by S D Smith
“And go to war against Morbin and me?” he asked hoarsely.
“If I have to. But just remember whose side that puts you on,” she said.
Emma turned to leave and walked out of the glow of the firelight. Then she remembered, with some panic, that Tameth Seer knew of this meeting. She half-expected a bolt from the dark to take her down. She knew she must be in grave danger.
But she wasn’t the only one.
Everything within her screamed out for her to run away as fast as she could, but she turned at the edge of the clearing. “Kylen,” she said softly, “don’t take the medicine they give you anymore. Pretend to, but don’t swallow it.” He scowled at her, and she hurried off into the darkness.
Emma passed by the tree with the white knife-hilt driven in. She pulled the blade free and hurried through the forest. She heard a rustling behind her and turned to see only shadows playing at the edges of the brush.
She walked faster, then burst into a run. The forest felt full of active shapes, and soon she heard whispers and muffled shouts. Then they were on her. Several large rabbits in black, with bright silver stars showing on their chests, grabbed her and held her against a tree.
Terralain soldiers.
Emma was gagged, and ropes were thrown around her head, shoulders, and legs to secure and pin her against the tree.
A cackling laughter echoed through the forest, as a bent shape emerged from the trees. Tameth Seer.
“The little sister of the little prince,” he said in his high metallic shriek, “pretended heirs of all Natalia, both dead, along with their pathetic cause.” She could answer nothing with the gag in her mouth, but she glared back with defiant eyes. “So brave, little one. But now your pretensions are ended. King Kylen will rule this land, and our alliance with Morbin will secure his place. You will be forgotten,” he said, stepping close and peering into her eyes. His breath was foul, and the strange beads braided throughout his fur rattled in her ears. His wild eyes shone in the moonlight, and his deranged cackle distressed her deeply. He drew a long crooked knife from his side and raised it high so that it glinted in the moonlight. “It’s time for you to die, Princess Emma!”
He brought the blade down, but a black form darted in front of Emma, blocking the blade arm and kicking the brittle old rabbit back.
Heyna!
The nearest Terralain soldier swiped at Heyna with his blade, but Cole appeared, blocking the sword strike and returning his own with deadly effect. Arrows swished through the air, dropping several soldiers as they tried to reach Emma and her friends. Jo dropped down from his perch atop a nearby tree, and nocking two more arrows, he scanned the path for more foes.
Heyna freed Emma and wrapped her in a quick embrace.
“Let’s go!” Cole said, and they followed him back down the path.
Emma was glad to be alive and glad Heyna had somehow found out about her meeting. But she was certain she had made a grave error and set back the cause by her folly. How could they hope to unite rabbitkind and finish their mission with her in command?
Chapter Thirty-Seven
DESCENT INTO DARKNESS
Picket knew he had squandered his one chance to escape. They had almost done it, he and Weezie. They had almost gotten away. But the black-clad band had them again. With gags in their mouths and bags over their heads, they were being led far from Helmer’s old homestead and the last link of support Picket had in all of First Warren.
They marched for half an hour. Then, after a series of indistinct whispered conversations, they began to descend. Not the slow descent of the gentle fall of a field but the sudden drop of a cavern. Soon there were steps, and they plunged farther still, down and down the winding drop, always gripped by strong hands. Picket listened carefully and imagined what his surroundings looked like. He began to contemplate trying to wrestle free, possibly sending one of his captors plunging over a precipice. But he couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t knock Weezie in as well, and he could see no way now to escape. He would have to wait to see what fate awaited them in the deeps.
As if reading his mind, one of his captors whispered, “There’s no reason for escape here, lad. Just hold on.” The voice was hard to make out through the bag covering his head, but the use of the term “lad” sent a pang through his heart. He nodded.
They descended farther still. Then a door of some kind opened, and they walked forward, taking several turns so that he grew dizzy with all the twists.
“Wait here,” the same captor said, ushering them through a thin doorway Picket had to squeeze into, then onto a bench to sit. “And don’t try anything, lad.”
The bag over his head was raised, and his gag was cut loose. His hands remained bound, but he watched in the dim light as Weezie was also freed of her bag and gag. She worked her mouth, stretching her jaws. Picket imitated her and gained some relief. The guard whose white fur Picket saw beneath his black mask left a lantern within and backed out, his comrade locking the door after him.
They were in a small cell. The dirt floor met walls of brick, thick by the look of them. To dig free would take days, or weeks. And they would have to get their hands free.
“Mother won’t survive this,” Weezie said, shaking her head. “It will ruin her.”
“Helmer will…” Picket began, but he realized he didn’t have any answers, and he didn’t feel like politely lying about their chances. “I’m sorry,” he said at last.
They sat in silence then, the weight of this failure settling over Picket in a familiar invitation to despair. Resentments rose, injustices clamored for a spot in his heart. He had so often been in positions where the most intense bitterness felt justified, and here he was again. The catalog of unfair calamities paraded through his mind, beginning and ending with his own family’s misfortunes. They were all gone. Father and Mother, little Jacks. He had promised his baby brother protection, that he would never let him down. But he was taken, and Picket had no idea if he was well or ill, alive or dead.
And then there was Heather, the last connection to his past, his dearest friend and beloved sister. She was gone too. Likely dead. How did this happen to her? He fought against the hopeless tale of a wasted life and a meaningless death. But Heather didn’t die—if indeed she was dead—for nothing. She believed in the cause. She was its prolific, prophetic herald. Heather had traded her liberty for the hope of the Mended Wood. He would do the same. He would die, if dying was his duty, determined to do all he could for the cause.
“If we can get our hands free,” he said, “we can tunnel out of here.”
Weezie laughed. “You are some kind of crazy, Picket.”
“It’s not impossible,” he replied. “Our ancestors tunneled massive warrens.”
“You think so?” she asked with a mischievous smile.
“What?” he asked, frustrated at her coyness.
“Don’t you see, Picket?” she asked, pointing her chin all around. “We’re in one of those warrens. We’re in the depths beneath First Warren. We’re in the real First Warren. This is the place King Whitson built and King Lander ruled. This little prison area likely held such celebrated traitors as Baltrane and Gamson.”
Picket glanced around as the reality dawned on him. “Of course! How could I not have realized?”
“Bucks are usually pretty slow-witted,” Weezie said with an intense expression of sympathy. “It’s not my opinion. I read it in a thick book by a very learned scholar.”
“Oh, the book was thick?” Picket said, skeptical.
“This book was as thick as your skull, Picket,” she said, nodding seriously, “so, pretty hard to argue against.”
“Who am I to argue against such a thick book?” he said, cracking a smile.
“If anyone did, then the scholar would simply strike them with the book, ending the argument.”
“You did mention it was pretty thick.”
“Thank you for reminding me,” she said, sniffing self-importantly. “It was a crucial detail.”<
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Picket couldn’t keep from smiling wide now, and Weezie laughed hard. How had she made him laugh in this dark, forsaken place? She was, he thought, very special. They sat in silence a little while, their laughter subsiding and the heaviness returning.
“Who runs this underground now?” Picket asked.
“Good question,” Weezie said. “Seems a perfect place for Daggler’s Black Band to operate out of. Like I told you, Picket. They drag away suspects and insurrectionists, and no one ever sees them again. It’s happened a thousand times. They warned Mother that they were watching her and, if anything happened, her only surviving daughter would be gone.”
Picket winced at this, as a stab of guilt pierce him. “So when we came,” he said, “the explosions were blamed on the resistance. They took the younglings and promised worse. Then Master Helmer and I showed up at your house, and now they’ve taken you.”
“Daggler is our Prince Winslow’s right-hand assassin,” she explained, “and the terror of the resistance. They would have been on high alert after the explosions. So…”
Picket didn’t need her to go on.
“They’ll kill me,” she said. “But you—Picket, they’ll want answers from you.”
Picket nodded.
The bolt on the door shifted with a clang, and the door swung open. Three guards entered. Picket launched at them, lashing out with desperate kicks. They subdued him quickly.
“Don’t hurt him!” Weezie cried. “He was just visiting our farm. It’s me you want to punish! Leave him alone, will you?”
“Quiet now,” one of the band said, softly and with surprising kindness. But Weezie went on as they dragged Picket to his feet.
“Let him go. It’s me you swore to murder. I’ll tell Daggler anything he needs to hear. This rabbit isn’t in the resistance.”
“Quiet now,” the rabbit said again. “You can speak in a few minutes.”
The Black Band marched them down a dim hallway, past several similar cells, which all seemed to be empty. Then they passed into another part of the warren. There was more light here and less of the dank disused coldness of the cells. Picket looked at Weezie. She wore a determined, defiant expression. Her blood was still hot with her efforts to save him. Brave Weezie.
Picket was lost in dark thoughts, trying to find the courage to sustain him through the harrowing ordeal ahead. Then, softly at first, he thought he heard music. He shook his head. But it persisted and grew louder, so that his mind, which had initially dismissed it as impossible, now had to recognize that, in fact, music was being played nearby. The lieutenant governor, this Daggler, must like a lively tune to drown out the screams of his victims.
But the music was so happy, so infectiously wonderful, that he couldn’t see how it could fit in the den of a torturer. Picket glanced at Weezie. She wore the same look of confusion. They exchanged looks, smiled warily at one another, hunching their shoulders.
They came to large double doors and pushed through.
Inside, there was a large public house like you might see at any of the free citadels. It was full of happy rabbits, some dancing, some singing around a set of energetic musicians. Others sat and watched, but all seemed to be smiling.
Their bonds were cut loose. A tall rabbit clad in green came forward and, with arms open wide and a bright smile, said, “Welcome, to the Citadel of Dreams!”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
THE CITADEL OF DREAMS
Picket was confused. He’d been preparing for suffering, but these rabbits were welcoming them with open arms. He glanced at Weezie and saw she was caught between a frown and a smile, puzzling out this odd turn.
“Come have a drink,” the green-clad leader said, leading them to a table already set with glasses. “Sit down and relax! You’re among friends here.”
“I don’t understand,” Weezie said, standing behind the offered chair.
“You will soon,” the leader answered, motioning for them to sit. Picket did, though he remained on guard against a sudden attack. Weezie followed, slowly lowering into her chair. Maybe this was how Daggler prepared his victims.
“Isn’t the Citadel of Dreams something Fay wrote of in her book?” Picket asked.
“Aye,” said the leader. “It’s in the Lost Book.”
“And why do you, whom I assume are Lieutenant Governor Daggler, take this name?” When Picket said Daggler, everyone at the table spat, and the leader’s face twisted in revulsion.
“You are welcome here, son,” he said, suddenly serious. The music had stopped. “And you can be forgiven, since I haven’t given you my name yet. But never call me that again. Any rabbit here would trade his life to end that villain. For my part, I am under a vow to destroy him for the crimes he has committed against our kind, and against my own family.”
“I understand,” Picket said, “and I beg your pardon. I only assumed it, since we’ve been captured and kept in prison.”
“All necessary precautions, my lad!” he said, his smile returning. “We must be careful how we bring our guests into this oasis.”
“If you aren’t…him, then what should we call you?” Weezie asked.
“Call me Captain Moonlight,” he answered, grinning wide. He was a tall ruddy rabbit, strong and jolly. His eyes glittered in the lamplight.
“And what is this place, Captain?” Picket asked. “What is the Citadel of Dreams?”
“It is a haven,” Moonlight answered, “a resting place for those who oppose the tyrants.”
Picket glanced around. There were fewer than fifty rabbits within. “Is this all the resistance there is?”
A little of the spark left Captain Moonlight’s eyes. He looked down, sipped his drink, then looked up again. “We have taken heavy losses. We are far fewer now than we were when we started. It’s been a long, hard war. But we’re always happy to add two more.”
“I’m in,” Weezie said eagerly.
“Wait,” Picket said, holding up a hand. “Wait, Weezie. We know nothing of these rabbits. Begging your pardon, Captain Moonlight,” he said, pronouncing their host’s name with some skepticism, “but this could be nothing but the waiting room to Daggler’s dungeon.” They all spit again, and Weezie joined in. “I’m as eager as any to overthrow these tyrants, all the way up to Morbin Blackhawk himself. But I’ve been fighting this war for some time, and our side can’t afford to trust just anyone.”
“We don’t have much reason to trust either of you, either,” Moonlight said. “You’ve been fighting this war, you say? Where? I know every resistance fighter from the dam to the far gate. I’ve never seen you till today. Weezie, we know about. We knew of her sister and father, bless them. We know her mother, though we’ve left her alone, as she asked. But who are you?”
Picket smirked. They’ll love to hear I’m a Longtreader, I’m sure. Or rather they’ll love to hear that I’m Picket Packslayer himself. “I’m General Sunshine,” he said, smirking.
“There’s no reason to mistrust them,” Weezie said. “If they worked for Morbin’s puppets, then they’d have no reason for this.” She pointed all around the friendly inn.
“Sorry, Weezie,” Picket said, “they have every reason to lull us into letting our guard down. They want information on what happened with the disruptions yesterday. They want to root out the offenders and crush the resistance. They’ve been watching your family for a long time. We…I mean, I —suddenly show up, and now they want to get answers. So they put on this play of being friendly so they can lure us into giving away secrets.”
Weezie looked from Picket to Captain Moonlight, her eyes narrowing. “Good point.”
Captain Moonlight laughed; then his expression grew serious. “It’s sad that the world is so deformed that we, on the same side, can’t trust one another. I’m grieved at your lack of faith.”
“Hey, we didn’t attack and capture you,” Picket said.
“Good point,” the captain answered. “How can I prove my sincerity to you? How can we prove that
we are really your allies and friends—that is, if you truly are opposed to Morbin?”
“You can start by letting Weezie see her mother,” Picket said. “If you know her situation, as you claim, then you’ll know what her disappearance will do to her mother.”
“That’s true,” Captain Moonlight said. “We had planned to grab her mother and the other one as well, but they never came into the open.”
“You can go in the house, can’t you?” Weezie asked, increasingly distressed. “Or are you under a vow not to enter a house and put bags over grieving widows’ heads?”
“They watch the house,” Captain Moonlight said, frowning. “That’s why we took you on your walk. It was a way to rescue you from being snagged by Daggler.” They all spit.
“So they’re in danger?” Picket asked.
“Of course they are, “ the captain responded. “We all are.”
“Then why are we here?” Picket asked. “Why bring us here?”
“This is what we do, stranger!” he answered, slamming his hand on the table. He pointed all around the room. “We snatch rabbits from their ordinary lives of grim submission and bring them here. We take them back in time!”
“Back in time?” Weezie asked.
“Shall I tell you my story?” he asked.
“Please,” Weezie said.
Captain Moonlight bowed, then began. “Before the old king fell, my father had an inn near the square. We had happy families in there every evening, and the public house was a center of our common life. Of course, it was a happy place in a happy time. There was peace, and the Great Wood was open to travelers from Nick Hollow all the way to Kingston. We had rabbits from all over stay at our inn, and our common room was a hub for music, art, storytelling, and games. We had regulars who supped with us each night, and my family ran it. My old father…” He looked away and wiped at his eyes. “My parents ran it, and I worked there growing up. Then I left to join the army, and, I’m very sorry to say, was away when the end came. By the time I had returned, the war was over. Garten Longtreader’s scheme was so perfect that we never even had a chance to fight. We had to retreat. The secret citadels were formed, and I came here in the early days when it was possible to come and go.