Return of the Evening Star

by Diane Rios

  “Oh, my dear,” he said, petting her soft gray neck. “You are from the north?”

  “My mother is from the Valley of Bree,” said Greybelle.

  Silas said, “I know of it. I’ve never been there, but . . . your family still lives there, I believe.”

  “They do, truly?” Greybelle said incredulously. “Are you sure?”

  “Oh yes, quite sure,” said Silas smiling kindly. “I have been told.”

  Greybelle whinnied a happy whinny into the star-studded sky. Her family was alive! They still lived in the lands that she had only heard of from her mother. The mare turned to Silas with shining eyes.

  “Is there any way I can get there?” she asked him.

  Silas looked at her kindly. “Not at the moment, my dear. But who knows what miracles may lie ahead? We shall see.”

  The old man turned back to the council. “I am honored and delighted to have with us a child from the north. This is the mare . . .” He looked at her questioningly, and Greybelle answered, “My name is Greybelle.”

  Silas went on, “Her bloodlines lead back to the oldest lineage of horses, from the days when animals could speak to humans. This mare is proof today those days are not a myth. Let us welcome her as a representative of her ancient and honored people, and of all of our honored ancestors from the old world.”

  The animals stamped their feet and paws and hooves appreciatively, and a small huzzah went up from the birds. None of them had ever met one of the talking animals, a trait that legend said they all used to share. That such an honored mare should be traveling with these men made the animals look at the humans with a little more respect. Perhaps they could be trusted, after all.

  The presence of Greybelle gave them all a new hope. She reminded them all of where they came from, and of a way of life that evidently still existed, not just in legend. Perhaps with the mare and Silas on their side, they did stand a chance of winning this fight. The circle buzzed with a new excitement.

  After a few moments Silas lifted his hands again and quieted the group. He said softly, “And now, let us lay our plans.”

  The animal leaders leaned forward eagerly.

  “Ahem.” A polite cough came from one side. Then a gruff voice said, “Excuse me, Silas sir. But I have some information that might be of importance.”

  Everyone turned to see the Badger step forward into the middle of the circle.

  “Of course, dear Badger,” said Silas. “What is it?”

  “A young crow called Blackberry just reported to me, sir. He has found the girl and the woman. They are traveling with the carpenter Brisco Knot.”

  A low gasp went up from the circle. All eyes swung up to the trees where King Cornix and Queen Faye were perched.

  “It is true!” called down Cornix. “We have confirmed it. They are hiding far west of here, in a town called Fairfax, near the sea.”

  The tension in the air seemed to break. With this news came the final credibility that the men needed to gain the animals’ grudging respect. Brisco Knot was a name the animals knew well, because of the crows who never tired of telling stories about their beloved friend. They were on the same side.

  At the Badger’s first mention of “the woman and child,” the Artist and Lord Winchfillin looked at each other in complete surprise. Could it be . . . ? It must have been Chloe! She was in Fairfax!

  Greybelle whinnied her joy at the news and even Old Raja nickered happily. He was glad enough about the girl, but it also seemed they wouldn’t be eaten now, and for that he was truly joyful.

  The Badger cleared his throat again and said in his gravelly voice, “Blackberry found something else, sir.”

  “What else did he find?” asked Silas.

  The circle of animals and men went quiet to hear what the old Badger would say.

  “He found where the cars are coming from.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  INSIDE THE TREE HOUSE MRS. GOODWEATHER made a fresh pot of tea, and the three women sat at the table finishing the scones. Earlier Mrs.

  Goodweather had sent Chloe to gather handfuls of the fragrant mint growing just below on the ground, then shown her how to crush it, and steep it until it made a rich, stimulating brew.

  Chloe blew on hers to cool it, and breathed in the sweet scent of the steam.

  “‘The steam is as good as the brew,’ so my mother used to say,” Mrs. Goodweather said, sipping her own tea. “There are healing qualities in that steam, my dear. Good for the lungs and good for the blood. Very healthy. Helps you keep your good looks—obviously!” she said fluttering her eyelashes.

  Celeste laughed, and Chloe thought it a beautiful, musical sound. How happy she was they had found each other!

  Celeste said to her new companions, “We were so worried about you, my dear, Avery and I—after we saw you at the Cobbly Fair! We tried to help you—but you had gone by the time we returned with the police.”

  So many times I wondered if they had returned to find me— and they had! For a moment Chloe couldn’t speak, but could only grasp Celeste’s hand warmly, in gratitude.

  When the girl could talk again, she said, “I can’t thank you enough for trying so hard to help me. And now, I hope I can help you, too.” Celeste squeezed her hand back. They both had their dear ones inside that awful place.

  Shakespeare squeaked for another crumb of scone, and as Mrs. Goodweather obliged him, she told of how the white rat had done his part—how he had called for help in the forest, and most likely saved Chloe’s life.

  Celeste looked admiringly at the rat, who had already impressed her with his note. “Why, you’re a hero, Shakespeare!”

  Shakespeare looked flattered and licked his whiskers agreeably.

  “Well, I already knew he was very clever, and I’m not surprised at all that he could pull off this feat!” Celeste patted Shakespeare gently on his head. She asked Mrs. Goodweather curiously, “But tell me, how could anyone hear him, so deep in the forest?”

  “Ah, but many did hear him,” said Mrs. Goodweather. “Better ears than mine heard him, and they came to tell me about it.”

  “Better ears . . . whose ears?” asked Celeste. “The animals’ ears,” interjected Chloe, unable to contain herself.

  “Animals? The forest animals?”

  “Yes, two squirrels to be exact,” said Chloe. “Whitestone and Nettle.”

  “But how do you know their nam . . .” Celeste trailed off.

  “They told Mrs. G,” said Chloe. “She can understand them!”

  “Well, not every word,” said the older woman. “But after living in the woods all my life, I get the gist of what they say. And we look out for each other, the creatures and I.”

  “I see,” said Celeste. “How wonderful!”

  “And you should see Mrs. G’s house!” gushed Chloe. She described the vast gardens that produced so many delicious fruits and vegetables, the large, comfortable kitchen that Mrs. Goodweather made her pies and cakes in, and the pretty upstairs room that Chloe had spent her time recuperating in.

  “Your house sounds like one of the most wonderful places in the world,” said Celeste. “I would love to see it someday.”

  “And so you shall,” said Mrs. Goodweather. “We will have a feast, when this is all over. I will cook a magnificent meal for you and your brother, and your mother, my dear Chloe, and your friends the Artist and Lord Winchfillin when we find them, and it will be a magnificent party of celebration, you just wait and see!”

  The three women smiled at the pretty thought, but just then a siren wailed from somewhere below. The siren reminded Chloe of the last magnificent party she had been to, and she told Celeste of Lord Winchfillin’s unfortunate birthday party. First, she described the lavish decorations and her own part in helping the Artist paint the sets for Lord Winchfillin’s play. Then she told of the terrifying attack that had left many guests dead or abducted by drivers that leapt out of the speeding ambulances. She told of how the mansion had been lit on fire, and h
ow she and the Artist had fled on the backs of Greybelle and Raja. She told of the ambulance that chased them, and how she had fallen unnoticed, until Shakespeare had called the animals for help.

  “At Mrs. Goodweather’s house I thought I was finally safe . . . ,” said Chloe.

  Mrs. Goodweather finished the story for her. “And then the ambulances came again, and we just made it out in time. Thank goodness I knew of a cabin where we could hide, and that’s when I called Brisco.”

  Chloe cast a quick glance at Celeste, whose cheeks turned pink at the mention of the carpenter’s name. “He seems a very capable person,” said Celeste simply, glancing down at her teacup. “But tell me,” she said more seriously, looking up again. “How can I help?”

  Chloe smiled. “That’s easy, you can help us with our plan!”

  “Tell me more about the plan!” Celeste said.

  Chloe looked quickly at Mrs. Goodweather, who explained about the gala in two days’ time.

  “You see, very important people will be there. Our plan is to make up a batch of my special pies, which have some very . . . er . . . surprising . . . qualities, and serve them to these people. Of course, we will have to be disguised to get inside the gala.”

  Mrs. Goodweather got up and crossed the little room to pick up the two uniforms she had already altered to fit her and Chloe.

  “We only have two of these, I’m afraid,” Mrs. Goodweather apologized. “But we still need to make the pies, my dear, and you can certainly help with that.”

  Celeste nodded agreeably and asked curiously, “What exactly will the pies do?”

  Chloe and Mrs. Goodweather looked at each other, and Chloe giggled. “Turn the people running this horrible place into what they really are.”

  Celeste looked blankly back, and Chloe and Mrs. Good-weather burst out together, “Babies!”

  At the look on Celeste’s face, they dissolved into helpless laughter, all the fear and frustrations of the past few days melting away as they leaned helplessly on the table, laughing. Celeste joined in, after she recovered from her surprise. Finally, they calmed down enough for Mrs. Goodweather to explain to Celeste more clearly the effects of the blueberries, and how they planned to slip the pies onto the tables, for the heads of the hospital to eat.

  “The batch will be very strong, so the berries ought to start working immediately. Once we have the directors under control, Brisco will step in and help us subdue the rest.”

  “But how will Brisco do that?” asked Celeste.

  “Brisco has his ways,” said Mrs. Goodweather. “I suspect he will build a great cage, or a trap of some kind, perhaps he will rope them all together and tie them to a tree. However he does it, you can be sure it will be quite handy, although still quite dangerous.” The older woman mused quietly, almost to herself, “I only hope that one man is enough against all of those drivers. I can’t quite believe he will be . . .” Her voice trailed off and then Mrs. Goodweather shook her head briskly, snapping out of her morose reverie. “Meanwhile my dear, you and I will have brought the police, and the crowd can help us surely, and well, there you are!”

  “I wonder what the crows want with him?” Chloe said.

  “Now that is a mystery,” admitted Mrs. Goodweather. “But I’m sure they can be of some help, and I’m also sure that Brisco can charm them into doing almost anything.”

  While Chloe pondered Mrs. Goodweather’s words, she offered Shakespeare a morsel of scone, and the rat held it daintily in his paws, turning it around and around as he munched. Chloe watched him absentmindedly, and then her face brightened.

  “I’ve got it!” she exclaimed, sitting up so suddenly that Shakespeare dropped his crumb and stared at her in surprise.

  “What is it? What have you got?” asked Mrs. Goodweather.

  “I know exactly what Celeste can do!” Chloe looked excited.

  “What?” asked both women at once.

  The little room was quiet as Chloe outlined her idea. It would coincide perfectly with their original plan, if all went well. It would be dangerous of course, but every plan would be dangerous, and something told the girl that Celeste Hart was more than up to the task. She might be a gentle woman, of smallish stature and an unassuming nature, but there was a rod of steely strength running through her. Chloe knew she could depend on Celeste to be brave, strong, and true, and she could think of no one better to carry out her new idea.

  The women spent the rest of the evening around the table, talking over details and waiting for any word from Brisco. They played cards and sang songs, and for a little while forgot their cares and enjoyed each other’s company. The little tree house glowed with a warm light, and occasionally a merry peal of laughter could be heard coming from the windows.

  Below, the hospital’s windows also glowed, and shadows moved behind them. On the western side of the great building, the green light blinked, illuminating the wooden chute leading down to the sea. With a shuddering groan and scrape, the huge metal door slid slowly open once again.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  THEY ARE COMING FROM FAIRFAX,” SAID the Badger.

  The animals murmured their surprise.

  Fairfax, again!

  “Blackberry says Brisco Knot and the other humans are planning to try to stop the cars themselves. They are going to break into the hospital.”

  Several leaders gasped in surprise at this bold plan. Even Silas looked amazed, and said after a second of shock, “We must reward the crow Blackberry, for what he has found may well be the key to our success!”

  The old man was thoughtful for a moment, while the others whispered excitedly among themselves, and then said clearly, so that all could hear, “My friends, here is my advice. We must join forces with Brisco and his friends in the west.”

  A general noise of approval came from some of the leaders, while a few others looked skeptical, and waited for the old man’s next words.

  “We must travel as fast as possible. Once we are in Fairfax, we can gather discreetly, and meet with Brisco.”

  Silas continued, “When we know the details of his plan, we can coordinate our efforts. Agreed?” He looked around at the animal leaders.

  King Rae of the elk answered, “Agreed.”

  “Agreed,” chimed in Queen Fay of the crows.

  Afra asked in her quiet voice, “Stargazer, tell us—is this to be a group of diplomats, or of warriors?”

  Auberon had had enough. These men had been talking for too long. He did not care if Silas liked these men, he did not care about Brisco Knot! This gathering was for animals, not men! He, Auberon, King of the Bears, did not need the help of men!

  The great black bear rose on his hind legs again, and swiped the air with his giant front paws, his claws cutting the air. The hair on his massive shoulders bristled as he rose to tower over the other animals around him.

  “Enough!” he roared.

  Every animal and man present froze. The instinct to flee before such a threat was strong in every heart, even the other bears. But the huge bear made no move to attack just yet, and they all held their ground.

  “We bears don’t need the help of man!” Auberon raged. “YOU!” He looked directly at the Artist, who looked surprised to be singled out by the bear. “You say the child Chloe is worth a hundred humans? What do I care for that? I am worth a thousand men! Ten thousand men! We will not wait to meet with more men before we attack! I will call my brothers and sisters and we will kill all the men in the land! If you can or won’t do anything, then we will put a stop to men’s evil once and for all!”

  The animals trembled before the mighty bear’s anger. They feared his wrath, but they all understood it. An unrest rippled through the council. Perhaps King Auberon was right. Perhaps they should ignore these men and refuse their help. Men could not be trusted. A dark doubt began to form in some of their minds. Perhaps Silas himself could not be trusted. He had said it himself, he was a man too, after all . . .

  Silas sensed the doubt and th
e fear and the distrust and he knew it to be an evil seed that would only grow. He knew also that they would lose if they didn’t work together. So, he held up his hands again and strode to the middle of the circle where all could see him and could see he had nothing to hide.

  “My dear ones,” he said lovingly.

  Auberon growled and looked away.

  Silas spoke softly, with soothing, gentle words, and it was as if the trees spoke with him, their leaves dancing gently along with his voice.

  “It is not for myself that I ask this very great thing of you.”

  The breeze rippled through the leaves and gently caressed the animals’ fur, ruffling it and soothing them as Silas continued to speak.

  “Killing for killing’s sake is not the answer. We are better than that. That is the way of those other men. That is not our way.”

  Some of the animals felt the truth of this statement, and the anxious fluttering in their hearts slowly began to quiet. Silas went on.

  “We must temper our rage with wisdom. I have read in the stars that this battle is a critical one. And, it is made even more difficult because in order to win it we have to cooperate with those who we usually fear. And not only men, my dear ones. You must all work together!”

  The animal leaders glanced at each other, understanding the old man. It wasn’t normal for deer to cooperate with wolves, rabbits with cougars, or mice with bears. This fight would require all to dig deep and to dispense with ingrained fears and prejudices. It would not be easy.

  Silas said, “I have seen in the stars that we will have to work together, or we will surely lose.”

  Though calmed, still not everyone looked convinced.

  “This fight is not simply of animal against man, for there was a time when we understood each other and helped each other,” Silas continued.

  “Those days are long gone!” called out Remington, the old rabbit, surprising them all. Auberon growled in agreement, and for the first time that they could remember, the bear and the rabbit were of one mind.

  “Perhaps not,” said Silas. “And in fact, indeed not. We have the proof standing here before us.” He indicated Greybelle. “This mare speaks the human’s language. Just as all your own ancestors once did. She is the living proof that we once did live together in harmony, and she is the proof that we still can.”