by S D Smith
“I am the Tunneler and the Truth,” he said weakly, “and a dying old rabbit.”
“I can’t believe what I am seeing. This scheme, it is ready to carry out?” she asked.
“It will never be ready, Heather. That’s the problem. Nothing ever is. But it’s close enough to perhaps try. Many—thanks to you—are now willing to try. Still, for that rabbit who says ‘Now is the time,’ it’s a grave and heavy weight.” He seemed to bend lower still under the burden of those words. “We’ve known preparation for so long. And preparing, though hard, is nothing to the going. To the acting. To the carrying out of that moment when one says ‘Go’ and an undertaking of generations is set in motion.”
“You are afraid?” Heather asked gently.
“I’m not afraid of dying,” he said, his words coming in a dry, airy speech that alarmed Heather. “Not afraid of Morbin Blackhawk, or Garten Longtreader—your cursed uncle—or the Commandant, certainly, or the wicked Captain Vitton. I am afraid of failing when so many have hoped for this. I have become a father to this family of rabbits. If I fail, I fail not only all who live now but all those who died making this way. I fail all of our fathers and squander our inheritance. I become a failure as father.”
“You are our father, sir. And, if you will allow your daughter to advise you,” she said, “it’s the first duty of a father to protect his children, especially the most vulnerable.”
“Aye, it is too true. Your story of what’s happening in the world outside has inspired our council. I have the support now to move forward. My most likely heir as Tunneler is against it and favors the slow evolution of our preparations over ages. He sees our work as an institution to be guarded more than a project to be realized.”
“So you are eager to act?”
“I am,” he wheezed, bending as another coughing fit gripped him. Heather was at his side, helping him balance as he recovered. “But my likely successor, the rabbit in my shadow, will halt all. So it’s important that I stay alive.”
“I see,” she said. She was realizing now, with some embarrassment, that she had been called here not to consult about the scheme but to advise as a doctor. She touched her satchel and led him back to his bed, laying him down gently.
“It’s rumored you are a healer of uncommon gifts,” the Tunneler wheezed. “I would be deeply grateful were you to give me the gift of another few days.”
“I will do my best,” Heather said, pulling open her satchel and reaching for her best tonics. “Though it’s an uncertain art, as any medic will tell you.”
“My dream is not to live on and on, Heather,” he said, breath ragged, “but only to die defending the ships as they go, like King Gerard on Golden Coast, standing side by side with all the brave old bucks of our community to trade our lives for their liberty.”
“It’s a noble dream,” she said, tears in her eyes, “and you are a noble rabbit who will be remembered for centuries.” She opened his mouth and poured in some of Emma’s mixture. She had considered Aunt Jone’s mix but wanted to be on surer footing with this crucial case. “Swallow that, my lord. And drink as much water as you can. And please, rest.”
“My body cries out for rest,” he said. Then he took a long drink from the cup she set to his mouth. “But my mind tells me there’s work to do.”
“The work will be there when you awaken,” Heather said, smoothing the creases on his brow. “Until then, dream of that day when you’ll stand with your pickaxe and hold back the enemy’s attack.” After a few minutes of her soothing words and kind caresses, the old rabbit fell asleep with a smile on his face.
She stood and again looked out the massive window, staring open-mouthed at the incredible project in motion below. The cave roof reached high, forming an oval cavern wherein the many activities were being carried out with military efficiency. The ships alone were astonishing. She had never seen such large vessels and thought they must be like those of Whitson Mariner’s days. She watched as a team of bucks a hundred strong across from the lake went about martial exercises in perfectly synced rhythm.
“He’s asleep, then?” Harmony asked quietly from behind her. Heather turned to see the young doe standing side by side with another rabbit. He was older, small of stature, but his eyes were big and bright and kind.
Heather nodded.
“Can you save him?” Harmony asked, worry plain on her face.
“I don’t know. I’ve given him the best I know to give him.”
“They say you can heal even the worst cases,” the other rabbit said. “I’m sorry,” he added with a short bow, “I’m Edward.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, sir,” Heather said, nodding respectfully.
“Let’s go to the council chamber,” Edward said, leading the way out of the room. Heather followed, along with Harmony, who gave a last worried glance back at her father.
Heather followed Edward’s lamp through the labyrinth until, after many winding turns, they entered the council chamber. There were four rabbits within, all wearing nervous expressions.
“What’s the news, Stitcher?” a tall thin rabbit asked, hurrying up to Edward. So this was Stitcher. Mother had spoken so highly of him.
“He’s still alive,” Harmony said, “for now.”
The four visibly relaxed. “Heather,” Edward, who they were calling Stitcher, said, “this is Stretch. And those three are Wisp, Dote, and Gripple.”
“I’m pleased to meet you,” Heather said, nodding. She remembered their names from her first night in Akolan. They had been looking for her. She wished they had found her instead of the accursed Wrongtreaders and their Commandant.
They bowed in turn, eyes widening with some awe. “The honor is ours, lady,” Stretch said. And the three in the background whispered to one another.
“What news from your side?” Harmony asked, cutting through the awkward quiet that threatened to settle in.
“It’s bad,” Stretch said. “We think Vit Skinner’s informers have detected our increased activity because they’re planning a memorable display. We learned today that they will take the younglings they already picked tomorrow at the Victory Day festival. In the square, in front of everyone, they’ll take them.” Heather lurched, her stomach dropping. “But that’s not all. They’re going to take all the younglings. Our buck inside says that Morbin’s council is looking for a show of force across all their locations, in every slave camp and at First Warren. They will gather the crowds for the usual Victory Day assemblies, and they will take every youngling. They will slaughter them all.”
Heather staggered back, and Harmony held on to the wall. Edward groaned and put his hand over this mouth.
“This intelligence, Stretch—?” Edward began.
“From the top, sir,” Stretch answered. “There is no doubt.”
“I have to get home!” Heather said. “My brother…he will be taken, killed. I have to bring him here.”
“Garlen Canton, the likely heir to the office of Tunneler,” Stretch said, “is passing word among the council and others that we are not to panic. He says the Tunneler is gravely ill and that he must help us through this time by urging calm and a commitment to the long-term strategy. He says we mustn’t be hasty in this panic and undo the progress of generations simply for the sake of some children.”
Harmony cursed. Heather wheeled on Stretch. “Did he say that?”
Stretch nodded. Dote spoke up. “I heard him myself, lady.”
“Then he must be stopped,” she said. “He is no leader.”
“But he likely has the council’s support, if the Tunneler passes away,” Stretch said.
“I will speak to as many councilors as I can,” Edward said. “Harmony, you go check on your father.”
“I’ve got to go,” Heather said, heading for the tunnel.
“Where?” Harmony asked.
“I’ll try to find Father, then home,” she said, knocking the flap aside and disappearing into the tunnel.
Heather hurri
ed ahead, a new kind of panic pushing her forward. She noted, with passing curiosity, that her arm felt better than it had in a long time. Much better. Only the burn still hurt. The sprain seemed entirely healed. She emerged from the edge of the tunnel and into the Lepers’ District tent.
She marked the foul boiling brew but hurried on, ignoring the rabbits clustered around. She ran through the streets of the L.D., not stopping to see if she was being watched. She ran for the aqueducts, hoping to see Father. She felt panic pulsing within her, intense worry about every single young rabbit in Akolan, and beyond. But she was in agony over Jacks.
That Jacks might be killed was horrible enough, but that he would become food for Morbin in his dark rites was abominable. Worse still, the poor young buck didn’t even know who he was. He had no idea what criminal abuse had been visited upon him in the indoctrination he’d been subjected to. She felt ill but ran on.
Arriving at the outside aqueducts near the pit wall, she saw only the few workers she had seen earlier. No one knew where Father was. She was frantic, frustrated, and beginning to feel that the thin door of hope was closing and there was nothing she could do.
Angry over the lost time, she ran toward home.
Heather sped through the gap between Districts Five and Four, cut through several lanes, then hurried down the street where her family had made their home.
Bursting through the front door, she found Mother sitting on the floor, her face in her hands. Mother looked up and, seeing Heather, burst into fresh tears. “Oh no. I had hoped you had gotten away, Heather!”
“Mother,” Heather said, hurrying to her side. “What is it? What’s happened?”
“Jacks has informed on us,” Mother said. “And they have him. They’re keeping him there until the feast tomorrow…on Victory Day. They’re taking them all on Victory Day.”
“Mother, we have to get out of here!”
“Captain Vitton is searching for you and your father. He came here earlier. They ordered me to stay. Said they will keep a watch out on the house. There’s nowhere to run, Heather.”
Steps, urgent and hurrying, on the doorstep.
Loud pounding at the door. Heather stood and reached for Mother.
“Hurry, Mother. Around back!”
The front door burst open, and they turned. Stretch ran in, gasping.
“The Tunneler…” he said, breathing hard, his eyes wild with fear, “is dead.”
Heather barely had time to register all that this meant, the certain doom that followed such news, when they heard more footsteps, louder and more urgent than before.
They all turned to see Captain Vitton, flanked by a party of guards, hurry through the door. He smiled sickly and pointed at Heather as his guards surrounded her and Mother. Others dragged Stretch through the door, and Heather heard awful screams in the street, which were suddenly silenced. Hopelessness fell on her heart like a smothering smoke.
“Now, Miss Longtreader,” Vitton said, “the real burning will begin.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
EMMA’S RENDING
Emma emerged from her tent, worn out but satisfied with what they had accomplished so far on this mission. So far. With the aid of Mrs. Weaver and Lord Blackstar, she had rallied rabbitkind to the cause, including several reluctant citadels. She was hopeful. But the greatest test, with the most to gain and lose, lay ahead.
Kylen of Terralain.
Emma had been dreading this meeting. She and Kylen had a lot of bad blood in their history, even before she learned they were close cousins. He was the son of Prince Bleston, the Silver Prince, the ruler of the land of Terralain. And she was the daughter of King Jupiter the Great, Bleston’s younger brother. Bleston was furious when their father chose Jupiter instead of him to succeed him as king, and he had left First Warren with a band of malcontents. They had found Terralain and fused the culture of that settlement with the bristling ambition of Bleston. Years later, Kylen was sent to unsettle things in the wider world and pave the way for his father’s return. He had done this by betraying Smalls and nearly costing him his life.
Emma had never forgiven Kylen.
And she had heard that Kylen and the Terralains now blamed Picket for Bleston’s death. The rumor had gotten back to Kylen, through Tameth Seer, their advisor, that Picket had betrayed Bleston.
Emma knew Picket was innocent, but Kylen had not been there and had only the word of his father’s most trusted advisor.
She walked out into the moonlit night, following the path deeper into the Great Wood. She turned to be sure that no one was following her. This would be a secret meeting.
In a few minutes, she saw a white-handled dagger stuck in a tree, and she turned right. Following a seldom-used path, she came to a small clearing and saw a fire. Kylen sat by the fire on a stool. He looked haggard and unwell, and the part of Emma’s heart that made her a healer felt compassion. But the princess side of Emma had less sympathy, and the young doe at Cloud Mountain who had a hundred times clashed with Kyle—as he was called then—had less still.
“Kyle,” she said, walking into the firelight.
“Hello, Emma,” he said, looking up at her with worried eyes. “Are you alone?”
“Yes. Are you?”
“I am alone. Only Tameth Seer knows I’m here.”
Emma’s heart lurched. That wasn’t good, she knew. She had told no one.
“And only Lord Victor Blackstar knows I’m here,” she said, though it wasn’t true.
“Good,” he said, and a long silence followed.
“Why did you want to meet?” she asked. “I got your message, and I’m here. What is it you want?”
“I want peace,” Kylen said, getting to his feet slowly. “I want this war to be over.”
“It’ll be over when we defeat Morbin,” she said.
He turned on her with a fierce expression. “That would be a lot easier if rabbitkind wasn’t filled with traitors!”
“That’s true,” she said, trying to stay calm.
“Where’s Picket?” he asked.
“He’s carrying the war to the enemy, just like always.”
“Don’t play dumb, Emma,” Kylen said, stepping toward her. “We both know he murdered my father. I can’t believe you’re standing by him. His whole family is made up of traitors!”
“You can’t possibly believe that!” Emma said, snapping back. “Heather? You think Heather’s a traitor? After the chance she gave you. I can’t believe you would—”
“Where is Heather now?” he roared, interrupting her.
“She’s at Morbin’s palace—” Emma began, indignant to express how heroic Heather’s action had been. But Kylen interrupted her.
“Exactly!” he cried. “You see, she works for Morbin in his lair, and Picket works for Morbin out in the field. It’s a devious scheme!”
“Kylen,” Emma began, feeling her heart beat faster and her face grow hot, “I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but you’re not thinking clearly. Heather and Picket are the most loyal rabbits I have ever known. You need to get things straight!”
“You always were a scold, Emma. I know what happened. The eyewitness account of rabbits from both Terralain and Cloud Mountain confirm it.”
“I was there!” she cried. “I was there! I saw your father betray us and try to seize me in order to trade me to Morbin for a small slice of bread from his table. I saw it happen! I saw him try to murder me, and I saw Lord Rake, the only father I’ve ever known, lose his life to save mine. I saw your father try to murder Picket, and I saw Picket defend himself, and, yes, that resulted in your father’s death. I saw it all! Picket is a hero, and your father betrayed us!”
“Lies!” he shouted, his eyes wild and frenzied, and he lurched toward her. “I’ve been given the facts by many witnesses! Many reliable witnesses!”
“They are false, I assure you! Who? Who from Cloud Mountain accuses the Longtreaders?”
“Captain Pacer, for one!” he cried. “And others
!”
“Pacer has betrayed us?” she asked. “I can’t believe it.”
“Believe it, Emma!” he said, pointing a quivering finger at her. “Your allies are…all lies.” He gasped and stumbled back to his seat.
It was a blow to hear that Pacer, Lord Rake’s trusted friend, had betrayed them. And she was furious at Kyle’s baseless claims of treachery and accusations of her friends. But beneath her anger, she was beginning to see just how unwell Kylen was. He was more than wounded. He was ill.
“Kylen,” she said, “you need help. You need medical care. I’m not sure you’re getting what you need. Can I help you?”
He looked up at her in confusion, almost like a young-ling looks to a parent in a panicked confusion. Then his features hardened again. “I could never accept help from you. You’re a usurper. The throne is mine.” With this, he fished inside his vest and pulled out the amulet on the end of the chain that hung around his neck. It was a large red diamond—the Whitson Stone. The Ruling Stone. The rightful bearer of this token was, by ancient rights, the ruler of all of Natalia.
The hot anger returned to her, and she clenched her teeth. She was indignant. “I wish you could take the throne! I don’t even want it! I have never wanted it. I have only received this inheritance as the grimmest duty. I wanted to be a healer. I wanted to help sick rabbits like you be well. I wanted my little work to fit together with thousands of other little works to make a great mosaic of hope. I didn’t want to be responsible for the whole thing! I never have!”
“Well, you don’t have to,” he said weakly. “You can lay it all down. Just bow your knee to me, and you’ll be free.”
For a brief moment she considered how much easier everything would be if she did. She thought of the weight of responsibility passing from her to him, and the thought was delicious. But she thought of Picket, of Heather, of Mrs. Weaver and Lord Blackstar. She thought of those who had died when Kyle betrayed them at Cloud Mountain and the soldiers left vulnerable by Bleston’s betrayal at the battle of Rockback Valley.
“I cannot bow to you, Kylen,” she said flatly, “because your throne would be built on lies. I will have to be what I am.”