by S D Smith
“Please stop!” she cried. He pressed harder.
“The Commandant may not acknowledge who you are publicly,” he said, “but I have my own sources among Ambassador Longtreader’s inner circle—or should I say, Uncle Garten? I know who you are, girl! It was I who picked your little brother for the…adventure he’s going on. And I will see you sent on a similar journey. Nothing will stop me.”
He released her at last and stepped back, breathing heavily, eyes still lit with depraved delight at his craven act. She fell to her knees, squinting against the searing pain.
“I hope young Jacks is enjoying his meals,” Vitton said, resuming his expression of aloof disgust. “On Victory Day, he becomes one himself!” He spat at Heather, then twisted and walked languidly away, carefully smoothing his coat and brushing the ash off.
Heather was left on the ground, clutching at her wounded arm, while Captain Vitton and his guards disappeared around the corner.
Chapter Thirty-Three
LOST IN THE DARKNESS
Heather’s arm was burned badly. She knew it would result in an awful scar. She sat on the ground, right there in the blacksmith’s shop, and dug in her satchel. She carefully applied a dressing to her wound, then tried to bandage her arm. She looked around for help, but no one would dare step forward, even though Vitton had disappeared. At first she was angry about this cowardly inaction, but then she thought of the many horrors they must have witnessed and what risks to their families might be involved in seeming to help one whom Captain Vitton had so publicly threatened.
Heather used her teeth and finished the bandage as best she could. Then, while she put away her supplies, she contemplated her next move. Her heart was still racing when she stood and walked slowly out of the corridor and down the long street toward the center of District Six.
She noted again the neat rows of homes and the exactness of the town layout. Sweepers were everywhere, dealing with the accumulating ash. Reaching the large central square, she saw the preparations for Victory Day.
A huge banner, bearing the same symbol that stood out on the door of the Commandant’s quarters, was being raised against the long wall of the tallest building. The thick banner was visible all over the square and far beyond. A silhouette of a black bird was perched over several rabbit skulls. In his hand, a sickle; upon his head, a crown. Heather, a sickening twist in her gut, hurried away.
Heather first went to the aqueducts, looking for her father, but she couldn’t find him. So she ran toward home. As she neared the house, she saw a rabbit pacing back and forth out front. She ducked behind a wall, then peeked again. The rabbit was a doe and clearly agitated. But Heather couldn’t make out her face, as her back was almost always toward her. Heather was shifting to get a better look when she saw Jacks emerge from the house, an ear of corn in his hand. She dove back behind the wall and peeked out again, listening intently.
“What are you doing here?” Jacks asked. “Shouldn’t you be at your assigned duty?”
“Listen, Jacks,” the doe said, and Heather recognized her voice. It was Harmony. “I’m looking for Heather. Is she home?”
“No,” Jacks said, his face showing suspicion. “She’s at her assignment, just like you should be. I think I’ll have to report this.”
“Listen, you little snotbag,” Harmony said, “I know you get fed a bunch of special food for your mouth and a bunch of special dungrot for your tiny brain, but listen to me. I need to see Heather!”
“She’s at the clinic,” Jacks said, displaying a disgusted face that reminded Heather, sickly, of Captain Vitton. Her burn seemed to flare as she recalled his face. “And you should know that I’ll be reporting you both to my teacher at tomorrow’s Victory Day assembly.”
“You do what you have to do, Jacks. But one day you’re going to realize what they are,” she said, motioning with her thumb toward the wall and the Sixth District within, “and you’re going to remember who you are,” she finished, poking him in the chest.
Heather had no idea how to feel about this. Harmony was saying so much of what she wanted to say, and that felt good. But she was also provoking Jacks to inform on them, and it seemed he needed very little prodding. Heather began to understand how Harmony’s sister, Melody, had acted so rashly and met a bad end.
Jacks turned back into the house and slammed the door. Harmony spun and groaned, slapping her forehead.
“Hey!” Heather called, motioning to Harmony. “Over here.”
Harmony hurried her way. “I’ve been looking for you!” Harmony whispered as they huddled behind the wall.
“I noticed,” Heather answered. “Snotbag?” she asked. “What’s wrong with you? He’ll inform!”
“It doesn’t matter,” Harmony said. “You have to come with me,” she said, pulling Heather’s arm as she began to run off. It was Heather’s injured arm, and her fresh burn throbbed at the tug.
“No!” Heather answered, breaking free of Harmony’s grip. “You’re going to explain this to me, now! I’m not going to go storm Morbin’s fortress with you calling everyone snotbags and saying their brains are dungrot boxes!”
“I’m not proposing we do any such thing!” Harmony replied harshly. Both were managing to whisper as if shouting. “I’m not so rash as that!”
“Not rash? Not rash! You just unsettled a very delicate balance in my home,” Heather said, pointing angrily back toward her house.
“You sound like my father. Listen, O great Scribe of the Cause,” Harmony huffed, “we have bigger problems.”
“That’s my brother!”
“I know.”
“Well, I don’t want to lose him!”
“I didn’t want to lose mine either!” Harmony said, taking Heather’s hands and speaking more softly. “I’m on your side, Heather. I want to save Jacks. I want to save him and all the others too. Will you come with me?”
“Where, Harmony?”
“The Seventh District.”
“I have to find my father, Harmony,” Heather said, settling down a little. “Captain Vitton said they’re taking Jacks tomorrow. Tomorrow, Harmony!”
“At the Victory Day celebration,” Harmony said, nodding. “I know. That’s why I want you to come with me. We have work to do.”
“It isn’t rash, is it, Harmony? I want to follow my father’s way and do what’s best. Not what’s desperate.”
“I understand, Heather,” Harmony said, “but the two are quickly merging. I have to follow my father’s way, and that’s why I want you to come along with me.”
“Who is your father?” Heather asked.
Harmony turned and walked a few paces away, but Heather caught the agonized expression on her face. “You said you lost him long ago,” Heather said, placing her hand on Harmony’s shoulder, “the other night at the meeting in the cave in District Seven. You said you lost him.”
“I did lose him,” Harmony said, turning back with tears in her eyes, “but he’s not dead. The rest of my family is dead, but he was lost to the cause in a different way. When he became father of the community, he couldn’t be mine anymore.”
“Your father is the Tunneler and the Truth?” Heather asked, amazed.
“He is. I am his youngest, and last alive. Melody and I were twins. But he has had, and lost, seven sons. My brothers.”
“My dear Harmony!” Heather said, folding her in an embrace. “I cannot imagine your grief. I am so sorry.”
“Thank you, Heather. Now will you come with me?”
“I will.”
The two rabbits walked swiftly through the lanes, carefully avoiding the streets and every avenue that had line of sight with the wall surrounding District Six. They made the edge of District Four and walked quickly across the ash-piled gap between Five and Four, entering the Lepers’ District. Its vile odors met them as they came, and they slipped past rough shanties and into the dilapidated lanes. Heather followed Harmony as she dodged through a swirl of confusing paths, past nauseating neighborhoods
and finally into a long, low tent that was caked in ash.
Inside, she saw a fire fixed and over it a pot, similar to the one she saw her first night there. Its noxious fumes filled the tent and spilled out through a large hole in the top. On benches in the corner sat several rabbits dressed in rags. Their fur mottled and sores plain, they sat still and nodded to Harmony. She pulled Heather toward a flap at the tent edge that covered the rock wall side. Harmony pulled at a long belt that wound several times around her waist, unwrapped it for several turns, then secured it again. She handed the long loose cord part to Heather.
“Don’t let go,” she said as she pulled back the flap to reveal a tunnel, different than the passage of the previous night. They ducked inside.
It was dark within, and Heather felt the panic rise again as she followed Harmony closely, holding on to the slender cord. It was completely dark, the ceiling was low, and Heather struck her head from time to time as Harmony turned suddenly right or left. Heather would carry on, then feel the tug of the cord, leading her to back up to follow Harmony’s course through what soon seemed to be a labyrinth.
This wasn’t the single tunnel to a single room that she had traversed the previous night. This was a series of complicated paths that no one who didn’t know them well could possibly navigate. Heather wondered where Harmony could be leading her. They crawled on and on, finally getting to a place where a quick whisper reached Heather’s ears. “You can stand.” She stood slowly, reaching up with her free hand and finding the cave roof just above her ears.
They walked on and on, Heather growing weary with the long jaunt in the darkness. She was reaching the point where she would need to ask Harmony to stop a moment so she could rest. She had had very little rest the night before, and she felt overcome by the urgent events pressing her. Just before she spoke, she heard Harmony’s voice say faintly, “Trust me.”
Heather walked forward a few paces, and the cord she had held for the entire dark journey grew slack. Panicking, she pulled at the cord and, her heart racing, found the end of the rope in her hands.
She was all alone in the darkness, inside an impossible maze within an endless mountain of rock, with a limp cord that led to no one, and nowhere, in her hands.
Chapter Thirty-Four
A WINDOW INTO HOPE
When desperation rose inside Heather’s heart and she felt the alarm within her growing, she heard a voice and saw a light.
“I’m sorry,” Harmony said, coming into view with a lantern held aloft. “It took me longer to get this than I expected. Come on.” She turned and led the way through the now lamp-lit passage, and Heather, mute and wide-eyed, followed.
Soon they reached a large flap, and Harmony paused before the door. “He’s tired, Heather,” she said. “But he wants to see you.”
Heather didn’t ask who. She knew. Harmony pulled back the flap, and Heather walked into a warm cave. It was sparsely furnished. A desk was covered with papers and recently extinguished candles. A fire flickered in the corner. There was a modest table and a bookshelf holding many well-worn volumes. A lute leaned against the bookshelf. A large canvas covered the wall on one side, and beneath it was a small bed, on which sat the Tunneler. He looked very old here, feeble in a way she hadn’t realized in her first encounter at the council.
Heather turned to see where Harmony was, then noticed she was alone with the old rabbit. Harmony had never entered.
“Come in, Heather Longtreader,” the Tunneler said. “I would rise, but I’m sorry to say that I am pitifully old and weak.”
Heather moved toward the bed, noticing as she did the large map that featured across the canvas covering. She could make out a scheme of tunnels and then lines across parts of large open areas. Was that water?
She bowed to the Tunneler.
“Heather, I asked you here so I could consult you.” He coughed, and she bent to take his arm and feel his back as he wheezed painfully.
“May I listen to your chest, sir?” she asked. Not waiting for an answer, she placed an ear against the old rabbit’s chest. She listened to the ragged passage of air with a frown he couldn’t see. “Deep breath, sir, if you please?”
“This is all I can manage,” he said, his milk-white eyes open, though unseeing, “and I want to say what I must while I still have breath.”
Heather was concerned. With breathing as bad as this, she knew he might not last another month. But she smiled at him. “Of course, Master Tunneler,” she said, touching her eyes, ears, then mouth.
“Do you touch your ears, eyes, and mouth?” he asked.
“I do,” she answered.
“Ah,” he said, “you practice the very old ways. The path of Flint and Fay. It is well.”
“I revere all our honored foreparents,” she said, “including you.”
“You have the scent of Fay about you, and I am told you have a light in your eyes as that of a seer. Do you dream, Heather?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“I dare say you do. And more than ordinary dreams, I’d guess. They are true, as they were for her.”
“I am no Fay.”
“For your Flint is gone,” he said, his face formed in a sympathetic smile. “Quite. And for that I am sorry. For a blind old buck, I have some sight, but I do not see all. I am given to see what is needed, I hope, for this community. And it is about them that I must speak with you.”
“I am your servant.”
“But no one’s slave,” he said.
She nodded, said, “Yes, sir.”
He stood then, slow and unsteady, and Heather helped him. He began to slowly walk around his bed, toward the rock wall where hung the edge of the canvas hooked to a peg. “They speak of you, Heather. Already they speak of you. The council. The community. You have moved them with your story. It spreads throughout the six districts, and even here in the seventh. They call you the Oracle of Akolan. They say you are a healer, that your hands hold miracles. They say you are the herald of our freedom. That freedom follows you like a silver trail tracks a falling star.”
“I am only a simple doe, sir.”
“Let us be honest with one another,” he said, frowning at her.
She nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“What do you want to see happen?”
“I want us to take in all the younglings destined for Morbin’s table.”
“And the ones Morbin takes to replace them?” the Tunneler asked. “For he must have his feast. It’s in the old code of their cult. What of them?”
“We must save them all,” she said, but now she was unsure.
“Perhaps we can,” he said. “I’m an ordinary rabbit, with an extraordinary task. My honored predecessors, all the way back to the original Tunneler, all did the same thing. They all preserved the project and carried it forward. None ever initiated the final protocol. If we take in these younglings, then it sets us on an inevitable course to action.”
“Isn’t that good?” Heather asked, not knowing what the project actually was. “Isn’t that what we want?”
“Many do, yes. I thought I would live out my years, finishing by handing over that heavy pickaxe to my successor and going to my grave with a good conscience. It is, if I may be honest, a terrifying prospect to be the one who launches it all.”
“Launches what?”
“Only this,” the Tunneler said, reaching weakly to unhook the peg holding the large canvas and letting it fall. Heather gasped.
The wall was a window, wide and high, showing a massive cavern deep inside the mountain. It was lit with sunbeams from holes high above and with torches all around. She saw rocky land split with a massive lake, into which flowed a river. This river also issued in a dammed stream on the other side. And there were ships, large ships, on the lake. Another was being built at the long dock.
Hundreds of rabbits were at work, some at smithies, others at archery, and all over the cavern a fantastic array of vocations was on display. She saw bucks training in a far corner an
d a council of others at table in the near distance. It was a humming hive of activity and life. She was astonished.
“We’ve been working for a long time here in the Seventh District,” the Tunneler said, a tired smile forming on his wrinkled face, “for that day when we will quit this despicable pit and, like our honored ancestors, sail away to freedom.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
THE EDGE OF DOOM
It’s staggering,” was all Heather could say. She was speechless at the massive scale of the preparations and had no idea how to express her awe.
“We’ve made great gains since the first slaves dreamt of escape,” the Tunneler said, coughing. “Finding the cavern and lake unlocked a new world of possibility. We have done our best with what we’ve been given.”
“Can they get to the river below?” she asked, pointing at the ships with eyes wide.
“We have prepared for that for over fifty years,” he said. “For defending them, we have had far longer to ponder.” Heather strained to hear him, stepping ever closer to catch the wheezing words of the old rabbit. “The first Tunneler made only the council chamber to which you came last night. But we’ve had incredible mineralogical discoveries since then, discovered and made tools and resources of which we couldn’t have dreamed. We’ve carried out schemes sketched out over more than a century. And in the last twenty years, we’ve made a series of dams that will, we think, when blown, make a swift escape that may give us a chance. It isn’t perfected, of course, but the dedication of hundreds of brilliant rabbits has made it possible.” He paused to catch his breath.
Heather’s mind was beginning to take in the incredible scale of this undertaking and what pressure it meant for a single rabbit to stand at the center of it, directing all. “How have you managed to…” she began. “How could I ever consult with you, sir?” she said, reverently turning from the grand project seen through the great window to the bent, blind, humbly dressed rabbit before her. “You are a lord, sir. Of the greatest secret citadel in all Natalia.”