by S D Smith
“It’s too soon to be as good as it could be,” the Pilgrim said, “but it will be sweet for the feast.”
“We’ve waited long enough,” Smalls replied, smiling. “And sweet will suit the younglings.”
They had waited long, putting things as much to rights as they could. They could not revive the fallen, nor even completely redeem the ruined city of First Warren, but they did all they could.
And the prince led them.
First Warren, its river restored to its prior banks, was the headquarters of the renewal, but a section was left in ruins around the Chasm of Death, where fell Morbin Lastfoe and many others.
The feast was being held beneath what they were calling Newcity. Newcity was designed by Heyward and Emerson and half-built by the time of the feast. It was set in an old glen of the Great Wood, halfway between First Warren and what had been Harbone. It was unlike any place ever before seen in the long history of rabbitkind, for no part of it touched the ground. Its life was among and above the trees, with interconnecting spans of rope and wood. It was to be a palace and a haven, a place for pilgrims and the royal household.
“Friends!” Smalls cried, red gem gleaming on his chest as he stood atop one of the many tables set out in the glen. “We feast today, at the end of our long wars but the beginning of our true work. Now comes the end and aim of all our endeavors—the Mended Wood!”
“The Mended Wood!” the crowd echoed.
“This is the Feast of the Mending and shall be marked always on this day, every year, until the end of time, or forever. We will honor the blessed fallen on the anniversary of our victory over Morbin, and it is right and good to look back, with gratitude, upon that day. But this day is also for looking forward. This day will be about more than our fight, but what we fought for. We fought for the mending, and the mending has come!” Cheers, shouts, and glad tears. The children danced, hand in hand, and the grownups smiled and embraced one another. “Now, friends,” Smalls said, “I want to share with you the good news of my betrothal to Heather Longtreader. We will marry on my coronation day!”
The crowd cheered loud and long, and the prince motioned for Heather to stand beside him. She stepped up on the table, smiling at him and waving to the crowd.
Smalls kissed her and took her hand in his, then raised his other hand for silence. “Now, before we feast together, I want to welcome our guest of honor.” A hush fell over the crowd. They grew reverent and thoughtful. “Lord Captain Helmer, the Last Lord Captain and an unmatched champion of our kind, once said that long speeches before meals are crimes of war.” Laughter. “So, I will be brief. Picket Longtreader, come forth!”
Picket emerged from behind the first rows as deafening cheers poured from the host of rabbits. Weezie Longtreader held Picket’s one hand with her right, while her left hand rested on the gentle swell of her belly. Picket limped, and his face and remaining arm were lined with scars, but he smiled as he came forward and embraced the prince. Weezie hugged Heather, and the four of them stood together. The cheers finally quieted when the prince stood up once again on the long table. “This table is for Picket and his family, so come and sit, Longtreaders and those whom I have appointed.”
Smalls made Picket sit with Weezie beside him. Then came Father and Mother, along with Jacks, to join them at their table. Uncle Wilfred and Airen came, and Mr. and Mrs. Weaver. Emma, Harmony, Cole, Heyna, and Jo Shanks rounded out the company. Finally, one place was left vacant for Helmer.
Then the whole host sat at tables. Smalls came and stood by Picket. “Are you all comfortable?” he asked.
“Yes, Your Highness,” Picket said, bowing his head. “Won’t you join us?”
“I would be honored,” Smalls said, his arm around
Heather, “as I will be joining your family soon, but I have some work to do today. Enjoy the feast!”
He hurried away, and Picket looked on, puzzled. Then he saw the prince put on an apron, tie it behind his back, and begin to serve.
Chapter Fifty-Five
THE SCHOLAR
I saw him fall,” the king said. “He opened the way for me to finish the fight. As he fell, I leapt and sent the starsword home in Morbin’s heart.”
“I see.” The scholar nodded, rubbing his chin. “The ancient blade broke, and you landed on the seventh standing stone, correct?”
“I did. And that’s when Picket hit the water.”
“What happened next?” the scholar asked, looking up from his paper with pen poised. “What did you see?”
“You were there,” the king said, but at a frown from the scholar, he nodded and continued. “Forgive me, I forgot that you need my unbiased perspective for your research. I shall do my very best for you, sir.”
“Your Majesty is kind.”
“I saw him go under, and my heart sank as he did.”
“Then?”
“Then she was there. The queen—forgive me, she was Heather Longtreader then—leapt into the flood, diving deep as a battered ship sailed alongside the base of the standing stone.”
“What happened to Morbin at this time?” the scholar asked, dipping his pen into the inkwell on his desk.
“Morbin had lurched back, beating his wings a few times as he died, and he spiraled into the sinkhole. The Brute’s Gorge. He spun and sank down. But I wasn’t watching him closely. I was running down the stairs, toward Picket and Heather.”
“Were you scared you might lose Heather?”
“Of course! I was ready to dive from that height to save her, but the ship was in the way, so I scrambled down as fast as I could.”
“And what did you see next?”
“She came up, broke the surface of the water. And she had him.”
“Heather Longtreader had her brother. What happened then?”
“He was dragged onto the ship. You were there—I’m sorry, Whittle and Sween Longtreader were there. Heather climbed back on board the ship, and I met them there. She went to work on Picket, and, after a while, he coughed up the water he’d swallowed, and she … she saved him.”
“Did you stay on the ship long?”
“No. We sailed back toward the palace, and Emma helped get Picket to a room. She and Heather did all they could for him. He was in terrible shape.”
The scholar looked down, closing his eyes a moment. “You were not able to stay at Picket’s bedside, correct?”
“I was not. Duties of state called me away. There was so much to do, and I could do nothing for Picket. I took my leave—reluctantly—and had many urgent tasks to see to.”
“When did you next see Picket Longtreader?”
The king sighed. “It was weeks later. Things were just beginning to settle down when I received a note from Heather. I was scouting Newcity with Heyward and Lord Blackstar that day. In the note she asked me to come back to the palace. There weren’t any details, but I knew it was about Picket. I was afraid the worst had happened, so I rushed back at once.”
“And what did you see there?” The scholar dipped his pen and scribbled on.
“I came to his room, but I stopped in the doorway when I saw your family—sorry, Picket Longtreader’s family—in the room, gathered around his bed.”
“What happened?”
“Picket opened his eyes and,” the king rose and paced the room, “he seemed so surprised to be alive. He saw Heather, and … he couldn’t say anything. He just stared at her. She hugged him close and told him everything would be okay. Then the rest of the family came closer, Jacks and Mrs. Longtreader, and Picket’s eyes grew wide and filled with tears. I think he was afraid he might be dreaming and that he might at any moment wake up.”
“How did this make you feel?” the scholar asked, smiling wide.
“It felt like the end of the bad days. It felt—” he broke off, wiping his eyes. “I can still remember Heather’s face, so lovely and glad. The whole family was there, together again after so many woes. Picket wanted to get out of bed, but they pressed in around him,
smothering him in hugs. And he stayed, smiling and crying like a child. Here is the hero of the cause—a living legend of our kind, and he’s weeping and I can barely even see it through my own tears. It was a fine day. The best of days.”
The scholar put down his pen. “It was then that the mending began for us.”
“The world was new,” the king said, “and Picket lived to see it.”
Chapter Fifty-Six
THE QUEEN
The queen left her pen and ink and rose, stretching. Crossing the book-lined room, she opened the outer door on a sunrise shattering a thick morning mist.
The queen watched the rising blaze as it displaced the fading fog, and the dew-wet morning shone out in glistening emerald. A servant brought her a mug of tea, which she received with thanks, and she gazed on at the growing glory of the illuminated morning. She sipped and savored her blue-tinted tea as the sun’s ever-spreading line of light reached the high palace and banished every shadow.
An easel featuring a half-painted canvas stood propped near the far rail of the porch.
“Your Majesty,” came a familiar voice from behind.
“Slipped past Heyna, somehow? Come and sit, sister,” the queen said, without turning around. She smiled as she sipped again, feeling the warm rays spread over the elegant deck on which she stood.
A red and white doe, steaming cup of her own tea in hand, sat in a chair near the queen.
“Yes. My cousin Heyna is growing positively lax in this perpetual peacetime,” she said, out of breath. “I think she’s still asleep. Still, it’s difficult to get to you. This high palace is some climb, Your Royal Majesty.”
“I hope,” the queen replied, “it was not too much hiking this height, Your Royal Highness.”
“I feel amazingly well, as I dare say you do too. Still, the climb is some work. It was worth it, though, for this view.”
“Emma,” the queen said, turning to her dearest friend, “how are things coming along? We are so grateful for your work.”
“You grew used to that royal we so quickly, Heather,” Emma said, feigning a lofty tone.
“I meant Smalls and myself, Emma,” the queen said. “I would never play the majestic exalted one with you.”
Emma laughed. “I know it. But, as Mrs. Weaver once told me, when she thought I would be queen, ‘you must be who you are, and let us be who we are. We rise as you rise.’ It was something like that. It’s possible she’s slightly more eloquent than myself.”
“Possible, but I’ve done some research on what you were doing while I was away on holiday in Akolan and the Dragon Tomb. I’ve unearthed some surprisingly eloquent speeches before battles. You would have been a grand queen, my sister.”
“I was never more relieved than when I saw you again. You beside my brother, a new Flint and Fay for a reborn world. How we all cheered! I knew then that not only did I have my very best friend back, but I also wouldn’t have to be queen. I’m of far better use where I serve.” Emma smiled wide. “Heather, it is the best thing. Firstflower is not only making our tea a truly spectacular treat this fine morning; it has also yielded such cures as we dared not even imagine. My hospital is coming along so well, and the veterans are responding to their healing in ways that astonish me.”
“I am so pleased to hear it! If only we could get you married, my happiness would be complete. Lord Morgan is still pining for you, I believe. And Jo Shanks, as I’ve often said, is quite a gallant captain.”
“As I’ve told you, Heather, I don’t need to be married to have meaning. Jo works for me, and he’s as good a buck as can be imagined, serving the older votary does with such generosity. But I am happy in my calling. We’re doing real good for the veterans and the children, and the cures are astonishing.”
“Oh, forgive me, Emma,” the queen said, extending a hand. Emma took it in hers. Heather went on. “I am seeing more and more that the mending has meant each one of us flourishing together in such a way that we each are more ourselves than we ever were before. I respect your calling so much, my dear. I will, if you’ll allow it, come and serve my shifts at the hospital again this week.”
“The veterans love to see you there,” Emma said. “It makes the whole place cheerful. And, of course, you are such a help. But I’m afraid the hospital—our old palace—will have to be fully converted to ordinary quarters.”
“Really?”
“Yes, Heather. There is no more sickness.”
Heather gazed at the sunrise, a misty view despite the burned-off fog.
“Did you see Cole when you came up?” the queen asked.
“I did,” Emma replied. “He was with the king, Whit, and Winslow. They were heading off to scout a location for the Votive Sanctuary. Prester Kell and Sage Kins had narrowed down the sites, along with help from the Pilgrim.”
“You don’t have to call him that,” the queen said, smiling. “I know who he is.”
“He’s the Pilgrim to me. What a gift that he came when he did. If someone were to ever tell of his journey, now that would make for some amazing tales.”
Heather nodded. “It’s remarkable. And I haven’t heard the half of it, I’m sure.”
“But he will always be the blessed bringer of Firstflower seeds.”
“Indeed. True Blue has changed everything,” the queen said, sipping her tea.
“I suppose Jo will be joining the Pilgrim’s—as you insist on calling him—next expedition,” Heather said. “I am so eager to hear what they discover.”
“It is an age of discoveries,” Emma replied, smiling wide. “It’s as if everything old has meanings now we hadn’t ever known, and everything new is like an old thing we are only just now finding.”
“Our Pilgrim once told me, ‘The world is like a wise old child,’ in this mending.”
“It’s like being inside a perfect poem, I think. Better than even you could write, Your Majesty.”
“That’s it. Words fail. Even the best-threaded and most ornate adornment cannot clothe this age enough in praise. It is beyond the cloth, and beyond the page.”
Emma sipped her tea, considering. “I thought of going along with them on the next expedition, but I want to see my projects through. I think Cole and Heyna are going.”
“The aim suits them well,” the queen said.
A patter of small feet sounded from the house behind them.
“Mother!”
The queen spun to see a sleepy-eyed young doe, grey-furred and dragging a soft doll along. “Aunt Emma! I need to tell you that I haved seven dreams.”
“Oh, that’s a lot of dreaming,” Emma said, snagging her niece and spinning her around. “Did you dream of being a mighty queen some day?”
“Aunty, no. I’ve tolded you already. I’m gonna be a doctor, like you.”
“My dear Maggie,” Emma said, “I don’t think there will be any illness anywhere at all to cure by the time you’re old enough. It’s wonderful, really.”
“You help them anyway, even sick or not. When you comed over yesterweek, I had a good day but then you maded it better.”
“She does that, for sure,” the queen said, taking her daughter from Emma, easing into a chair, and snuggling her close. “I would be proud for you to be like your aunt. She’s a treasure to me and to our community and to all of rabbitkind.”
Maggie nodded, then squeezed her mother tight and rested her head in the crook of her neck.
“Heather, have you heard from Kylen recently?” Emma asked.
“Kylen? No, I suppose not. I haven’t seen him since Prince Naylen’s wedding.”
“I got a letter from him,” Emma said, settling back into her chair and taking a sip. “He’s coming to the Feast of the Mending this year.”
“I’m glad. Terralain is so far away and seems less his home than here in many ways.”
“He’s bringing their tribute this year, traveling with a vast team of those hulking bucks to help construct more of our homes for the war orphans and families who will a
dopt.”
“You mean Uncle Wilfred and Airen haven’t adopted them all?” the queen said, smiling.
“No, Mother,” Maggie said, head shooting up, “Uncle Airen and Aunt Wilfred haved only fifteen childrens, but Aunt Emma still has more to find families for.”
“Yes, Maggie,” Emma said. “They almost all have families now, but we’re still working on homes for them all.”
“A new colony group is leaving in a fortnight,” the queen said. “Nick Hollow, I’m happy to say, is fully settled. The Red Valley is next.”
“Did you ever think of going back to Nick Hollow?”
“Not really. I was born here,” Heather said, “like you. This is home. The Great Wood is the place for me. We see everyone at the feast each year, and I feel like I don’t have to go out into the world. It comes here.”
“What about Picket?” Emma asked.
“Will he ever go back to Nick Hollow with Weezie and the kids? I don’t think so. He’s put down roots, in every way, and he has so much to do.”
Emma nodded. “I think Weezie can heal him in a way I never could have. I hope he is very happy.”
“He is, Emma dear.”
The queen heard a cough from behind, and she turned slowly, trying not to wake Maggie, who had fallen back asleep. An older doe with a messy smock appeared, alongside a young black doe in an elegant dress. Both does bowed.
“Your Majesty,” Heyna Blackstar said. “Your mother is here.”
“Mother,” the queen said, extending a hand.
Mother took and squeezed it, then gently patted the sleeping child. “My dear girls, I am glad to see you all.”
“Mrs. Longtreader,” Emma said, smiling. “I hope I see you well.”
“Blooming, Your Highness,” Mother said, bowing quickly to Emma. “I thank you.”
“I have been admiring your painting, Mother,” the queen said. “Are you come to complete it?”
“It is a long job, capturing the impossible beauty of this new world. But I come to continue, if I may, dear.”
“You are very welcome, always. And I’m eager to see the painting grow more glorious with time. It is already unbelievably lovely.”