Ember Rising (The Green Ember Series Book 3)

by S D Smith

  Whit bowed quickly, then turned and quit the room.

  In a few minutes, Picket left his room and crossed the hallway, quietly opened Helmer’s door, and crept in. The bed was empty. He left the room puzzled and walked the length of the hallway, then descended the stairs overlooking the common room where so much joy had been shared the previous night. As he left the final step, he saw that Helmer sat with Captain Moonlight, eating and talking quietly, as many other rabbits ate around the large table that had been brought in. Picket’s heart swelled to see Helmer. He had no doubt that the old rabbit ought to have been in bed still, but to see him there sent a thrill through him. He loved Helmer, and he was happy to see him alive. But mixed in with the selfless devotion was a deep relief that his master had not left him to contend with this impossible errand alone.

  “Picket Packslayer!” Captain Moonlight said, laughing and motioning him over. “Come and eat at my table, now that I finally know your name.”

  Picket walked up to the table and nodded to Captain Moonlight. Then he looked at Helmer with plain tenderness. His master returned his look, and the two rabbits regarded one another with unabashed understanding, though no words were spoken. Picket was grateful to see his master alive, and Helmer plainly felt the same. But there was more. Much more.

  Picket sat and took the vegetable pie extended to him by a kind-eyed doe. It was good, and the water offered to wash it down was even more gratefully received. He was parched.

  In a few minutes, Weezie appeared at the bottom of the stairs, walking beside her mother. “Airen!” Helmer said, standing so suddenly that he knocked over his chair. He limped to his sister and folded her in his arms. “My dear,” he said softly, holding her tight. She returned his embrace, and Picket saw the tears from her eyes drip onto Helmer’s back. But her face was happy, and she looked closer to what she must have been at one time. Weezie beamed at Picket, and he smiled back. She looked fresh and happy. The fire that he understood to have marked their family’s history seemed to be rekindled in some small way. He loved seeing it spark to life.

  Making room for them near where he sat, he pulled back a chair for Weezie while Helmer did the same for his beloved sister.

  “Thank you, Picket,” Weezie said. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Like the dead,” he said, and Weezie frowned. “But with more snoring,” he added.

  “You should have heard Mother,” Weezie said, whispering. “She sounded like a battle horn plunged underwater all night.”

  Picket laughed. “So you didn’t sleep well?” he asked.

  “It was fine. Woke up a few times to enjoy the, um, music,” she said, nodding at Airen, “but I feel great.”

  “Good,” he said.

  “Good,” she agreed. “So what happens now?”

  “You eat some of this delicious vegetable pie,” he said, making a plate for her and one for her mother.

  “I don’t usually like to eat…” she began, “only one piece.”

  Picket laughed and piled three more of the round pies on her plate. “Happy now?” he asked. Weezie nodded, cutting into the first golden pie.

  “How are you, Uncle?” she asked, speaking through a mouthful.

  “I am well, Weezie, my dear,” Helmer answered. “I see you have the family appetite.”

  “I’m still growing, I think,” she said.

  “So is your uncle,” Airen said, patting her brother’s tummy.

  Picket was amazed to hear her speak so casually. So were the others.

  Helmer looked surprised a moment. Then he smiled, and his eyes filled with tears. Weezie froze, forgetting to chew. Picket was the first to recover, and he laughed. “Thank you, Airen, for supporting my position,” he said. “He’s always training me to make myself a more difficult target to hit, but he’s not being a very good example.”

  They all laughed, and Helmer put his arm around Airen.

  “You see I am not all the way gone, yet,” she said quietly. It was true.

  “Clearly, neither is Uncle Helmer,” Weezie said. Picket laughed along with the others, and Helmer held up his hands.

  “Enough,” he said playfully. “I’m down, I’m down. There’s no use kicking me.”

  “Funny,” Picket said, “but that’s exactly the training method he used on me. Kicking me while I was down.”

  “Did it work?” Weezie asked.

  “It was best when he kicked dirt in my eyes first.”

  “Well, that does help,” Weezie said.

  “I see he’s using his past sibling experiences in his military training now,” Airen said softly. Everyone laughed again, and Helmer smirked at his sister.

  They ate and smiled and laughed some more, returning again and again to needle Helmer where Airen had begun. Picket could see that, though Helmer weakly played at being offended, nothing had brought him this much happiness in many years. He could not keep from smiling.

  After a short time, Moonlight stood and motioned to some active rabbits at the bar. “Bring everyone in,” he said. They nodded and hurried from the room and, in a few minutes, brought back scores of rabbits. They lined the walls and filled the stairs, perched on landings and crowded into corners. When the Citadel of Dreams was packed, Captain Moonlight leapt onto the bar and raised his hands for quiet. A hush fell, and every eye and ear inclined to the energetic chief.

  “Friends, today is Victory Eve,” he began, and a grumbling rumble began in the room. “You know, as I know, the history of the day. Tomorrow is the anniversary of the fall of King Jupiter the Great. We know the ruin that came to us in the aftermath of that murder. And they rub it in our faces every year. They make us celebrate the death of our king and the end of our liberty. They mark us as prey with red at our necks, make a show of our weakness, and steal our young.”

  The crowd murmured angrily, and several rabbits called, “No more!”

  “No more, indeed!” Captain Moonlight shouted loudly, and the crowd quieted again. “Tomorrow they aim to take every youngling in First Warren. Every single one. These, the most vulnerable members of our kind, will be carried off into slavery in Akolan. Or worse. We hear the vilest rumors of dark rites and ceremonial meals. You have heard them too. They murder the great, prey on the small, and hold us all in their thrall. No more!” he cried.

  “No more!” they echoed, fists in the air.

  “Today is a day to prepare,” Moonlight said. “We have heroes among us, friends. Captain Helmer was a hero of the last wars and is a hero of this one too. And Picket Longtreader, of whom some of the stories are true, is here with us. We are not alone, and there are thousands of rabbits rallying to the cause all across Natalia. I have been speaking with Captain Helmer for some time this morning, and it’s plain we have a shared objective. We must prepare like we never have before. It will take all our resources and all our courage. Many of us will fall, like our own king fell. Many of us will die, as King Jupiter’s son and heir died fighting for the Mended Wood. But we must press on! There’s an heir who lives: Princess Emma. And she is the bearer of our hopes. Tomorrow, we rise. We rise for the cause of the Mended Wood, the story we have believed and worked for over these many years of darkness. We wait for the mending. We hope for the healing.” He clenched his fist and thrust it in the air. “Tomorrow, we fight for the rising!”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  CELL OF SORROW

  Heather was dragged from her home, into the street, and past the lifeless body of Stretch. She turned away, horrified at the sight and bewildered by the dwindling chances for her hopes—for all the free rabbits’ hopes—to be realized. They shoved her toward the District Six gate. She staggered, less from exhaustion and more from the weight of the terrible series of events leading up to her and Mother’s arrest.

  She had been asked to treat and help keep alive the Tunneler for a short time more. His almost-certain successor was against any action that would launch the project the faithful Akolan rabbits had worked toward in secret for over a cent
ury. Their bold escape.

  But she had failed.

  The Tunneler was dead.

  The plan to kill all the younglings on Victory Day— tomorrow—would proceed. She was captured, along with Mother. Father was missing. Jacks was being held at the administration headquarters, where he had gone to inform on his own family. Young Jacks didn’t know it, deceived as he was about the authorities he had been trained to trust, but he was destined to become part of a ritual meal for Morbin Blackhawk’s table.

  And there was nothing Heather could do. She put one foot in front of the other as they shoved her forward, her hands bound. Primly swatting flakes of ash, Captain Vitton came to walk beside her, his languid gait sickeningly smooth. “Tomorrow is Victory Day, Heather Longtreader. A very special day, and we have so much planned. Don’t worry about young Jacks Longtreader,” he said, cackling. “We’ll see he stays safely in good hands until his…last meal.”

  “You vile pet of the predators!” she cried. “You’re no buck. You’re a coward.”

  Vitton laughed his smug laugh, then crossed to where Mother was walking along, gazing at Heather with terrible concern. Vitton drew out a knife and, looking at Heather, sliced at Mother’s leg.

  “No!” Heather screamed as Mother buckled to the ground.

  “What do you say now, Heather Longtreader?” Captain Vitton asked in a sickly prim retort. “Nothing? I thought so.”

  Heather gasped, twisting to try to free herself. “Let me help her, please!”

  “Perhaps I will,” Vitton said, “once you’re both in my cells.”

  “Yes,” Heather said quickly. “Whatever you say.”

  As they walked, Vitton mused about the city, as casually as if on a stroll with friends. “The Fourth District is the filthiest of all, I find. Being so close to the lepers has infected them. But all the outer districts are grotesque.” His guards nodded. Heather saw they would not speak unless directly spoken to. “The Commandant should, at last, let me go forward with my plan to eliminate the lepers and torch their horrible district,” he said, motioning vaguely toward the L.D. “And while we’re at it, we should do the same in the Fourth. That would dispense with much of the pathetic outwaller resistance.”

  They soon reached Longtreader headquarters, several guards dragging Mother roughly while Heather bit her tongue. A lieutenant reported to Vitton as he arrived, saluting silently.

  “Go and find Whittle Longtreader,” Vitton commanded. “I want him caught by Victory Day dawn. He ought to be at the outer aqueducts. If he resists, kill him.” The lieutenant saluted and set off, signaling several guards to follow him.

  Elude them, Father. You’re the only one safe.

  They descended a series of stairways and found themselves at the beginning of a long passage with dim cells on either side. They were shoved into the tenth one on the left. Heather went first, followed by her mother. She caught Mother as she fell into the cell and laid her down gently on the one cot.

  “I’ve got you, Mother,” Heather said, fighting back tears. “Just rest easy. I have my satchel, and I’ll treat the wound.”

  “Thank you, Heather,” Mother said weakly.

  Heather couldn’t see well, but still she found her tools and, after cleaning the wound as well as she could without water, applied an ointment and bandaged it. Heather rose from her work to look at Mother’s face and saw a sad smile. She kissed Mother and stood up.

  “Thank you, Heather. Did it stop bleeding?” Mother asked.

  “I think so. It’s not the worst wound I’ve ever seen. Still, I do wish that you could rest easy for a week and not move.”

  “I will have to bear it, my dear. I’m sorry to say that we may have worse to face from that monster.”

  “I fear we will.”

  “Perhaps your father has gotten away. And Picket,” she said, trying so hard to keep a brave face, “I believe he is somewhere safe right now, working like a good’n for the mending.”

  “I’m sure he is, Mother,” Heather said. “Why don’t you rest now?”

  “I will if you will, dear. We’ll both need our strength for the ordeal ahead.”

  “There’s so much to be done!” Heather said, pacing the length of the dim cell. “We were so close to having a chance.”

  “Others will take up the work,” Mother said, squinting against the pain. “It doesn’t all depend on you.”

  “I know, Mother,” Heather said, worried eyes moving from her mother’s face to the wound. “I wanted to save Jacks, at least. I wanted to see the younglings safely into the Seventh District. I wanted—”

  “You wanted to save the world,” Mother said, smiling. “I know you.”

  “This is a nightmare!” Heather shouted, crossing to kick the bars of the cell that held them in. She gripped the bars and shook them with all her might, but they didn’t budge. She sank to the ground, weeping.

  “Come here, my dear,” Mother said. Heather rose and slowly crossed to her mother’s side. Mother winced and moved over, making room for Heather to lie beside her.

  “But, Mother,” Heather began.

  “You will help me rest,” Mother said, arms open. Heather slid in beside her mother, receiving the wrapping arms around her neck. She lay there, in that familiar embrace, while Mother sang softly.

  “I dreamed I saw a valley,

  When I woke, it was a mountain,

  I climbed to the peak and fell asleep

  And rolled down in the fountain.

  In the morning when you’re shaken

  It might be you were mistaken,

  The things that seemed, were only dreamed,

  So sleep and dream and waken.

  I woke to windy weather

  And had dreamed the sky was clear,

  So I said, I’ll go back to bed,

  And that’s just when the rainbow appeared.

  In the morning when you’re shaken

  It might be you were mistaken,

  The things that seemed, were only dreamed,

  So sleep and dream and waken.

  Oh, sleep and dream and waken.”

  Heather finally fell asleep, calmed somewhat by this familiar remedy to her nighttime fears. But her last thoughts were worried ones. Of Mother’s weakening voice. Of Jacks and Father. Of Picket far away. Of rabbitkind’s dwindling hopes. But she slept at last.

  And dreamed.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  THE EDGE OF DEATH

  When Heather woke, shaking off the dim disturbing dream, she felt Mother’s limp arms around her. She rolled off the cot, heart racing, and spun to check her mother’s condition. She was breathing, though with some difficulty. And the wound had bled more, but not so much as Heather had feared.

  Heather crept to the edge of their cell and leaned into the bars to try to see down the passage. Nothing yet. Maybe they had been forgotten? Somehow she didn’t think so. Vitton enjoyed his cruelty too much to abandon them as projects of his sick fancy. It was not enough that they were suffering. He would want to see it. To cause it. To revel in it.

  Heather spat. “Vitton the Skinner,” she whispered.

  As if she had summoned him by her cursing, Heather heard a door open and footsteps approaching. The villain himself appeared outside her cell, sneering at her by torch-light. He was accompanied by ten stout guards, all dressed in their wing-shouldered Longtreader uniforms, neat red bands around their necks.

  “Happy Victory Day, Heather Longtreader,” Vitton said. “The city center is filling with the filth of the outer districts, all bringing their delicious little outwaller young-lings along. What a day this will be!”

  Heather seethed beneath a calm expression. “What will you do with us?” she asked, jaws clenched. “Mother needs medical care.”

  “Oh, she’ll receive the attention she deserves,” Vitton said, nodding to his guards. “Bring them.”

  The cell was unlocked, and guards shoved Heather out, while others stomped inside, roughly woke Mother, and dragged he
r out into the passage.

  “Be careful with her, you monsters!” Heather yelled. Vitton nodded to a guard, who struck Heather hard in the stomach with the end of his pike. She doubled over, sagging in the grip of her captors. She felt sick and coughed, going to her knees.

  “Now,” Vitton said. “I take you to the roof, where you can see the ceremony. I do not permit you to speak unless I invite you.” He drew out a knife and stepped toward Mother, whose tired eyes showed a grim determination.

  “I understand!” Heather gasped, staggering to her feet. “You’re in charge, Captain Vitton. We’ll do as you say.”

  Vitton paused, pursing his lips in a show of disappointment. “Our fun will have to wait,” he said, resuming the march down the passage, through tunnels and up stairways. They emerged onto the roof, just as Heather had her first morning in Akolan.

  When her eyes had adjusted to the morning light, she saw an incredible scene in the city center below. There were rabbits all over, filing in from every corner of Akolan. The center was decorated with bright banners, and music was playing from a balcony opposite their own position. Two enormous banners were draped down the sides of the two tallest buildings. One bore the Akolan administration’s anthem:

  We are here and alive,

  Let us make a life for ourselves,

  Among our own kind,

  And end our rebellion,

  Against destiny.

  Peace and prosperity forever!

  The other banner bore the startling silhouette of a vast black hawk with a sickle in his grip and a crown on his head. At his feet were piled rabbit skulls. Heather winced at seeing again this cruel emblem, now mounted on this massive scale at a gathering—a celebration—attended by multitudes of red-throated rabbits. Her face contorted in a disgusted sneer.

  “You do not approve, Miss Longtreader?” Vitton asked, smiling proudly.

  “I find it troubling that rabbits must celebrate an image with rabbit skulls piled at the feet of their oppressor, who is a murderer and tyrant.”