Ember Falls (The Green Ember Series Book 2)

by S D Smith

  Picket closed the seal, concealing the hidden gem, and sheathed his sword. He looked to the rising dawn, breathed deeply, then set his jaw. His face was serious and settled, a furious storm curtained off by calm. For now. But the curtain would come down this day. He would be an arrow aimed at the heart of Morbin’s forces.

  He turned toward the forest just as Jo and Cole came striding in beside him. The three of them went silently, sunlight playing over their faces, until they moved into the forest with hundreds of others.

  “We go,” Picket said as they set off beneath the canopy of trees, “back to Jupiter’s Crossing.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  A LIVING QUEEN

  Heather came slowly awake, lost in an eerie, frightening dream. In the dream she had been a little child again, playing among the trees of Nick Hollow. At first it had been pleasant, but the dream turned dark when she lost something she couldn’t name, something she had been charged to keep safe.

  The dream continued with her running through East Wood. In the dream, the wood was a forbidden, frightening collection of decaying trees. The trees grabbed at her, cackling in the growing darkness as burning limbs fell all around her. She looked up as a fiery brand fell, hurled by a sneering black bird with a golden crown and a long black sickle in his grip. “Bear the flame!” he screeched.

  She fell, crashing through the surface of the ground and landing in a dank underground hollow thick with fog. Large eggs covered the ground all around her, and a slick whispering voice sounded in her ears. “They will awaken,” it said.

  She struggled to stand but couldn’t move. She wanted to cry out, but her voice would make no sound. Then she saw him. Smalls lay motionless beside her. The dream ended as her necklace caught fire and a scaly hand found her in the fog.

  She had always had dreams, including bad ones, and they seemed to be getting worse. Back home, when she had a bad dream, she would crawl into bed beside her mother. And Mother would sing. No better tonic existed, and Heather’s heart would swell with every sweet, soft note in the night. She would feel safe again, safe and hopeful and glad.

  But Mother was gone. She might never hear her mother’s voice again.

  Heather shook her head, willing the memory of the dream away, then sat up. Feeling for her necklace, she found that the torch charm was cool. She blinked and gazed at the painting on the wall at the end of her bed. It was a lovely glen in the Great Wood, in the time before the fall of King Jupiter Goodson. This was, she believed, her family’s lost home, a home where she knew she belonged, though she had never seen it. At least if she had seen this place, it had been when she was a baby, and she had no memory of it. Still, her heart ached for it.

  She sighed. The Mended Wood seemed so far away. Today would tip the balance in one direction or another. After today, the Mended Wood would either become a legend for a lost cause, a sad song for a few faithful exiles and slaves, or grow ever closer to reality.

  Heather had a part to play. The ragged edges of the awful dream faded away, and she sprang out of bed. She was grateful that she had been quartered in her and Picket’s old familiar room in the stone corridors of Cloud Mountain. She got dressed, eager to do her part for Emma’s cause, for the warriors in the field, and for the community she loved.

  In honor of Smalls.

  For the Mended Wood.

  She hurried down the corridor and up the stairs, through King’s Garden and Hallway Round.

  Entering the great hall, she found Emma working on her tonic and instructing the hospital volunteers in how to help evaluate and dose the wounded. Doctor Zeiger stood nearby, huddled with the surgeons and barbers, their grisly tools at the ready as the old doctor talked them through what to expect. Not far off, Eefaw Potter was spinning his wheel, forging every kind of clay vessel the medical staff needed to prepare for the battle. Smiling wide, he waved at her, unwittingly slinging mud on a passing nurse, then quickly reached again for the wet clay that had begun to fly free of his wheel. Heather smiled and waved back.

  She worried that she had slept longer than she meant to, but when Emma saw her, she called out, “Doctor Longtreader is here. Come up here, Heather. Don’t worry; we’ve only just started. Doctor Longtreader knows this tonic as well as I do, so she will be in charge here while I help Doctor Zeiger with the surgery. Any questions?”

  “What do we do if we run out?” a young rabbit asked. Heather recognized her as Gloria Folds, the young apprentice of Garden Mistress Halmond.

  “We do the best we can, Gloria,” Heather said. “We’ll dose on the conservative side to begin with and, together with the more experienced doctors, evaluate patients who need more urgent care. The barbers will sew up wounds, and the surgeons will treat the worst cases. You all will be a tremendous help to us, but don’t take on more than you need to. Just do your part, and it will help. Doctor Emma and the others will show us the way.”

  Emma smiled weakly, but with affection, at Heather, then turned back to the volunteers. “Now, if all has gone as planned, our soldiers will be in great peril very soon. We have all, I hope, gotten some rest. We will need all our strength. It may be a while before we can rest again. So I’m ordering you all to take half an hour. Go. Find a peaceful spot. Talk with your friends or family. If you need solitude, find a place to be alone. Meditate, clear your head, speak to a votary or a wise friend. Be back here in half an hour, ready to work.”

  The team broke up slowly, heading off to find a moment of peace before the battle.

  Heather wrapped Emma in a tender embrace. They said nothing for a few moments. Then Emma pulled back. “Can we walk together, Heather?” she asked. “One last time?”

  “One last time?” Heather asked. “My dear Emma, we may yet win this.”

  Emma nodded, her eyes cast down. “I suppose we have to believe that.”

  “Picket’s out there,” Heather said. “I have to believe it.”

  “Yes, dear old Shuffler,” she said, and they laughed at the memory of Emma’s teasing name for Picket. “I pray he comes through this awful day. I’m worried for him, but now I must think of all of them. I must love them all in a way I didn’t, couldn’t have, yesterday.”

  “It’s a terrible burden to have thrust on you so suddenly,” Heather said. “Emma, you won’t believe how I longed to tell you. I was in pieces worrying about keeping it from you.”

  “I spoke with my father—I mean with Lord Rake—for a time last night. I understand why you had to do it. It was wise. And I am, I believe, strong enough to know who I am. It has relieved a long-simmering sorrow.”

  “You are very brave.”

  “I am brave, yes. But I’m also afraid.”

  “Are you afraid of what happens if we lose?”

  “Yes, but perhaps more afraid of what happens if we win.”

  “You will be our queen,” Heather said, fighting back tears, “the one in whom we hope.”

  “I think,” Emma said, “that you were better prepared for that life than I will ever be.”

  They walked on, saying little as they crossed out of the hall, till Heather realized they were headed for the mossy porch. A blast of cool wind met them as they opened the door. Heather flinched. She followed Emma down the stairs, along the porch, and up to where an old rabbit sat mending clothes. She kept at her work, sewing with remarkable speed. Beside her lay heaps of baskets, a long spyglass, and an extinguished candle.

  “Mrs. Weaver?” Emma asked. “May we speak to you for a moment?”

  “Of course, my dears,” she said, finishing up a torn shirt. She looked up, then rose and hugged each of them in turn. She stayed on her feet, stretching. “It’s been a while, girls, and you’ve been through quite a lot.”

  “We have,” Heather said, nodding as they sat. “Especially Emma.”

  “You mean Her Royal Highness,” Mrs. Weaver said, easing down onto her knees.

  “Mrs. Weaver, please,” Emma said, moving to help the old rabbit up.

  “Ah, ah, y
oung lady,” Mrs. Weaver said, shooing her away with insistent gestures. “You must be who you are, Princess, for no one else can be. And further, you must let me be who I am.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Emma said.

  “So, you know?” Heather asked, as she helped Mrs. Weaver slowly to her feet.

  “Know what?” the wise old rabbit asked as she settled back into her chair. “That the king and queen had a secret youngest daughter hidden away on Cloud Mountain? You could say that.” She raised her eyebrows and smiled.

  “You knew before yesterday,” Heather said.

  “I did, child. It was my idea.”

  “Your idea?” Emma said. “Who decided this? Was it just you and the lords?”

  “There were only a few of us in council—how I got there is an odd story, but for another time—and I made the suggestion. Your mother, though it pained her, agreed with my counsel, and that’s when Lord Rake took you as his own. In fact, that’s when this horrid business of me being called ‘Maggie O’Sage’ started. That was the queen’s fault.”

  “You knew my mother?” Emma asked, scooting to the edge of her seat. “What was she like?”

  “Knew her?” Mrs. Weaver said. “I know her. And besides her annoying habit of giving rabbits grand titles that they hate and can’t ever seem to shake off, the queen is a good lady.”

  “She is?” Emma began.

  “Dear Princess Emma,” Mrs. Weaver said, “your mother is still alive.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  RETREAT AT JUPITER’S CROSSING

  Picket huddled with his fellow soldiers on the edge of the clearing known as Jupiter’s Crossing. The battle would begin on this hallowed ground. He glanced along the lines and saw several small teams huddled as they were. Other officers, though none as young as Picket, were leading their own small bands.

  Picket bent to whisper. “Remember the plan, bucks. Surge out and sail into them, but listen for the order. Listen hard. And only pass on what you hear from an officer. Be sharp, and do what damage you can. Stay tight and follow orders.”

  The huddled bucks, including Jo and Cole, nodded solemnly. Picket saw the eagerness in their eyes, the fear and focus. He extended a fist into the midst of the circle of rabbits. “For Jupiter’s heir and Jupiter’s blood,” he said.

  They put their fists into the center of the circle. When they withdrew them, they placed them over their hearts.

  “My place beside you, my blood for yours. Till the Green Ember rises, or the end of the world!”

  They turned and crept to the forest edge. An army of well-provisioned wolves stood on the opposite side of the crossing, their camp extending to the center of the field.

  “Just where they’re supposed to be,” Cole whispered. Picket nodded, remembering many months before when he had saved Smalls very near here. How he wished Smalls were with them now.

  Jo was securing his weapons. His tightly belted quiver was teeming with arrows. He had a catch he could loose to free the arrows for easy drawing, but for now it was locked down to free his movements. Each arrow was precious. He didn’t want to lose a single one in the wild close combat to come.

  Peering down the line of trees beside him, Picket spotted Helmer. The old captain glanced both ways, then nodded.

  Picket inhaled, squaring his shoulders to the clearing. He drew his sword and absently fingered the circular seal with its flying rabbit emblem. For you, Smalls. For you I’ll fly into battle today. With this gift, I’ll do my best to secure a future for your sister and for all her subjects.

  Helmer shouted, “For the Mended Wood!” and ran into the clearing. Half a step behind, hundreds of rabbits broke from the tree line and sprinted out beside him. Picket was one of the first. Cole bared his own blade in stride and let out a fierce war cry, while Jo surged forward, nocking a free arrow as he came.

  The wolves were surprised but quickly formed a battle line. They were eager when the clash came. Picket reached the foremost wolves and drove in with ferocious zeal. His towering sword met a raised spear shaft, and his blade cleaved it in two.

  Picket launched onto his opponent, picked out of the scores before him, and fought like he had never fought before. His blood was up, his mind alert, and his limbs felt charged. Blocking one spear thrust, he hopped forward to evade another. He landed on the shaft, and it shattered as he came surging on, battling the wolf warrior till he was defeated.

  Picket turned in time to see a sword swing for his middle. He reacted with poise, bringing his own sword around to deflect the enemy’s blade. With quick motions, he warded off three more stabs. Then he attacked, ending another enemy.

  Now three grisly wolves struck at Picket at once. He gritted his teeth and sliced out, catching one and sending him sprawling. But the others were on him. One leapt, knocking into him and sending him rolling back to collide with a large cart’s wheel. A bloody gash appeared along his cheek. As Picket tried to regain his footing, the wolf pounced. No time. He arced toward Picket with a bloodthirsty gaze. Picket tried to bring his blade around, but too slowly. It was too late.

  The wolf flew at him, all teeth and fury.

  Just as the wolf’s breath was on his neck, he careened sideways, intercepted by desperate crashing kicks from Cole and Jo. Picket leapt up, swinging his sword to defend his friends as they recovered their feet. Jo checked his quiver. Still tight and not an arrow missing. Cole recovered, ripping his sword free and repeating his bellowing cry as the black buck waded into the battle beside his friends.

  Jo leapt backward, flipping in an arc to land on the cart, drawing an arrow as he landed. From atop his perch on the wagon, he shot the wolf nearest Picket. The arrow sent him stumbling back to crumple and stir no more. Unhooking the catch on his quiver, Jo sent a series of deadly darts into the ravenous band of wolves.

  The battle-wild wolves were enraged. They came for Jo with a slavering fury. Picket and Cole took up the defense of the cart, rallying more rabbits to preserve this advantage.

  They battled on, Jo raining arrows, until the wolf commanders sent in arrows of their own. After a wild minute, they surrendered the cart and, under Picket’s command, re-formed a little ways off. They battled on, forming a wall of blades that chewed into the enemy. But they were no longer surging ahead. They were losing too many rabbits.

  Picket stood as tall as he could, ears attentive. A spear point broke the line and cut a deep gash in his arm. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he fought on. His sword found another wolf attacker as a shout rang through the ranks.

  It was Helmer. He was crying out, and the other officers and soldiers were passing on the call.

  “Retreat!”

  Picket turned toward his company. “Retreat!” he shouted, turning his tail to the wolves and sprinting into the forest.

  They fled, surrendering the sacred soil of Jupiter’s Crossing amid the jeering, jubilant shouts of the wolf army.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  TRAPS

  My mother is alive?” Emma asked.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Weaver said, smiling. “She’s been alive her whole life. She has lived for many years near Kingston, in a hidden glen.”

  “The Lady of the Glen?” Heather asked, her eyes widening. “I met her! She came to my home, in Nick Hollow.”

  Emma was flustered, searching for words. “Then why,” she began, “what is the...?”

  Heather asked what Emma could not. “Then why isn’t she queen? She’s called the queen, right? Why isn’t she ruling? I mean, I would dearly love to hear that my own mother was still alive and hear her voice again, but why isn’t Lady Glen ruling?”

  “It’s a good question but answered simply enough,” Mrs. Weaver said. “She can’t be the monarch. She has no royal blood, is not a descendant of King Whitson. She’s really a royal consort, but she’s called queen by courtesy and custom. When you are crowned, Princess Emma, she will be the Queen Mother.”

  “But why,” Emma began, tears in her eyes, “has she never c
ome to me? Why has she been a stranger to me my whole life?”

  “I’m sorry, dear,” Mrs. Weaver answered. “It’s because of my scheme, my idea to keep you secret. She did, when you were much smaller, come and hold you in the night. She loves you very much, child. And perhaps your reunion is near.”

  Emma’s brows knit. “I have some vague memories of a grey lady holding me.”

  Mrs. Weaver nodded, her eyes sad.

  The far door burst open, and Lord Rake strode onto the porch, followed by Pacer. “Your Highness,” he said, bowing to Emma. “Doctor Longtreader.”

  “Lord Rake,” Emma said, nodding respectfully.

  “Your Highness, the battle is joined.”

  “Then we all have work to do,” she said.

  “Maggie,” Lord Rake said, “are you prepared?”

  The wise rabbit nodded, reaching back to remove stacks of clothing from a large barrel. A cloth was stuffed into a hole near the top, and Mrs. Weaver lifted a flint-and-steel from a hidden pocket. “I’m ready.”

  “What’s this?” Emma asked.

  Mrs. Weaver stood while Lord Rake and Pacer moved the rocking chair and the rug beneath it. A trapdoor was revealed.

  “I’m more than just a mad old rabbit sewing on a porch and staring longingly into the fog,” she said. Heather offered Mrs. Weaver her hand for balance. “I’m also the guardian of one of the few secret passages into Cloud Mountain.”

  “And before we’ll let the enemy in this door...” Lord Rake said, nodding to the barrel.

  “Kaboom,” Mrs. Weaver said, a mischievous smile spreading over her face. “There are many mysterious passages in this place. For this one, I am the guardian. Would you like to know of some others?”