The Green Ember (The Green Ember Series Book 1)

by S D Smith

  “You’re right, Picket.” Heather sighed. “They’ll probably just send us for berries again.”

  “At least there’s a built-in snack to that job.”

  “True,” Heather agreed, smiling. “Hey, Picket, did you dream of King Jupiter last night?”

  “I tried,” Picket said, shrugging, “but no such luck. You?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “Amazing ones.”

  “You always have great dreams.”

  “I always have vivid dreams,” she said. “Sometimes they’re not the good kind.”

  “I’d take it,” he said. “I dreamed I was riding on a blind cardinal’s back, and he kept flying into things.”

  That’ll be the day, she thought. He’s afraid to climb a tree, let alone go soaring in the sky. “That would be a funny story,” she said.

  “Why don’t you make up one about it?” he said.

  “Sure I will,” she said, smirking.

  “Heather, you should,” he said, stifling a yawn. “You tell the best stories.”

  “Better than Father?”

  “Well,” he said, “maybe not quite the very best. But really, awfully, terribly good ones.”

  “Terribly awful?” she asked, scowling.

  He laughed. “That’s fair.”

  “I would love to write down these King Jupiter stories,” she said.

  “Hopefully we’ll hear the rest today,” Picket said.

  “I hope so too. But we’d better get down there. We can ask Father later.”

  They descended the spiral stairway to the bottom floor. Picket had more to say.

  “I wish I could have dreamed about him,” he said as the kitchen came into view. Picket was looking up at Heather. “What a story! Do you think it’s true, Heather? It must be, right? King Jupiter, Lord of the Great Wood. It must have been a lon—”

  Picket stopped short when he saw the guest, who was standing beside Father at the foot of the stairs, looking at the two young rabbits.

  She was short but graceful, stern-looking, with serious eyes. She crossed slowly to where they stood and looked each of them in the eyes in turn. Heather felt like she wasn’t looking at their clothes or the color of their fur, but inside them.

  The guest bent in front of Picket. “Would you like to think there was such a king in this world as Jupiter Goodson?” she said, peering into Picket’s eyes.

  At first Heather feared he wouldn’t answer. He didn’t like to be put on the spot. But he did answer. “More than anything, lady,” he said, bowing.

  Heather wasn’t sure why, but it seemed the right thing to do. So when the lady looked at her, she curtsied, bowing her head.

  “What about you, young maiden?” the lady said, peering into Heather’s eyes. “Do you long for such a king?”

  “With all my heart,” she said without hesitation.

  The lady turned to face Father and Mother, who stood arm in arm beside the table. She nodded to them. “You do well, my friends.”

  “Thank you,” they said together.

  “My dear young rabbits,” the lady said. “King Jupiter is gone, but others take up his cause, and another fills his place.”

  Chapter Five

  Eastern Winds

  I don’t think King Jupiter’s cause is picking berries,” Heather said. She and Picket had, as they had predicted, been ordered to make the trip into West Wood and pick berries after breakfast.

  The stranger, who introduced herself as “Lady Glen,” had said little at breakfast. They ate quickly, feeling the unspoken urgency in the air. Lady Glen eyed them sternly throughout, but before they left on their errand, she had given Heather a quick smile.

  “You’re right, Heather,” Picket said, hurling a stick into a tangled bramble off the path. “But it’s our job anyway. We may as well enjoy it.”

  Heather slumped her shoulders and pushed out her bottom lip, walking as if heavy with gloom. Then she burst off running with a laugh. “Last one to Gladeberry is a turtle!”

  “No fair!” Picket shouted, running after her.

  Heather was upset about being left out of the important stuff back at the house, but it was hard to be sad on a day like this. All around them, Nick Hollow was coming alive. The spectacular rainstorm of the day before had made everything greener and brighter. Never mind the broken limbs and downed trees; it was a perfect spring day, breezy and bright. The air was warm around them, and above them lay a deep blue blanket of sky. The sunlight sparkled through the wind-bent boughs of trees, dancing in an ever-shifting pattern of shadows along the path.

  They ran for a long time, around Evergreen Row, along the widening stream, and even straight past Seven Mounds. Seven Mounds was always an enticement to distract them from chores, but not today.

  Last summer they had discovered what appeared to be a hidden cave entrance at the base of the third mound. It was a small crack, almost impossible to see. They weren’t sure if Heather could fit through it, and Picket had been too afraid to go in alone. They had agreed to try it again sometime but hadn’t yet gotten up the courage.

  “What a day!” Heather shouted as Picket caught up to her at Gladeberry Crossroads. They stopped to catch their breath. Heather looked down the lane that wound to their right—the way to Gladeberry. To the left, it was only a minute’s run to Elric’s Farm. She considered going down to check on old Mr. Elric but decided they’d better stick to their instructions. Plus, she hoped to see Lady Glen again. That parting smile had stuck with her.

  “You ready?” she asked after a minute.

  “Of course,” he said, still puffing. “I was just stopping … for you.”

  Heather smiled, shaking her head. Why do boys have to pretend to be so tough?

  “All right,” she said, clapping. “Let’s—”

  A faint but distinct scream came from the direction of Elric’s Farm.

  “Was that—?” Picket whispered, but Heather held up a hand for silence. She waited, hoping they would not hear it again. All she could hear was the beating of her own heart and Picket’s labored breathing.

  Another scream! This time louder and more urgent. There were more noises, gruff and insistent, followed by more screams.

  “The house!” Heather shouted, grabbing Picket’s arm. “Run!”

  She darted off back in the direction of their home, running hard. Picket followed quickly, though they were both tired from their long run of just a few moments before. They moved fast, Heather in the lead. Every terrible possibility flashed before her eyes as she ran. She imagined their elderly neighbor, Mr. Elric, being attacked by enormous bloodthirsty hawks, talons razor-sharp and beaks gaping. Then she imagined them attacking her home, Baby Jacket, Mother, and Father.

  Father would know what to do. They had to reach home. She noticed that Picket had lagged behind her, clutching his side.

  “We have to move, Picket!” she screamed at him, stopping to let him catch up. Heather didn’t know what to do. She considered running on ahead to warn their parents but heard the insistent voice of Father inside her head saying, “Always stick with your brother.” But was this different? “There’s no time!” she cried. “We can still make it in time to warn them, if we hurry. Think of Jacks!”

  Picket nodded gravely, and, gasping for air, they launched into a full run once more. Heather smelled something awful. This day, which had been so bright and lovely only moments ago, felt suddenly heavy with doom. Even the sky seemed to darken and grow grey.

  The smell was worse now, burnt and foul, and the grey haze thickened above. Heather’s foreboding grew. They raced past Seven Mounds and through Evergreen Row, worry filling their fast-beating hearts.

  They turned the last corner out of West Wood, preparing to sprint across the meadow to their home. Heather skidded to a stop. She was not prepared for what she saw.

 
Their elm-tree home was on fire. Grey smoke pumped out of the upstairs and downstairs windows, spilled through the door to the porch, and gathered into the sky. Orange flames licked the higher branches and played at the edge of every opening.

  Heather barely stifled a scream. In the smoky haze, she saw large black-clad figures in the meadow. Wolves, she realized with amazement. Here? How? She was incredulous. She had never seen a wolf but recognized them from her reading and her parents’ descriptions.

  These wolves were organized. They clearly had captains among them. She saw some barking orders and others in formations. They were all in uniform, dressed in black, with a red diamond symbol on their chests. The right side of the diamond fell away in a fang. Their arms were marked with what looked like a hideous brand, a wound standing out bare against their coarse fur. It looked like an M. She saw a terrifying scene of confusion.

  She hesitated only a moment, then grabbed Picket and dragged him back into the woods. Then she darted sideways, hauling her terrified brother into a thorny thicket. Once inside, they got a look at some of what was happening in the meadow. Their meadow.

  Heather strained to see through the smoke, trying to find her parents and Baby Jacks. She saw a collection of around fifteen wolves in the foreground, about halfway up the meadow, near the fallen maple limb. The maple tree, half-burned with a tangled scar of black char where the lightning had ripped through it, somehow still stood. The hard rain had doused the flames that would have surely overtaken it.

  It struck her as almost funny that she noticed the red ribbon of their starstick wedged in one of the still-intact limbs of that dying, damaged tree. Trapped forever in the clutches of a charred and crippled monster.

  Some of the wolves were prowling around the edges of the pack, looking in all directions. Teeth bared, their harsh, snarling voices polluted the air. Heather viewed them as a foul offense. They looked, she saw with terror, very hungry. In the hazy distance near the house, she could vaguely see what looked like a struggle. She tried to make out the forms darting around through the smoke and flames. Was that grey form Father? She strained her eyes.

  Picket interrupted her focus, sobbing loudly. She pressed her hand over his mouth, then shook him, finally lifting his chin to look in his eyes. She was stern, serious.

  “Not now, Picket,” she whispered. “Later! What would Father want?”

  Picket nodded, raking his hand across his nose and sniffing. He took a deep breath. Heather gave him another stern look of confidence, nodding. Then she bowed her head, collecting herself to look again at the awful scene of her ruined home. She turned, then gaped in terror.

  Five wolves were running straight at them.

  Chapter Six

  Red Eye and Smoke

  They had heard Picket. The wolves closed in on them.

  Heather hissed, “Follow me!” to Picket and dove deeper into the thicket. The wolves crashed in after them.

  She turned to Picket and said with all the authority and confidence she could muster, “Third mound! Don’t look back!” She slapped his back, urging him on, as she slowed.

  Picket bolted, changing direction swiftly, like a leaf in a sudden strong breeze. He zigzagged through the maze of thorns and brush and disappeared.

  Heather turned to face the wolves, who were having a harder time of it in the dense thicket. She only saw two. The other three must be trying to head us off. She let go of the idea that she could do any more for Picket than she was doing now. The longer these two were delayed, the better chance he stood of making it to safety. She stopped in a hollow of the thicket. The wolves crashed in, brutal, hulking creatures breathing hard.

  The two wolves slowed as they neared. They looked surprised to see her standing still.

  Heather smiled. Perhaps they didn’t realize there had been two rabbits.

  Go on, Picket!

  “She’s smiling, soldier,” the wolf in back said, his voice like grated gravel. He appeared to be the leader. Plainly older and calmer, he carried himself with a cruel dignity. As he slowly crept closer, making no sudden movements, Heather saw a long, dark scar across the left side of his face. It went right through where his left eye should have been. His right eye was bright red. He laughed a guttural, sneering laugh. “She is, perhaps, honored to be eaten by us?” His smile, hideous and hateful, vanished. “Give her the terms,” he growled dismissively. Heather could see he had measured her and dismissed the possibility of a struggle. He looked out of the clearing back toward the meadow, his mind clearly moving to other concerns.

  “Yes, Captain,” the nearer wolf said. “Hello, Food,” he said to Heather, his voice higher, filled with excitement. His eyes were wide and wild. “Come with us easylike and you’ll live—for now. Struggle, and we’re allowed to kill you.”

  “Please, do struggle,” the second wolf said, moving slowly to flank Heather. His calm manner compared to the frenzied eagerness of the younger wolf was even more frightening. He was wicked and cold, and she saw he had done this kind of thing many times.

  Heather decided to try to imitate his calm. “You believe you have me, but you don’t. Not yet,” she said, trying to keep her voice even and low. “I know this thicket. I can disappear before you know which way to look.”

  The awful captain laughed, but she now had his attention. Maybe this is a mistake. I should have let them underestimate me.

  “So, it talks?” the red-eyed captain sneered. “That’s precious.”

  “I talk, yes,” she said. “And I’ll not go quietly. I’ll bite back before I’m finished.”

  Now both of the wolves laughed and exchanged looks, raising their eyebrows in amusement.

  “Well, Captain,” the younger wolf said amid high-pitched laughter, “at least we’ve had some entertainment.” They moved to widen their distance apart, and now the two of them formed two parts of a triangle, with her as the third point.

  She looked from side to side. These were no fools. She was cornered. “Your pride is your weakness,” she said.

  The younger wolf let out a howl of fury. “Let me finish her, Captain,” he begged. “She shames us.”

  “Only if we let her,” the captain said, motioning for the other to remain calm. “I’m intrigued by you, little rabbit girl. There seems to be quite a bit of fight in the rabbits of these parts.”

  Heather felt a jolt of fear. What had they done to her family? The older wolf went on. “It’s odd that traitors and deserters would be the least bit bold.”

  “We’re not deserters, or traitors,” Heather said quickly, her voice cracking.

  “Then what are you doing so far from home?” he jeered. “And in such questionable company?”

  “This is home,” she said, not knowing what he meant by “questionable company.”

  “They have given you lies for every meal, child. You have swallowed them and kept asking for more,” he said, his voice crackling like dry thorns in a blaze. He smiled. He savored this as much as the attack. “Your father is a coward and a liar and a traitor,” he said, finishing in a proud, toothy snarl.

  She looked down for a moment, sad resignation on her face. The wolves looked at each other in knowing agreement. Their faces read of satisfaction at breaking her. But just as they looked from her to each other, Heather acted.

  She pretended to be deeply wounded by the captain’s words and crouched down, showing she was beaten. Then she erupted between them in a flash. The two wolves, seeing their mistake, recovered quickly and lunged for her. She narrowly avoided their snapping jaws and felt the stirred air of their missing strikes, their hot breath. They collided as she dashed between them.

  She had only bought a few moments but planned to make the most of them. She had rested as they talked and had planned her next moves. Now she went to work.

  Behind her she heard another piercing howl, high, terrible, and fierce. She recognized
that this was from the younger wolf. The howl was followed hard by a cursing, guttural roar of orders. Her fur raised at the sounds, but she ran on. She darted back and forth through the thicket, emerging far from where she had entered.

  She left the thicket and ran across a small opening for the cover of nearby trees. She heard a loud barking command. She couldn’t make out what it was but soon saw its effects as she peeked out from behind an oak tree. The sky, already acrid with twisting plumes of smoke, filled with flaming arrows, which plunged into the thicket she had only just escaped. The thicket burst into flames, and even more smoke filled the air.

  Good. Let them think I’ve burned. She prepared to flee, eyeing the great wall of grey smoke passing before her. She waited for it to thicken a bit more as the fire kindled to a blaze. She stared into the smoke. Then, through the wall of grey a gust of wind opened a slim, wispy window. She saw, across the clearing, a single red eye.

  And it saw her.

  They stared at each other for a moment in silent fury. Heather was still. In this moment she felt that all the meaning of her life was to escape and so frustrate this wicked one-eyed wolf. She could have run right then, and he could have called his wolves, but neither moved. Neither blinked.

  Then the smoke thickened, closing the window in grey, and the moment was gone. Heather looked quickly from side to side, then darted along the smoke wall toward Evergreen Row. She moved by instinct and memory. She couldn’t see much at all. She knew if she ran as fast as she could, she would be in the row of evergreens in a minute.

  The great walls of smoke surrounded her like a house but moved, changing shapes all the time. She inhaled a gulp of smoke, unable to avoid it. She slowed, coughing and spluttering. I can’t stop now!

  She winced and wavered, the thick grey air closing in on her. She ran on, still trusting her way. But doubt crept in. The scene was so confusing, and she was tiring again. The smoke burned her lungs. Maybe she was running the wrong way? When she coughed, had she turned? Where was she headed? Any wrong move would likely mean the end. She needed to be perfect.