Ember Rising (The Green Ember Series Book 3)

by S D Smith

  “It cannot be,” a rabbit said, among a chorus of gasps. “It’s not possible.”

  Heather turned on the rabbit, at first in fury, eyes squinting tight. Then she took another breath, and her face loosened into a smile. “I will tell you all about it,” she said. “And you will believe me. For I have nothing to lose now and no reason to lie. The Green Ember rises,” she said, holding up the emerald gem. She saw its reflecting glints flicker all around the room. “The seed of the new world smolders.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH

  When Heather was finished telling all she knew, she sat down. She was exhausted. She was barely aware of the pregnant pause that followed her harrowing tale. Heather closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, feeling satisfied at the honest telling of her story. Though it hurt, she spoke often of Smalls. The pain of his loss was acute. But she felt a fire kindled in her soul at the memory of his light. In her own heart, she made a decision. Heather vowed there, in that deep cave in the heart of Akolan, that she would live to honor his memory and die fighting for his cause. Heather would live on as if she were what she knew she could never be, the widowed wife of Jupiter Smalls. She knew she could never have that honor, but she would live as if she did. At least in her heart. She would never marry another. She would tell his story, in a book if she was able, and carry him in her heart like a fire.

  She would bear the flame for his cause, and for him, as long as she lived.

  “Is it true?” she heard someone ask into the silence.

  “It’s too good,” Heather said, almost to herself, “and bad, to not be true.”

  “We will speak of these things further, at our next meeting and beyond. But we have been here a long time, my fellows,” the Tunneler said. “We will vote in a moment. Is there anything else for tonight?”

  For a while the silence held, as if no one dared compare their offerings with the weight of great import that lay in Heather’s story. But after a heavy pause, someone spoke up.

  “Bandt and I keep working on the Old and Infirm Community scheme in District Four,” said a rabbit in the second circle. She was a young doe, little older than Heather. “If we can get them close, we can bring them in without suspicion. They are vulnerable to disease, after all.”

  “The Wrongtreaders won’t stand for it,” another rabbit, an older doe, said. “The Order of Utility bars special care for the infirm and aged. They’ll fight it.”

  “I know it will be difficult,” the younger doe replied, “but we can’t just wait and do nothing.”

  “We never do nothing,” the Tunneler said. “We must not give in to the desperate demands of the urgent when our project is for the generations.”

  “I understand, Master Tunneler,” she said, “I really do. But if we let the old suffer and die simply because they aren’t useful, how can we be who we want to be? We already let them take the younglings in the school, only to be fattened for their feasts!” At this heads dropped, and Heather felt the burden of collective shame. The doe went on. “Who knows what fresh villainy they have planned for this year’s Victory Day sham? What fresh horrors will we silently witness? When freedom comes, will we be strangers to goodness? And if we are strangers to goodness, then should we even be free?”

  “Do not lecture the Master Tunneler, Harmony,” said an older buck sternly. “He has been working for this cause since before my father was breeched.”

  “And where is your father, Master Timmons?” Harmony asked. “Do you want him to wither and die without dignity? My father is…” She paused, looked down, then back up fiercely at the Tunneler. “I lost my father long ago,” she said bitterly. “My mother is dead, as are my brothers, and now my…my sister too. I only want to see our oldest cared for. We have avenues available—”

  “Say no more, Harmony,” said the Tunneler, emotion choking his words. “It is for another time. The time has now come to close our meeting.”

  “So says the Tunneler,” a buck called. “He is our father. Let it be so.”

  “Take a moment to consider carefully. Our project is a project of life, and of preservation, though the lives of many will be lost while we pursue it. We never shall seek to destroy, only to preserve, persevere, and rescue. Our brother has asked for the trial of Heather Longtreader, and we have heard his request and granted it. You have heard her. Now, be sober and decide. If any say that Heather Longtreader threatens our project, speak now and let it mean death.”

  Heather realized with a pang that the old rabbit meant that if any spoke against her, anyone at all, she would be killed. She looked around, terrified to find that a few had their hands raised. The Tunneler called on the nearest.

  “What have you to say, Leeyo?”

  The buck stood and spoke. “I believe we should welcome Heather into the first circle of the Seventh.”

  “Hear him!” many said, and they stamped their feet on the rock.

  “Do any oppose her?” the Tunneler asked. There was a noise from the windows above, and then all was silent. “Then your journey begins, Heather. So hear these words. I am the Tunneler and the Truth.”

  “He is the Tunneler and the Truth,” they all, except for Heather, repeated.

  “We have kept this hallowed hollow since Whitson’s day. The first Tunneler was snatched from the deck of Vanguard in Ayman Lake when the raptors first attacked on their way to level Seddleton. And they did level that first Natalian settlement, carrying off scores, who were brought to be slaves in Akolan. Among them, him who became the Tunneler. The Tunneler dug this tunnel and cave for fifty years, and he died. The next Tunneler did the same, and he died. The next, and he died. They all died, but I am alive. And I am the Tunneler. I will never stop until we all are free.”

  “We will never stop,” they called in response. “Until we all are free.”

  “Go, friends,” the Tunneler said, raising his arms high, “and fight in your quiet ways, until the day we shall all cry out and come out, leaving our chains behind.”

  The gathered rabbits broke up, many heading for the tunnel. As they left, they replaced their red scarves and kerchiefs.

  Father put his arm around her and whispered in her ear. “I’m so proud of you, Heather. You don’t know how badly we needed your words.”

  She smiled up at her father while the outspoken doe from the council came over. “Hello, Heather,” she said, taking her by the hand. “I’m Harmony.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you,” Heather said, smiling. “I was glad to hear of your scheme for the care of the aged and infirm. I’m a doctor, and if I can ever help, please let me know.”

  “That’s very kind,” Harmony replied. “And you can rely on me. Your cause is my cause, and the sooner we act on it the better.”

  Heather felt her father’s hand on her arm. Looking back, she saw he was smiling, but he was also looking around cautiously. “We all agree there, Harmony,” he said, “but let us obey the Tunneler now and go our way.”

  Heather glanced around and saw many eyes staring at them. Some wore wary looks, and others beamed. Only perhaps a quarter of those present crowded around the passage back to the L.D.; the others milled around in small groups, speaking quietly.

  “I would never contradict you, Master Longtreader,” Harmony said, glancing at the exit, then back at Father. “But you and I both know how much over-cautiousness costs us.”

  “And you know, young Harmony,” Father answered, “the price of hasty acts of defiance.”

  Harmony hung her head. “She was foolish, I know. But she loved the cause and was very brave.”

  Father put his arm around her in a consoling embrace. “I’m very sorry about Melody, dear. She was indeed a sweet, brave doe. And your brothers were very brave bucks. You are right to say we need some haste here. I hope Heather’s tale will push the council to decision. Give it time to work. But we must do what is effective, not what is desperate.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  Heath
er followed her father with a hug of her own for Harmony. She didn’t know the exact circumstances yet, but it was clear that Harmony had lost someone she loved. Melody must have been her sister, the one she said had died recently. “I don’t know your story,” Heather said, “but I know the pain. I’m ever so sorry for your loss.”

  “You know it well,” Harmony said. “I heard it in your story. You are mourning for the prince, as should we all, and the wound is widest for you.”

  They hugged again, then Harmony, with a final squeeze of Heather’s hand, turned to the tunnel entrance. Father followed her, and Heather came last of all.

  The return trip wasn’t nearly as awful, as Heather knew better what to expect. Still, she was oddly relieved to smell the strengthening odor as she neared the L.D. The stench was horrid, but it comforted her to know they grew closer to the end of the tunnel.

  Soon she and Father were slipping into District Four, sliding along darkened walls. They paused in one shadow, crouching down while Father listened. “Let’s stay here a few minutes,” he said. “It’s always best to weave an unpredictable pattern of return.”

  Heather nodded. “I liked Harmony.”

  “She is a good one,” Father said. “Mother worked with her sister, Melody, and was there in Morbin’s lair when she was killed.”

  “It must have been awful.”

  “It was. She and Melody shared a deep concern for the younglings they so wickedly prime for their vile purposes.”

  “You said they give them special food for weeks, and then they disappear?”

  “Yes, fruits and vegetables—I mean vegetables other than potatoes. So that the younglings believe they have a rich reward ahead. An adventure. But it is only Morbin’s table that awaits them. Harmony and her sister were committed to ending this grotesque preparation.”

  “How? I share their disgust, of course,” Heather said, “but what could possibly be done?”

  “You hit upon the problem. Melody got herself assigned to work in Morbin’s lair in order to uncover more and try to figure out the best course of action. But in the end, it was too much for her. She wasn’t cautious enough.”

  “And what did Mother think?”

  “She believed that Melody’s ideas about the problem were right but her solutions were brash and wrongheaded.”

  “What did Harmony mean when she talked about how there was over-caution on our side?”

  “Rabbits have been here since the first days of King Whitson. Since the first attack of raptors at Ayman Lake. There has been a Tunneler here, leading a secret scheme of escape, since before First Warren was ever founded in the Great Wood.”

  “They really plan to escape one day and make it all the way to the Great Wood? It’s impossible! I was taken from Cloud Mountain and flown here over the vast mountains. How could they ever hope to escape this place, here in the heart of the High Bleaks? First Warren is so far away.”

  “It is,” Father agreed. “But as your stories show, what seems impossible can happen, if we are bold.”

  “You believe they are too cautious?”

  “The Tunneler’s conclave has been so long at work in Akolan that it has become an institution. Unbelievable work of preparation has been done, and I mean truly remarkable things I am sworn to keep secret, even from you. But preparation can be a great obstacle to action. I have seen it in scholarship, in matters of state, in family life. And it is here, too.”

  “So, you and Mother are caught between the brash actions of some in the conclave and the over-caution of the institution itself?”

  “That is the situation exactly,” Father said. “But we are not alone. There are others who stand in the middle with us. It is the time for action, I think. It’s the time for considered, deliberate, and wise action. The big challenge, rightly diagnosed by Harmony, is institutional inaction. It’s always preparing and never going. It’s packing for a trip we will never take. I think if we can show movement of any kind, the brash, undisciplined party will come along.”

  “What will you do?”

  “I believe I have struck a subtle blow against the institutional inaction of the conclave. I have employed a deft stroke that will be, I think, impossible to defend.”

  “And what is that?”

  “You, of course,” he said, smiling wide in the moonlight.

  “Am I only a piece in your game of battleboard?” she asked, smiling back.

  “Not only that,” he answered, taking her hand in his, “but I do like to win. And I truly believe that winning this battle against inaction may one day matter in the true war.”

  “What you say gives me great hope, Father,” she said. “I want to hear more.”

  “Tomorrow night,” he said, signaling for her to follow.

  They crept along an alley, then darted through an empty street. Reaching their own lane, they stayed close to the walls, dark with shadow, until they came to their own door. Slipping inside, they saw two silhouettes by the lit fire.

  “Jacks!” Heather cried, rushing to him. She smothered him in a hug. “I have missed you, brother!”

  She looked at him. He had grown so much. Jacks was no longer a baby at all but a very young buck. Seeing him in his red neckerchief and uniform disturbed her intense happiness.

  “Say hello to your sister,” Mother said, smiling warily. Heather saw that she and Father exchanged nervous glances.

  “Hello, Heather,” Jacks said. “I don’t remember you. But I’m glad you have finally come to us. Where have you been all this time?”

  “Jacks, I’ve been fighting for—”

  “She’s been away, son,” Father interrupted. “But now she’s home, and we’re very happy.”

  “Where were you tonight, Whittle?” Jacks asked their father. Heather was confused at her brother’s use of Father’s first name. “You and Heather were out after dark. Teacher says I must tell her if you go out at night.”

  “Please don’t do that, Jacks,” Mother said. “Why not just enjoy that your sister’s home?”

  “I want to follow the rules especially well, Sween,” he said.

  “I’ve been picked for a special program.”

  Heather’s breath caught as dread seized her heart. Heather saw that Mother was fighting back tears, and she dared not look at Father. She looked down at Jacks. He was beaming. He pointed to the kitchen, where a basket of fruits and vegetables sat on the table.

  “I’ve been picked! I’m supposed to eat these special foods. And, very soon, I’m going on an adventure!”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  EMMA’S MARCH

  Emma had wanted to stay longer at Vandalia Citadel. Though small and less strategically important than the citadel they were journeying toward now, she had enjoyed her time there. Lord Booker had been a perfect host, and his son, Morgan, was a charming guide with whom a blossoming friendship had begun. They were also loyal at Vandalia, intensely loyal.

  Not so at Blackstone.

  Of course Lord Ronan and the Blackstone Citadel council would be civil, but they were seen as the last hold-outs, uneasy about Prince Jupiter Smalls’ close connection with Wilfred Longtreader and the Longtreader family at large. Would they oppose her, argue with her, or worse? Lord Ronan was cunning and experienced. How could she impose her will?

  “Your Highness,” Heyna Blackstar said, appearing at her side.

  “Heyna!” Emma said, hand over her heart, “you startled me!”

  “I beg your pardon, Princess,” Heyna said, backing away, ashamed.

  “No, no, it’s fine,” Emma said, smiling. “What is it?”

  Heyna smiled back formally, and her eyes flitted from Emma to their surroundings. Emma was in awe of Heyna, for the black doe’s startling beauty and tireless vigilance. She had saved Emma’s life at Halfwind Citadel during the wolf attack, receiving a terrible scar, then watched over Emma throughout the battle of Rockback Mountain and ever since.

  “Your Highness,” Heyna said. “I believe we should chan
ge our route plan and travel on through the night.”

  “But your father and Captain Frye,” Emma answered, “said they believed we should camp here and carry on in the morning.”

  “I honor them, of course. But it is my duty to serve you first, and I believe I do that best by advising you as prudently as I am able. They are the best of rabbits, to be sure, and I honor my father above all other bucks in Natalia. But they are both older and grow more easily tired. They want you to be fresh for your encounter with Lord Ronan at Blackstone,” Heyna said, momentarily locking eyes with the princess, “and that is wise. But I fear they don’t know your strength. I know that the visit to Vandalia was not a drain on you but rather the opposite. You loved spending time with Lord Booker, and his son. You feel energized and eager.”

  Emma looked down, smiling. “Go on.”

  “I see that, but they do not. And, if we rest soon, then our passage tomorrow will take us across open land by daylight, with no cover from raptor scouts.”

  “It seems to me to be a choice between two equally worthy opinions,” Emma said. “How can I decide?”

  “Consider this last factor, Your Highness, if you will,” Heyna said. Emma nodded, and Heyna went on. “If we march on through the night, then we will arrive at dawn instead of dusk, many hours before they expect you at Blackstone. I know you would not like to do anything to annoy Lord Ronan…” She trailed off, returning her attention to the woods.