’s his wolves, under his command, but a different company. It would take Garlackson a while to get here.”

  “Decker?” Smalls asked.

  “No sign of struggle from them,” Uncle Wilfred whispered, squinting to see through the haze of heat and swirling smoke. “Maybe he got out in time.”

  They reached the shore, and Smalls, shedding the oars with ease, deftly hopped from the boat to the water with barely a splash. Uncle Wilfred did the same, and the two of them pulled the boat to shore quickly. They dragged it in among some reeds and hid it as best they could. Heather saw that Picket was looking this way and that, uncertain of what to do.

  “Let’s go, Picket,” she said, taking his arm. He shrugged off her help and hopped to the stony shore.

  “I’m not a child,” he said.

  “Quiet,” Smalls said, not looking back. Picket bristled.

  Smalls crept forward and made hand gestures to Uncle Wilfred. He pointed ahead and to himself, then to the rest of them and to the ground. Heather assumed he meant “Stay here, while I go ahead.”

  Uncle Wilfred huddled with Heather and Picket while Smalls crept ahead. They watched Smalls dart quickly through an open patch. He dove, landing behind a large oak on a knoll near what was left of Decker’s Landing. He had some cover in the enormous blaze.

  “What’s he doing?” Picket whispered.

  “He’s scouting their location,” Uncle Wilfred said. “Seeing if we can slip past them unseen.”

  “He’ll do anything for attention,” Picket muttered, then quickly winced.

  “That’s unjust,” Uncle Wilfred whispered sharply, frowning, “and ungrateful. If it weren’t for Smalls, Heather’d be dead, I’d be dead, and you would have had a time of it yourself.”