by Chen Jiatong
The night deepened, hours passed, and the stars glimmered overhead. The quiet of the valley was broken only by the caws of the crows and the beating of Kassel’s hooves. Kassel’s white coat shone silver in the moonlight. The horse knew the valley like the back of her hoof and weaved through the hidden shortcuts that ran through the rocky land. The motion of Kassel’s run soothed Dilah until he shut his eyes …
Dilah jerked awake. He realized he’d been dozing for quite some time, somehow still clinging tightly to Kassel’s back. Ankel was asleep at his side. The sun was rising now, and its golden light shone on a vast wasteland, barren and cracked earth spreading into the distance. Low scraggly weeds were the only living things in sight. Kassel slowed down to a trot. She was growing tired at last. The Kvik Valley was far behind them, reduced to a series of small yellow slopes on the horizon. They’d left Carl and his pack far behind.
Kassel stopped and Dilah leapt to the ground. The horse gently shook her shoulders to dislodge her second passenger. Ankel fell off, landing on his rear end.
“Ow! What? Where are we?” the weasel asked groggily.
“I’ve carried you out of the valley, as far as I could go,” Kassel replied, her voice rough with exhaustion. “Now you’re on your own. Since those foxes chased you all the way from the Arctic, they’re bound to keep following you. Be careful.”
“Thank you, Kassel,” Dilah said, smiling up at her. “I didn’t expect you to carry us so far. With this head start, we might have a chance of outrunning Carl’s pack.”
“You have more than repaid any debt you owed us,” Ankel added, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“Good luck, my friends. We’ll meet again.” Kassel turned around and took off back toward the valley.
The sound of her hooves faded away, leaving Ankel and Dilah alone.
Dilah and Ankel walked through the barren land, guided by the moonstone, occasionally spotting lynxes and deer. These strangers never approached, but stared at the pair in surprise. It was probably hard to imagine what an Arctic fox and weasel were doing together, especially in a place like this.
Eventually, the barren land gave way to low wheat fields, with a city rising beyond. Even from a distance they could see the city was bustling with activity, and a pungent smell—humans, waste, and gasoline—wafted from its direction. Huge chimneys spewed black smoke into the sky. From afar, the entire city was cloaked in a gray haze.
Dilah and Ankel hadn’t been able to find anything to drink for some time. They were parched, tongues sticking to the roofs of their mouths. Even the strawberries they found on the city’s outskirts were pitifully shriveled up. Now it was late in the day, the sun was setting, and the friends were desperate for water.
“I swear that as soon as we see a stream, the first thing I’m going to do is stick my head in!” Ankel said.
The dry wind blew in Dilah’s face, rustling the green plants surrounding them both. “Hang on … there are more plants here than there were before we reached the city, which means—” Dilah began.
“There’s water nearby!” Ankel excitedly burst out, his eyes bright. “Let’s go!”
They followed the green strip, skirting the city until, at last, they reached a river emerging from its southern edge. Tall weeds grew askew on either bank, and the dark green water flowed slowly, gurgling, a string of bubbles floating on the surface. Ankel cheered and rushed over, plunging his head into the water and desperately lapping it up.
“Hey, wait!” Dilah warned, catching a whiff of something foul. A dead fish floated in the current.
But it was too late.
“Ah—so refreshing … don’t you want some?” Ankel asked, emerging at last and sticking out his full round belly.
“Ankel, you shouldn’t have drunk that water!”
“It did taste a bit strange …” Ankel said, smacking his lips. “But it’s better than dying of thirst!”
They carried on, following the river south as the sun sank. Dilah forced himself not to drink the water, however thirsty he felt—and soon, his caution was justified. Ankel started to slow down, his breath labored.
“Are you OK?” Dilah asked.
“My stomach aches,” Ankel said. “I feel like I’m going to throw up.”
A few paces on, Ankel curled up on the ground, moaning and unable to continue. Dilah watched in alarm, feeling totally helpless. An indescribable fear spread through his body. Ankel’s life could be in danger and he had no idea how to help him.
A few vultures circled above and Dilah yapped at them angrily. He wasn’t ready to give up on his friend! He’d made a promise to Azalea to keep Ankel safe. He picked him up gently by the scruff of his neck, as his own mother had lifted him as a child. He had to find help. A hill sloped up from the banks of the river—perhaps he’d be able to spot something from higher up.
“Dilah, I’m scared,” Ankel squeaked feebly as a light breeze blew through the white fox’s fur.
The grass on the hill was thicker, a sleek glossy green in the fading sunlight, like a freshly painted picture that hadn’t yet dried.
“I’m sorry that I couldn’t help you find the treasure. Mom was right—I should have stayed behind.” Ankel’s eyes were filled with despair. His breathing was becoming weaker and weaker. Dilah placed him carefully on the top of the hill.
“No, don’t talk like this. You’ll be fine.” But Dilah’s voice quivered and his eyes were welling up with tears.
Something scampered through the grass nearby. Dilah glanced up, but before he could figure out what it was, a fluffy gray puffball flew out of the undergrowth and thwacked him in the side. He staggered, shook out his fur, and stared at his attacker.
A large gray rabbit was staring right back, every bit as shocked. The rabbit had big buck teeth poking out from his chubby face, a mouth speckled with small black dots, and drooping ears, nicked in several places. Dilah blinked at him in astonishment.
“What’s wrong with him?” the gray rabbit said, noticing Ankel.
“He’s sick,” Dilah said. “He drank the river water.”
The gray rabbit hopped over to Ankel, bent down, and inspected him carefully. He gently lifted one of Ankel’s eyelids, then leaned over his chest, listening to the weasel’s heartbeat with his long, battered ears, his eyes narrowing.
The rabbit looked like he knew what he was doing, and Dilah couldn’t help the way his own heart rose in hope. “Can you save him? Will he get better?”
“I’m not sure, but I’ll try …” the gray rabbit said.
He circled around Ankel, who was limp and unconscious on the grass. He bent over him, lost in thought, muttering something to himself.
“Rabbit ear grass!” he burst out at last, straightening up.
“Rabbit ear grass?” Dilah repeated.
“You carry him. Come with me, hurry!” The rabbit spun around and jumped back into the glossy green grass, quickly bounding toward the other side of the hill.
Carrying Ankel, Dilah followed. They stopped in front of a patch of thick underbrush that was almost as tall as Dilah. The rabbit parted the dense greenery with his paws, and a crystal-clear stream slid into view, glittering like fish scales in the sun.
The gray rabbit fumbled about the undergrowth. Dilah tried to stay calm as he set Ankel down by the water. The stream was so clean you could see right through it, to the colorful pebbles speckling the bed. Small fish darted in the thin currents.
Dilah walked over to the rabbit and saw that he was tugging on a plant. The entire plant had only one green stalk, wrapped in layers of thick green leaves. There was a cluster of small blue flowers on top, emitting a strange, sweet-smelling scent. To Dilah’s amazement, the leaves, both big and small, looked like rabbits’ ears. Rabbit ear grass!
“Can this cure him?” Dilah asked eagerly.
“I’m not sure, but this is the only thing I can think of to try.” The rabbit crammed the whole plant into his mouth, his cheeks puffing up. He chewed and chewed, then
hurried to Ankel’s side.
Dilah lifted up the little weasel and helped him to open his mouth. The rabbit spat the chewed-up grass into his paw and stuffed it in. Ankel’s throat was blocked. He gulped instinctively, swallowing all the medicine.
“Is he going to be all right?” Dilah whispered a moment later.
The gray rabbit let out a long sigh. “The truth is I don’t know. All we can do now is wait.”
Dilah looked at the rabbit. “I’m Dilah. What’s your name?”
“Little Bean.”
“Thank you, Little Bean. You’ve done what you can.” Dilah glanced back at Ankel lying on the soft grass. “Why did the water poison him?”
“Humans have polluted the river. You can’t drink from it anymore. Many animals around here have died from drinking it.”
“What about this stream?” Dilah asked. He felt faint with thirst.
“Of course. This is the water source for our rabbit clan—it’s sweet and delicious!” Little Bean proudly declared.
Dilah rushed over to the stream and gulped several mouthfuls. The pure water was the best thing he had ever tasted. He felt reborn. When he was finished, he sat at Ankel’s side, watching his little friend breathing. Was it his imagination, or was the weasel resting a little easier now?
Little Bean had hopped into the thick undergrowth, where he sat by himself on a pile of yellow weeds, gazing at his big feet, his ears drooping.
“Is something bothering you?” Dilah asked, walking over to him.
Little Bean gently shook his head.
“When you bumped into me earlier, you were in a hurry. Was it something important?”
“I was rushing to attend the ceremony for our patron saint. But it’s too late now,” Little Bean said.
“Patron saint?” Dilah asked curiously. Did rabbits have their own patron saint too?
“Mm-hmm. The Jade Hare, Buona.” Little Bean gazed up at the moon. “Today is the fullest and brightest moon of the year. Our tribe will hold a grand ceremony to pay tribute to her.”
“What will happen now that you’ve missed it?”
“I might be scolded by the elders, forced to do chores, or have to fast for a day …”
“But it’s not your fault! You had to help us, or my friend would have died. Why don’t you explain?”
Little Bean shook his head again. “Whenever there are more than three rabbits around, I get too nervous to speak. I’m really rather useless.”
“Isn’t there someone who could help you?” Dilah asked.
“I don’t have any friends. No one wants to be my friend,” Little Bean said bluntly.
“Why?” Dilah couldn’t believe it.
“Look at me! I’m ugly. Everyone avoids me.”
Dilah was outraged. “You’re not ugly! And anyway, you’re so kindhearted! You saved my friend’s life without thinking twice. That makes you the most beautiful rabbit in the world!”
“Thank you. Really, thank you.” Little Bean’s eyes were moist. “If only others thought so.”
A moaning noise interrupted them. Ankel! Dilah rushed to his friend’s side, Little Bean close at his heels.
“Dilah … ?” Ankel’s eyes gently fluttered open.
“You’re awake!” Dilah shouted, the weight on his heart lifting.
“It worked!” Little Bean clapped his paws in delight. “He’ll be fine. He just needs to sleep it off.”
“What happened?” said Ankel, blinking blearily at the rabbit. “Who’s this?”
“This is Little Bean,” Dilah said. “He saved your life, Ankel.”
Little Bean smiled bashfully. Together, he and Dilah helped Ankel to the stream, where he drank the clean, fresh water. Then he lay back and shut his eyes.
“Now that your friend’s all right, Dilah, I should probably be heading back,” the rabbit mumbled, the smile on his face fading.
“Take us with you. Maybe we can help explain,” Dilah said, already nudging Ankel to his feet. “Ankel, come on. If we don’t help Little Bean, he might be punished.”
“Uuurgh,” Ankel replied groggily.
“Thanks,” said Little Bean, “but you don’t need—”
“Take us!” Dilah insisted.
Little Bean nodded in agreement, his big, round eyes fixed on Dilah, then silently turned to leave. Carrying the semiconscious Ankel on his back, Dilah followed.
After a while, Little Bean stopped. He sat up on his hind legs and peered out of the weeds and scrubland toward a gigantic tree nearby. Dilah followed his gaze. Ankel was draped across the fox’s back, clinging feebly to his fur. The tree stood all alone, towering over the flat meadow like a humongous mushroom. It looked ancient, with a thick trunk and lush, leafy branches, tangles of vines drooping from the dense greenery. A ginormous carrot hung from one of the vines. The ground beneath the glossy green tree buzzed with activity. Sitting together in circles were hundreds of rabbits—big and small, tall and short, black and white, brown and gray.
Then a giant yellow rabbit waddled out from behind the trunk. Dilah blinked. Were his eyes playing tricks on him? He’d never seen or heard of such a large rabbit! He was even taller than Kassel, with a roly-poly, fluffy body. The rest of the rabbits seemed tiny by comparison.
The other rabbits made room for the giant rabbit as he wobbled toward the swaying carrot. There was a moment of silence as everyone gazed reverently at it. The giant rabbit raised his paws and chanted something to the carrot in hushed tones.
Then the giant rabbit stood up—his head almost brushing against the lower branches of the tall tree—and shouted at the full moon: “Oh great and holy Buona—beneath this sacred tree, I offer unto you the biggest carrot from this year’s harvest in thanks for your blessings.”
The giant rabbit’s voice rang out over the thick grass, as loud and clear as a bell. Dilah glanced at Little Bean and discovered he was clasping his paws and praying under his breath.
“You don’t want to go over?” Dilah whispered.
But Little Bean shook his head. “The ceremony’s already started, I can’t interrupt it now. We’ll wait till it’s done.”
Tick tick, tick tick … A rhythmic clicking started up from beneath the big tree. Five rabbits sat neatly in a row, holding a pebble in each paw and striking them together in unison. The giant rabbit sat across from the pebble rabbits, waving his paws like a conductor, occasionally shouting, “One-two, one-two,” to keep the rhythm. But after a while, the giant rabbit’s voice trailed off, and his movements slowed and stopped, his head comically slumping into the thick fur on his chest. He nodded off, his snores rumbling like thunder. A rabbit next to him nudged him. The giant rabbit raised his head at once and waved his paws haphazardly, trying to find his place.
The rabbits formed several rings around the tree, waving their paws to the beat, wiggling their bottoms from side to side. Their movements were so perfectly in sync that Dilah was sure they must’ve performed this dance more than a hundred times. A few minutes later, the rabbits began to change their movements. They circled the tree, waving their paws and chanting, “Buona, Buona, Buona.”
“This is the bunny hop, an essential part of the end of the ceremony,” Little Bean explained under his breath.
The dance lasted for ages. Dilah settled down in the grass, his tail flicking as he watched, while Ankel snoozed intermittently at his side. Little Bean ghosted the dance’s movements. The moon’s light draped a silvery cloak over the prairie and the gigantic tree. As the beating of the pebbles eventually ceased, all the rabbits returned to their original spots. The ceremony was over. The giant rabbit doddered away from the tree as best as he could. The other rabbits formed a wide path to let him through. Little Bean stirred at Dilah’s side, then bounded over to the group without saying a word. Dilah followed, with Ankel once again clinging on to his back.
“Lord Lund—wait!” Little Bean called.
“Huh?” The giant rabbit slowly turned, the other rabbits following his lead. Little Be
an stumbled and fell down, but quickly pulled himself back up and kept on running.
“L-Lord Lund, I—I …” Little Bean huffed and puffed, catching up with the giant rabbit and his followers.
The smaller rabbits fell quiet, fixing Dilah, Ankel, and Little Bean with cold, stony glares.
“You’re late, my dear child,” Lund said gently, bending down to peer at Little Bean with his huge eyes. The giant rabbit’s fluffy yellow head was bigger than Little Bean’s whole body. “You missed the ceremony. Why?”
Little Bean’s whiskers twitched in obvious discomfort as he gazed down at his paws. He stood as still as stone. He appeared to be unable to speak.
“This is a once-a-year event,” Lund added slowly.
Dilah stepped forward. “My friend was poisoned and almost died. Little Bean was absent because he was saving him,” he said, rushing to Little Bean’s defense.
“Oh?” Lund turned his attention to Dilah.
“How could you bring a fox here?” asked an elderly gray rabbit, frowning at Little Bean in disapproval.
“I—I …” Little Bean was tongue-tied, wringing his paws nervously.
“Hmm. This kind of pure white fox is rare,” Lund mumbled to himself with great interest.
“Lord Lund, how should we deal with Little Bean?” the old gray rabbit asked.
“He missed the ceremony,” another rabbit piped up.
“This is extremely disrespectful toward Buona,” yet another cut in.
“A trial should be held according to the laws of the council,” an identical pair of white rabbits chimed in at the same time. These two rabbits had wide chins, long faces, and raspy, harsh voices.
“The Crystal Sisters are correct,” Lund said, nodding sagely. “A trial, yes.”
“Lord Lund, Little Bean not only missed the ceremony, but it sounds as if he has spread our medical secrets to outsiders,” a black, curly-haired rabbit added, hopping over to Lund’s side. His voice was deep, his stern glare fixed on Dilah.