The Green Ember (The Green Ember Series Book 1)

by S D Smith

  Heather could see now that the orange heads were pumpkins. The things filling the tree were topped with pumpkins and other gourds too, though she still couldn’t tell what they were exactly. They were at a distance where they could see him and the shapes but not make out exactly what he was doing.

  No one was near him. The groups of working rabbits and their playing children kept an obvious distance from him. It was like they were afraid of him, which Heather understood. She certainly felt a strong sense within her that spoke clearly in her mind He’s not safe. She noticed, now that he had risen, how many eyes were on him. The older ones watched out of the corners of their eyes and with subtle glances, but the young watched openly and whispered to each other.

  “Pay him no mind. He’s another troubler of the community,” Emma said. But she did not take her own advice.

  “We seem to be meeting quite a few of that type,” Heather said.

  “I know,” Emma said, frowning. “I’m trying to fix that.”

  They all watched, rapt, as the black rabbit made his rounds, checking knots and hoisting a wooden contraption, tying a rope off, testing a knot, or making other mild adjustments. Then he disappeared behind the maple, only to emerge a moment later with a sword and a shield. The shield was black, as was the sword hilt. A single emerald shone out from the black hilt, glinting in the sunlight. He wore black clothing, which matched his color. His shield bore a red diamond—the same red diamond that Redeye Garlackson and his band of wolves wore, but there was no fang on this one.

  Picket stood up.

  “Who is he?” Heather asked.

  “An endless frustration,” she said. “Everyone calls him Helmer the Black. He’s like the well-cut caves here, a bit of a mystery. The ones who know who he is won’t say, and the ones who don’t know aren’t allowed to ask. At least that’s what I get from my noble guardian, Lord Rake.”

  “Not allowed to ask?” Picket asked as the black rabbit stretched, then tried out the sword in practice strokes through the air. “Why? Why all these secrets?”

  “You and everyone else would like to know,” Emma said. “The rumor is that Helmer’s a knight from King Jupiter’s army, disgraced and angry, bent on revenge. But half the time you can’t tell if he’s madder at the Lords of Prey, who killed the king, or the Lords of Cloud Mountain. I can’t imagine him being meaner to the Lords of Prey than he is to us.”

  “He’s difficult?” Heather asked.

  “He makes Shuffler here look like the pleasantest rabbit who ever lived,” she said, giving Picket a smile. Heather was amazed that she could get away with making jokes about Picket’s sullenness that she herself dared not try. “Where Kyle talks constantly, you won’t hear ten words from Helmer in a year. And he won’t suffer any interference in his exercises, which, if you ask me, really should be interfered with. Though he does work hard in the garden and does his share of the labor. But he’s constantly—oh, wait. Look there!”

  They all looked where she pointed. A very young rabbit doe in a blue dress was toddling toward Helmer as he practiced sword strokes. The rabbits nearby, even adult ones, gave up the pretense of other work and watched. He finished a striking slice, the sword disappearing into its sheath in a silent, swift motion.

  “He won’t hit her?” Heather asked, genuinely unsure.

  “I wouldn’t put it past him,” Emma said, looking worried. Just then a mother ran after the little one, almost catching up to her as the black rabbit, Helmer, turned and saw them. There was a moment of silence as he eyed them both coolly. Heather was afraid he might attack them. But his sword remained sheathed.

  “Leave me alone,” he growled at them. His tone was gravelly, harsh, and bitter. It reminded Heather a little of Redeye Garlackson. Seeing the black clothes and the red diamond symbol, then hearing that awful voice, she panicked. The mother, frozen to the spot, couldn’t say anything. She clutched her child and opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She looked terrified, couldn’t seem to move.

  “Hideous person,” Emma hissed. “He ought to be expelled.” Heather nodded but looked over at Picket, who was entirely engrossed.

  Then Helmer drew his sword and ran.

  Heather screamed.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Swinging Death

  Heather’s scream joined with a hundred others. Helmer ran, but he broke away from the terrified mother. The mother found her feet and fled, wailing, back up the hill, clasping her child.

  Helmer ran in an arc around the tree, slicing ropes as he went. The massive forms came swinging down in turn. In a moment, swooping down from twenty directions were what looked like giant birds. Heather gasped. Picket jumped, almost went to the ground.

  It had taken only a few seconds, but Helmer had made a circuit around the tree. All his careful preparations were in motion. Sweeping down on him were the wooden birds of prey, which, free of their perches, now came into focus. Their talons, crude as they were, were set with razor-sharp knives. Many had beaks fixed with short swords, which shot out in all directions. One of these monsters, coming directly at a rabbit, would be deadly to deal with. In his initial arc around the tree, Helmer had cut loose nearly twenty of them. They all swooped down at different heights and with varying speeds, so that he had to move with incredible agility to simply avoid them. The birds were made to be deadly; the only vulnerability appeared to be their small heads of squash, melon, or pumpkin. His movements were further complicated by the various pumpkin-headed wolflike models, each of them featuring what Heather could now see were sharp blades from their sides. The terrifying gauntlet was set up to mimic an attack from birds of prey and wolves, all at once. An attack from all directions.

  Immediately, he looked doomed. He sidestepped a swooping bird, only to turn as another swung straight for his head, blades pointing out like long monstrous teeth. The crowd—for it was now a crowd gathered—cried out together in terror. Helmer ducked only just in time, then whirled and struck out with his blade to slice in half the pumpkin head of a model wolf. As the pumpkin split, he kicked the model over. That was one enemy down. Only about thirty to go. They swarmed him as he dodged, dove, and struck out at them.

  He dodged back from a low-swooping bird, receiving a nasty gash for his effort, and seemed to realize that two of the gliding attackers were converging on him at once. He looked to be crushed, never mind the blades. Heather was sure this must be the end of him. A scream died in her throat, and the crowd’s voices rose in collective panic. Picket’s eyes widened, and he stepped forward a few more paces.

  At the last moment, as the two birds were almost on him, Helmer flipped backwards, his large feet barely missing the pulverizing blow as the two birds collided, breaking into pieces. Their shattered collision sent knives flying. Another dive, this time behind the body of a wooden wolf, saved him. Some shards flew over his head, and three speeding blades stuck fast in the wooden body he had barely gotten behind. He stood, already panting, and looked wildly from side to side. The crowd gasped.

  Above him fell a massive bird, ten sharp points poised at his head. He had no time to move out of the way, and four other birds, each in a unique rebounded flight, were surrounding him. He had, Heather believed, no escape. But again, at the last possible moment, he kicked out his feet, not in a jump but to quickly give up his footing. He fell back, in sync with the diving bird, and landed hard on his back as the large wooden terror struck at him with its awful knives.

  But it came up just short. The rope it was tied to went taut, and the bird rebounded back up with a snap. The cords must have had some bounce to them, for they never died but always sprang back up to fall or swing again with renewed pace.

  He lay there a moment, watching the sky above him swarm with foes. Nearby, Heather, Picket, and Emma watched in terror. They heard a guard in green nearby talking anxiously to a farmer. “Too many this time, Gabe. Far too many. That’d be a right ha
rd test for five well-trained soldiers. He’ll be killed for sure.”

  Heather was frightened. She had no desire to see such a thing but felt powerless to do anything and too engrossed to look away. She cried out, “No!”

  Others were shouting as well. “Stay down, you fool!”

  But Heather could see that would not happen. Helmer rose and with his powerful legs sprang into action once more. Immediately he was in grave peril. As he lunged at a swooping bird, another two were converging on his back. He leapt up and swung his sword at the gourd-head of the bird, sending it flying. Then he sliced the cord, and it tumbled to the ground. The two birds from behind were nearly on him.

  Heather closed her eyes and plugged her ears. She did not wish to see or hear the end of this barbaric madness.

  She could avoid seeing, but she couldn’t block out the noise entirely. The groans and screams of the gathered crowd were displaced suddenly by a growing clamor that almost sounded like a cheer.

  She couldn’t help it. She opened her eyes. Helmer had somehow evaded the two birds set to destroy him. He was wounded but fighting on. He was now in a more desperate spot, with nine of the birds converging on him from all sides at staggered times. He was backed against two of the model wolves. There was no escape.

  But she saw something else.

  Racing into the chaotic scene of careening blades came three figures. Lord Rake, Uncle Wilfred, and Smalls were diving into the fray.

  Now Heather was truly frightened.

  “No!” Emma shouted, running after them. Heather barely knew what to do, but she grabbed Emma’s arm, slowing her down, as the crowd all pushed toward the wide circle around the maple where the deadly game was being played.

  As Heather ran toward the fast-forming crowd encircling the tree, she watched, half-tripping, as the scene unfolded.

  Lord Rake, in full run, soared through the air and clutched a rope, changing the direction of the attacking bird that he now stood atop. In the same motion, just as he found his footing on the deadly bird, he cut the rope free, sending it tumbling out of the circle as he held on to the remainder of rope, gliding out in a wide arc.

  While Lord Rake swung wide of the converging birds, Smalls ran hard, shedding his hooded cloak. He never broke stride, running alongside Uncle Wilfred. With one hand he unsheathed his blade, launching it from its sheath toward Uncle Wilfred, who caught it by its hilt. Uncle Wilfred now carried two drawn swords. Smalls finished his unsheathing pass and, in the same motion, reached for an arrow from his quiver. This he nocked and loosed with amazing speed, never stopping.

  The crowd broke out in fresh screams as they saw the arrow speed right for Helmer. But the arrow narrowly missed Helmer and embedded heavily in one of the wooden wolves that fenced Helmer in, setting it to gently rock. By the time that arrow had sunk, Smalls had sent two more in turn. Finally, he nocked three arrows and sent them all at once to the same target, a shout pouring out of his mouth with the tremendous display of strength. Heather was certain one would go amiss and find Helmer, but none did. They added their force to the rocking wolf, and it toppled over.

  There was action all over. Uncle Wilfred was not idle. He had caught Smalls’ sword in midair as he soared confidently into the fray. With a shout, he extended blades on both sides, slicing two of the ropes at once, sending the attached birds sailing into the ground. He turned and hurled his borrowed sword back to Smalls and finished by catching a low swinging bird’s rope and allowing it to send him speeding toward Helmer.

  He rode its momentum for just the right amount of time, then cut it loose, sending the bird to harmlessly crash to earth. Meanwhile, he let go of the rope and cut through the air, slicing two more ropes as he hurled past Helmer.

  Helmer himself appeared half-mad with anger and joy. He only just dodged a deadly bird, slicing its rope as it passed, and made ready to face the remaining convergence of his brutal creations. Even with the intervention of Rake, Wilfred, and Smalls, he seemed certain to fall. Three of the last few birds were converging on him in such a way as to make his escape truly impossible. Uncle Wilfred had crashed into the crowd beyond, and Lord Rake swung back too soon, unable to recover in time.

  Helmer dodged, avoiding the two he could while the third swung down on him with unavoidable speed. It was large and fast, with blades all over. But Smalls was there. Leaping, he sailed through the air and presented his powerful feet to collide with the swooping bird. Blades stood out on the monster. Heather screamed. Smalls kicked the bird, sending it spinning away. He spun and smashed into the ground. She saw that he was cut, but she couldn’t see how badly.

  Helmer’s eyes were wide as he was dragged out of the circle over the fallen arrow-riddled wooden wolf. He looked shocked, perhaps from being saved from certain death, but Heather thought there was more. His horrified, shocked expression was tinted with a fresh shame.

  Then the crowd swelled in a chorus of terrified screams once more. Heather looked and saw, to her terror, that as Smalls lay wounded on the ground, the bird he had knocked away was rebounding and crashing down on him with amazing speed.

  Now it was Smalls who looked up in a haze to see certain death descending on him.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Feet and Feats

  Heather lunged ahead, knowing it was hopeless. Even with her considerable speed, she knew she could do nothing. Despair filled her, along with anger at Helmer’s grotesque, selfish folly.

  Then she saw a flash of light. A sword sliced through the air, catching slivers of golden light as it sailed, point-first, toward the swinging blade-ridden false bird and the rope that it hung on. It would have to be a perfect throw.

  Behind the sailing blade stood Uncle Wilfred, his arm extended and his face contorted by fear and determined concentration.

  There was a moment when everything slowed down, and Heather froze in the unsettled middle ground between observer and participant. This was happening, really happening, and she could do nothing about it. Her hopes hung on a thin slice of cold steel.

  The blade point found the narrow rope, unbinding the several cords in a beautiful snapping slice. Heather ran to Smalls as the last descending bird, cut loose from its propelling rope, fell to the ground and skidded, then sunk into the grassy ground, fixed by its disappointed blades.

  Uncle Wilfred collapsed in relief just as Heather reached Smalls. He was wounded in his feet, both of them sliced by the knives of Helmer’s horrid creations. Behind them came Emma, along with a strange-looking rabbit dressed in white.

  “Making way! Out of mine get it, you crazed lookers-on!” the strange rabbit in white cried.

  “Please, everyone,” Emma said, motioning for the crowd to back up, “Dr. Zeiger needs room. Back up!”

  Dr. Zeiger was a large brown rabbit with long wispy white hairs shooting out all over his head. One of his ears was bent sideways, while the other shot toward the sky. He wore glasses like Father, but these had large red frames that circled his huge wild eyes, one of which was determined to look the wrong way. Heather thought she wouldn’t trust him with sweeping up, let alone healing. He just looked too funny to be taken seriously. And his accent was nothing she had ever heard before. Where could he be from? Far away, she was sure. Beyond even Nick Hollow, Emma had said.

  “Yes, yes,” Dr. Zeiger said, pushing some in the crowd away and bending to look at Smalls’ feet. “Out of mine ways, you rabble-crowders. Let’s having a looks at you crazy-tough fighter-kicker with your foots so discouraged by the cutting of the bird-blades.”

  “Is he going to be okay?” Heather asked Emma.

  “I don’t know. Let the doctor work,” she said, polite but firm.

  Heather moved back then, helping to relieve the crush of people gathered around. She found Picket, who was staring off, away from the crowd. With most of the crowd focused on Smalls, few had noticed that Lord Rake and Helmer were having a
n animated conversation in harsh whispers.

  “Picket, what are you—” Heather began, but he held up a hand for silence.

  Heather turned and saw the angry hand gestures, the strained faces. It was clear that Lord Rake was giving Helmer more than a piece of his mind. Helmer mostly listened, with some angry objections here and there. It was difficult to hear, but Heather moved forward to stand beside Picket, away from the worried onlookers near Smalls.

  “It’s reckless!” Lord Rake said. “You nearly did it again!”

  “I had no idea,” Helmer argued, “I would never—”

  “You’re needed, Helmer,” Lord Rake growled. “How can we do this without you? You know what we’re up against. You have to be safe! Remember the Green—”

  “I know,” Helmer barked. “You don’t have to remind me of that! I’m trying to prepare myself.”

  “More like get yourself killed—and others!”

  “I didn’t intend for that. You know I would never—”

  “Well, if you weren’t so blind to anything good!”

  “I deserve exile,” Helmer said, looking down. “I deserve worse.”

  “Well, you’re stuck with us, Helmer,” Lord Rake said. “Even if it seems like it’s worse for everyone.”

  “I won’t stop practicing,” Helmer said. “I can’t change. It’s who I am now.”

  “Don’t forget who you were once,” Lord Rake said, marching away, “and might be again!”

  Lord Rake stormed past, too angry to even notice them, and pushed his way to the front of the crowd where Uncle Wilfred knelt beside Smalls.

  “I’m fine,” Smalls was saying, shooing everyone away. Lord Rake and Uncle Wilfred stayed.

  “Doc?” Lord Rake said, looking up at Dr. Zeiger.

  “He is being correct,” Dr. Zeiger said. “He’ll being fine as frog of hair in the nick of no time flat. He is cutting a bad cut on one of foots, and other is nothing too bads.”