The Green Ember (The Green Ember Series Book 1)

by S D Smith

  The small crowd around the cave entrance—Pacer and his rabbits, the newcomers and Lord Rake—bowed their heads. Picket could see that Decker had been loved by all. Lord Rake looked up at last and took in the scene of bowed heads. He glanced at Smalls, then said in a strong, defiant voice, “It will not be so in the Mended Wood!”

  Then the group, all but Picket and Heather, each struck the air with a fist and called out in an echoing reply, “The Mended Wood!”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Food and Friendship

  Heather was surprised at how each face had changed at the call of “The Mended Wood.” She knew neither what it meant nor why it should be any comfort to them after the death of their friend.

  “Decker was a kingsbuck, loyal always,” Uncle Wilfred said, and Lord Rake nodded. “He’ll be missed.”

  “That’s right. There was never a doubt about his loyalty,” Pacer said. Lord Rake frowned at him.

  Heather saw that Smalls wanted to speak, but after almost beginning a few times, he settled into silence.

  “He has been our lookout for many years,” Lord Rake said. “Now we are more vulnerable than ever. Instead of a lookout, we’ll have a garrison of wolves down there.”

  Then two more rabbits emerged from the cave. One was short and nearly as wide as he was high. He walked out, swaying back and forth, almost as if he might fall over and start rolling down the mountain each time he took a step. The other was a lovely auburn-red rabbit with white spots, dressed in a plain white frock, carrying a black bag.

  “Ah,” Lord Rake said, “Emma, will you see to this young rabbit, please?” He motioned to Picket, and she bowed, then walked over quickly. Lord Rake and Uncle Wilfred then joined in conversation with the wide rabbit called Gort.

  “Hello,” Emma said, smiling wide.

  “Hello,” Heather said, crossing to greet her. She stood beside Picket, who still sat on the ground and looked more uncomfortable than ever. “You’re Emma, are you? Well, it’s not fair that we know your name and you don’t know ours.”

  Emma laughed. “No, not fair at all. But I shall endeavor to overcome this devastating calamity,” She looked to be of an age with Heather.

  Heather pointed to herself dramatically. “I’m Heather,” she said, “and this sourpuss here is Picket,” jabbing her elbow in his direction.

  “Well,” Emma said, laughing, “I’ll see what I can do for his bad foot, though there’s nothing in my bag that cures pouting.” The girls laughed again, Heather urging Picket to laugh along. She had only meant to try to lighten his mood. He attempted a smile, but then his head drooped again. She had often used this method to cheer him up, but he appeared to be beyond help at present.

  “All right, Mister Grouchypants,” Emma said. “Let’s have a look at that foot of yours.”

  “It’s fine,” Picket said stubbornly.

  Emma raised her eyebrows, “It is?” She flicked his foot with her finger, and Picket cried out. “I see, yes. It seems perfectly fine. No problems. I’m glad young bucks are always honest.” She exchanged a look of disapproval with Heather, then set to work on the wrap that Uncle Wilfred had hastily made in the forest. “That’s a fine wrap. Did you do that?” she asked Heather.

  “No,” Heather said. She wished she had known how. “It was Uncle Wilfred.”

  “He’s no stranger to doctoring,” Emma said.

  Heather watched and Picket winced as Emma deftly undid the field wrap and made a careful examination of Picket’s foot, feeling for the bones and wincing along with Picket. She opened a wide, short pot and dipped some goo out and slathered it on the foot. “For the pain,” she said; then she redid the wrap, carefully but quickly. “We’ll help you inside,” she said, motioning for Heather to take one of his arms around her neck while she took the other. “Now, listen, Grouchy. I’m commanding you to never put weight on that foot until I, or one of the doctors, say it’s okay. We’ll have some crutches made in no time.”

  Picket grunted assent.

  “Will Lord Rake make them?” Heather asked as they hobbled along, supporting Picket, toward where Lord Rake, Uncle Wilfred, Gort, and some others clustered around the cave mouth.

  “No,” Emma said. “Lord Rake is no craftsman. There’ll be craftsmen lined up to make them.”

  “Really?” Heather asked, but they had reached the others.

  “All right now, Master Picket?” Lord Rake asked.

  “Fine, sir. Thank you,” Picket answered softly.

  “Well done, Emma,” Lord Rake said. She curtsied as best she could without knocking Picket over. “Emma’s an apprentice now, but Doctor Zeiger says she’ll make a fine doctor soon. I’m very proud of her.”

  Emma made as if to smooth her ears dramatically and look pompous. Then she laughed. Lord Rake joined in and theatrically frowned at her, shaking his head. Heather smiled. She definitely liked Emma. Then she caught a whiff of something wonderful. Her stomach growled loudly.

  Lord Rake laughed and said, “You must be starving! Gort says we’re ready to eat, so come on in, and you’ll be served first.”

  They passed through the cave mouth and were sprinkled with bursting pellets of falling water. Thick mist mingled with the fetching smell of soup on the fire. The swirling clouds of appetizing aromas filled the recesses of the cave.

  “I could eat a horse,” Picket grumbled.

  “You’re in luck!” Gort shouted, wheezing with laughter as he waddled through the cave. Heather laughed, though it was an old joke her father often trotted out.

  It was dark inside the cave and the mist was gone. There were lighted torches along the wall once they had gotten far enough inside. They were following a long passage. The smell was incredible. Heather hadn’t realized how hungry and weak she was. She sagged. Half-carrying Picket was using the last of her energy. But she pressed on. How many times in the last two days had she believed she was at the end of her strength, only to somehow find more?

  The cave’s long passage opened into a larger room, wide and deep, where many rabbits were seated at tables and eating. Many of them wore the same green that Pacer wore; others varied. Some were dressed elegantly, like Lord Rake, but most were dressed simply. Heather saw one tall, strong rabbit in the corner, eating alone. He alone among all those there did not raise his head and look when they came in. He was dark in color and, it appeared to Heather, in mood. He brooded in the corner while others chatted happily. But some frowned when they saw the strangers.

  “My friends,” Lord Rake said, bowing slightly to his guests, “the Savory Den.” He motioned with his hand, and all the rabbits inside, except one, made a short bow. Most appeared friendly, but a few stared hard at Uncle Wilfred, concern blooming on their faces.

  “Thank you,” Heather said. Smalls and Uncle Wilfred, both hooded, returned the bows.

  Emma helped Picket to a seat, then smiled. “I’ll be right back with your soup,” she said to them all. She walked away from them and disappeared down another passage.

  “Thank you!” Heather called after her. She sat down beside Picket. Uncle Wilfred and Smalls sat across from them at the wooden table, their backs to most of the room.

  * * *

  Picket winced again at the pain shooting through his foot, but he tried to conceal it. What would it be like if he’d been hurt like this at home? Father would have carried him to his bed. Mother would have fussed over him for days. Heather would have … but Heather was right here beside him. At least there was that. A ray of light in a dark cave. Baby Jacks, Father, and Mother were gone, but he still had his sister. He looked up at her, a smile forming on his lips. But she was looking at Smalls. The ray of light went dark, and he slumped.

  It was in this dark frame of mind that Picket first saw someone in the corner, a tall black rabbit. Another rabbit was walking toward him, a wary courage showing on his face. “May I sit down?
” the approaching rabbit asked. The black rabbit said nothing, only looked up from his soup for a moment, stared coldly at the friendly rabbit, then went back to eating. The friendly rabbit walked away, dejected.

  Picket was impressed, right off, by how physically imposing the black rabbit was. But Picket also felt a kinship in his furious loneliness. It was exactly how Picket felt. If he could wordlessly push everyone around him away, he would.

  “How are you holding up, Picket?” Uncle Wilfred asked.

  “Fine,” Picket said softly.

  Smalls took the room in, a smile on his lips. Emma appeared in a corner of the room with a tray bearing four brimming bowls of soup. Picket’s mouth watered.

  “Here you are, friends,” Emma said, serving them.

  Slurpy thanks were said as the four hungry travelers dove into their bowls. Emma smiled at them, then at Gort, who was hovering not too far away. Emma raised her hands and mimed clapping for Gort. He looked down, trying not to smile. The contented sighs and quickly emptied bowls seemed to serve Gort the same way the meal was serving the weary four. He beamed.

  Bread was brought, along with refilled bowls of soup. Picket tried to decipher the ingredients in the soup, knew they included mushrooms, potatoes, and carrots. He could get no further. There was no trace of horse. It was the best thing he’d ever eaten, and he had never needed to eat so badly.

  Uncle Wilfred and Smalls, after eating a few bowls, removed to a corner to talk privately with Lord Rake. The three younger rabbits ate in silence, though occasionally Emma had a question for them about where they came from.

  Then a group of young rabbits, about Heather’s age or older, entered the room. There were five of them, and their leader was a tall handsome rabbit of a strange and familiar color. He was grey and gold, kind of like Picket. A rare coloring. He was taller than Picket, however, and his attitude was definitely different. The others seemed to defer to him, copying his gait and exuberant manner.

  The tall rabbit deftly swiped a long slice of bread, whipping it casually to an accomplice while he mesmerized Gort with a joke. While Gort wheezed, a few more items were pilfered from the food line. They left Gort and, noticing Picket and Heather, came sauntering over.

  “I’ll catch up with you at the well, gents,” the tall one said to his four friends. They nodded and left.

  “Poisoning the well tonight, Kyle?” Emma asked. “That would get you some attention, since you’re so desperate for it.”

  “Great to see you too, Emma,” Kyle said. “Not poisoning the well, no. Just going to throw somebody down it.”

  “Great,” Emma said, “That’s an escalation even of your already profound immaturity.”

  “We’re just going to teach somebody a lesson, that’s all,” Kyle said, smiling like he was put on earth for the purpose of smiling. “Won’t you introduce me to your new friends?”

  “I probably shouldn’t,” she said.

  “I’m Heather,” Heather said, shaking hands with Kyle. “This is my brother, Picket.” Picket waved.

  “Kyle’s the name, and the game is—well, it’s all a game,” he said, bowing slightly. “At your service. If you need information on a rival, mishap on your masters, escape from your duties, or are looking to have a reckless ramble, I’m your rabbit.”

  “Go on, you rascal,” Emma said, shooing him away.

  “Nice to meet you, Kyle,” Heather said, smiling.

  “Hey,” Kyle said, catching Picket’s eye. “Don’t let this crummy place get you down. There are ways to have some fun here.” He winked at Picket, bowed slightly to Heather and Emma, did a smooth shuffle-dance toward the door, and walked slowly away, bobbing as he went. He stopped and chatted with Pacer, Lord Rake’s lieutenant, casting sideways glances back at Heather and Picket. Soon Pacer was smiling and whispering back. Bowing to Pacer, then clapping him on the back, Kyle headed for the door with one backward glance their way.

  “Sounds like a real sweetheart,” Heather said, giggling. “Everyone he talks to breaks out in a smile. Except Picket, of course.”

  “Because I’m not a silly doe,” Picket said sourly.

  “No, you’re a very mature grown-up, that’s for sure,” Heather said, frowning.

  “He’s charming, true,” Emma said in a scolding tone, “but he’s also a wily, arrogant, mischievous, self-centered hooligan. Other than that, he’s fine.”

  “Sounds terrific,” Picket said absently.

  “He’s actually pretty harmless, I think,” Emma said. “Just cocky and restless. But there’s something about him …”

  Smalls and Uncle Wilfred made their way back to the table, resuming their meal. They tried to act normally but were clearly troubled by their talk with Lord Rake. Their silence was heavy with questions.

  When they had all eaten their fill, Picket felt more exhausted than he could ever remember. He yawned loudly. It spread to Heather, and she also yawned, apologizing afterward. Then it couldn’t be helped. Smalls and Uncle Wilfred yawned as well, and soon they were all blinking as the room grew dark.

  Lord Rake crossed to their table. “You’ll need rest, of course,” he said, pointing to the door from which Emma had brought the soup. “Emma will show you to your rooms. My friends, there is much more to this place, our Cloud Mountain, than you have seen. Please know you are welcome here for as long as you should like to stay. I hope you shall decide to join our community. I speak for the entire council when I say you are most welcome.”

  “That’s very kind,” Heather said, and Picket bowed. “Are you the lord here?” Heather asked.

  Lord Rake smiled. “I am,” he said. “But I answer to the council. And we are all loyal to the fallen and the future king.”

  “Who is that?” Heather asked.

  “King Jupiter is dead, Heather,” he said sadly, “but we remember what he built, and we look for his heir to rise and recover what’s been lost.” He absently fingered the crest on his chest. A red diamond alongside a green diamond.

  “Then we are in the right place, I think,” Heather said, bowing.

  “You are,” he said, laying his hand gently on her head. “I’m sorry that answers will come a little slowly here. So that we might be as free as possible, we live under certain laws. An important but frustrating one is the law of initiates. You will be initiated into this community, but there is a trial period before anyone is allowed to give you very much information. I beg your pardon for this, as I’m certain it is frustrating, but I assure you it is a law of good cause and consequence. We are all bound to it. Now, you must be exhausted.”

  Emma bowed quickly to Lord Rake and said, “If you’ll follow me, friends.”

  “We’ll talk more later,” Uncle Wilfred said to Lord Rake, then quietly, so no one else could hear, “I didn’t know he was here,” he said, nodding to the corner where the black rabbit brooded.

  “We’ll talk about it,” Lord Rake whispered back. Then louder, he said, “I’ll wake you if there’s trouble. My scouts are in the forest.”

  “I know it’s vitally important to keep this place safe, Lord Rake,” Smalls said. “If we need to go, we will.”

  Lord Rake nodded his acknowledgment, and they followed Emma to the passage in the corner.

  “Where does this cave lead down to?” Heather asked.

  “Not down,” Emma said. “It leads up.”

  “Up?” Heather asked.

  “Yes. Up and up.”

  “What is this place?” Heather asked as they reached the doorway.

  “This,” Emma said, turning to face them all and raising both her hands, as if to indicate all around them, “is a seed of the new world.”

  Smalls smiled at Uncle Wilfred. Heather and Picket wore puzzled expressions.

  Emma went on. “We are the heralds of the Mended Wood.”

  Chapter Eighteen

 
An Orphan World

  Heather came awake slowly, her eyes still closed, trying to remember where she was and how she had gotten there. She opened her eyes and found she was in a small, neat room, and Picket was asleep on a bed across from her. In the fog of waking, she noticed that the beds were arranged much like their room on the second floor of their home at Nick Hollow. She smiled. Then it began to come back to her—the terrible ordeal of their flight, the fiery end of the life they had known.

  It started again, the now-familiar churning of sadness, anger, and hopelessness in her stomach. She looked around the small room, and what she saw had a settling effect. There were, she saw by the faint light streaming in, paintings on the wall and subtle beauties all around. Her mother painted, but not like this.

  Heather had been so tired and it had been so dark the night before, she had barely cared if there was a bed. She was asleep when her head hit the pillow. Now, she stared long at each painting, captive to the beauty on display and the curious feeling of hope it stirred in her.

  “Who could make such things?” she heard. She turned to see Picket, leaning on his elbow, staring past her as the colorful wall came alive in the growing light of morning.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “But I’m very glad they have.”

  Picket said nothing more and both rabbits looked on. One painting in particular held Heather’s attention. It was large, colorful, and amazingly realistic. It depicted a hollow home in a forest surrounded by several others, with a great garden between all. Heather felt as though she might easily walk into it. She wanted to.

  It appeared to be the same small glen depicted in the painting above the fireplace at their Nick Hollow home, the painting Mother had often stared at, weeping. It wasn’t from the same angle, but Heather believed it might be the same place. The longer she stared, the more sure she was. She noticed in a corner what she guessed must be the painter’s initials: “F. S.”

  There was a knock, and Heather crossed to open the door.

  “Good morning, Emma!” Heather said, delighted to see her. Emma had led the exhausted rabbits to this room last night, where they had fallen asleep immediately.