Ember Rising (The Green Ember Series Book 3)

by S D Smith

  She saw him! Jacks was climbing up an upturned cart and leapt from it to a stage to escape the trampling tumult on the ground.

  She saw Harmony nearby, patiently coordinating the rescue of several elderly rabbits. She had a team of large strong rabbits, and they began to carry the elders off. Heather almost stopped a moment, thinking she saw the large form of Master Mills, the rabbit she had seen fade toward death before her very eyes. Perhaps he had a twin? She saw him drape an elder over his shoulder and follow Harmony’s route of escape.

  Heather sped past the elder evacuation and toward the stage where Jacks knelt, terrified.

  As she approached the bottom of the stage, she looked down to dodge through a wreck of scattered debris. Looking up toward Jacks again, she saw him, and then the sky above her brother filled with birds.

  She swallowed a scream and sped on, skipping up the upturned cart and then leaping onto the stage. Jacks looked at her with a bewildered expression. He reached back, feeling desperately among the tools and broken boards scattered across the stage. Laying hold of a small hammer, he knelt atop a hinged door on the floor of the center of the stage and made to defend himself.

  “I’ve come for you, Jacks!” she shouted above the screams and tumult on the ground and the terrifying shrieks of the approaching birds.

  “You’re a traitor!” he said, tears in his eyes, while waving the hammer. “You’re on the wrong side.”

  “No, Jacks!” she cried. “I am for rabbitkind and for the cause of the Mended Wood! And I’m on your side!”

  “Stay away!” he shouted as she rushed at him. He swung the hammer, but she blocked his strike at the wrist, and the hammer clattered to the platform deck. She wrapped him in an embrace.

  “Jacks,” she said in his ear. “You are far from home now, but I remember you. I know who you are.”

  His resistance diminished, and he allowed her to hold him tight in a hug. She lifted him off the ground, then turned to survey the mad scene.

  The Lords of Prey were descending into the their midst.

  Fifty raptors dropped into the city center, striking out at the scampering rabbits with razor-sharp talons and snapping beaks. It was a horrific scene. Heather noticed birds circling high above the Lepers’ District, hesitating. But they dove and destroyed with vicious energy in the midst of city center.

  Heather looked to the left and right, searching for an escape from this stage and then the town. Her gaze rested on the Longtreader headquarters roof from which she had just come. She saw a large eagle, ridden by a grey rabbit, alight. The rabbit dismounted and came to the edge.

  She knew who he was.

  Garten Longtreader, her betraying uncle, was on the scene of what might be his great failure. She felt a surge of pride, seeing how this spectacle must vex him. Then he appeared to see her.

  He pointed at her.

  “We have to go, Jacks,” she said, as calmly as possible, as her uncle hurried to remount his eagle. Jacks would say nothing. He was a lightly clinging burden for her as she mapped out an escape. Her uncle’s eagle leapt from the rooftop.

  Just then, much closer, a brown hawk banked on the edge of the now-sagging banners and beat his wings in an aggressive approach toward them.

  She stepped back and tripped over the lip of the trap-door, hinged on one side and bolted shut on the other. She tugged at the door but without any success. The hawk shrieked and dove at them. Heather and Jacks lay on the door, unable to get it open.

  Then Heather saw the hammer Jacks had tried to use to fend her off. She grabbed it and swung furiously, not at the lock but at the hinges. They held a moment, then bent, finally breaking at her last roaring blow. When the hinge was broken, she leapt up as the hawk’s beak extended to rip her apart, and then she landed with a shattering kick, breaking the trapdoor open. She and Jacks disappeared below as the hawk’s beak closed on air.

  They were falling down stairs, rolling over and over, until they spilled on the dark bottom of the under-stage. Heather leapt up, took Jacks’ hand, and rushed through the slatted passage beneath the long stage. When they were only moments gone from the stairway bottom, the stage above was shredded by slicing talons. They sped away, barely keeping ahead of the frenzied attack.

  Heather ran out from the bottom of the stage and into an alley adjoining the city center, pulling Jacks along and darted into a connecting street and so on toward the edge of District Six. They ran through neighborhoods filled with fleeing inwallers, and they dodged through scattered wreckage of the ruined Victory Day preparations. At last they came to the wall at the edge of the district and were speeding along under the aqueduct that provided water to the district and to potato fields just outside.

  Heather and Jacks came to the base of the water tower. She pulled Jacks onto her back and began to ascend the scaffold, climbing as fast as she could.

  The gate was no doubt clogged with horrible carnage, so she had to find another way out of District Six. Halfway up the scaffold, she saw the hawk that had so closely pursued them and, just behind him, an eagle bearing an angry grey rabbit.

  She hurried to the top and thrust Jacks over the aqueduct lip as the hawk swept in. She heard Jacks’ startled cry as he slid away, and she vaulted in behind him as the hawk’s shriek echoed in her ear. She hit the bottom of the aqueduct and was amazed at the force of the water surging down from the high water tower. It took her in a sudden spurt, just before the hawk could crush her.

  Heather was speeding down the aqueduct at an alarming pace. She saw Jacks disappear around a bend ahead, dropping in a wide curve that soon took her, spinning and slipping down the wild plunging slide.

  The bend sped her into a section where the pipe was covered all around and the water was thick. She took a deep breath before plunging in, and she shot through the section with shocking speed.

  Just when she thought she couldn’t hold her breath any longer, she broke into the open and slid down a long open-top section of the aqueduct that was outside the wall. She spurted free of the slide and rolled into the potato fields. She saw Jacks sputtering nearby and was with him in a moment. She wasted no time but grabbed Jacks and hurried toward the Lepers’ District and the salvation that lay just beyond in District Seven.

  The hawk seemed to have disappeared, for her panicked backward glances showed no sign of him. She smiled and sped on, reaching a point where the birds simply circled high above and dared not drop in and infect themselves in the vile-smelling lepers’ community.

  The ruse was holding.

  She had never greeted that malodorous stench with such gratitude. They were nearly there! She patted Jacks as she sped on, ecstatic to have been able to save her baby brother. Picket would be so pleased.

  Heather saw the ragged tents and smelled the disgusting brew concocted to keep away all inquisitive advances. A force of lepers came out to greet her, arms open to take Jacks to safety. They had been receiving and rescuing younglings in great numbers and were eager to do still more before the chance was lost.

  Harmony herself ran out at their head, waving Heather in with desperate urgency. Many of the others looked up, behind and above Heather, skidded to a halt, and hurried back for what cover they could find. Their eyes told Heather of the terror they felt. She ran on.

  A massive shadow engulfed them, and Heather saw at its edges the fringed feather tips she dreaded. She turned her head to see, blocking out the sun, a massive eagle and his rabbit rider.

  Uncle Garten had found them.

  Harmony bravely came on, despite the fierce cry of the eagle, his talons extended and his brutal beak open.

  Just as Harmony came near enough for Heather to heave Jacks into her arms, Heather felt the talons close around her. Squeezed breathless, she was rising up, banking above the smoking chaos of Akolan. She saw the city center, its banners torn and several buildings burning. The smoke twisted into the sky, and they flew through it, ascending above and into the white clouds that hovered over the palaces of the Lords
of Prey.

  But they did not fly that way.

  They banked again and headed southwest. Heather was exhausted by her attempted escape, overwhelmed by the sudden failure, and half choked by the pincer grip of the eagle’s talons. She fainted.

  * * *

  Heather awoke from time to time, seeing below her mountains she did not know and a river she did not recognize. Every time she awoke she tried to identify her surroundings, but she saw nothing familiar except for that river flowing out of the mountains.

  Where was Uncle Garten taking her? Was he rescuing her? Would she reunite with her brother and Emma? Had he turned back to their side?

  It couldn’t be. The look she had seen in his eye back in Akolan was not one of friendship. He was furious. Akolan’s Longtreader administration had been his invention. It had been his achievement, and she had, after being there only a few days, inspired the community to its most decisive act of defiance ever. She hoped they would survive this phase and be able to carry out the rest of their audacious plan.

  The clouds faded to black.

  When she woke the last time, the eagle was descending over a long lake that she assumed the river had led to. There were several islands. Near a large dam, a high-peaked central island was flanked on either side by three smaller islands. In the distance she saw a wall—a dam wall on the lakeside—and a city within. It was larger than Akolan and surrounded by a wide black ring wherever the water wasn’t present. Peering more intently, she saw that the black section was merely burned-back wood and grass, beyond which grew a thick forest.

  The city itself seemed to hum with activity. She saw a large square and a crowd gathered there. She longed to see it closer because she knew what it was.

  It was First Warren, the seat of rabbitkind’s rule for over a century. This was Whitson Mariner’s home, and that of all his noble descendants. It was the place that Emma ought to rule from. It would have been where Smalls’ kingdom started. He would have been crowned there, were they to win the war. He would have been married there, had he survived. She wept then, for all she had lost.

  Though she wept, still a part of her was glad she had been able to save Jacks and to use her gifts to help the cause in Akolan. She had done what she could.

  Heather wondered why Uncle Garten was taking her to First Warren. She knew that Smalls’ and Emma’s brother, Winslow, ruled the city as a puppet governor for Morbin, and she wondered what fresh torments awaited her there. They were descending lower and lower, just above the water. Heather prepared herself to see First Warren, trying not to think of what might have been had things turned out differently. She gazed ahead at the dam wall and braced for what was there.

  But the eagle banked before they reached the dam and circled around to the large high-peaked island. Swirling ever closer, he dropped toward the crown of the deserted rocky peak. The eagle released Heather, and she fell, rolling over and over on a small plateau atop the island. The eagle landed, and Garten leapt off, walking toward Heather with an angry expression.

  “I leave you here, you troublesome girl.”

  “Why not turn back, Uncle?” she asked, getting to her knees as the wind whipped on the island top. “There’s still time for you.”

  “You think this will turn your way?” he asked, incredulous. “I assure you, it won’t.”

  “Shall I open the gate?” the eagle asked from behind Heather.

  “Yes!” Garten shouted, and his cry echoed around the lake.

  “What gate? Uncle, what are you doing to me? Will you will leave me for dead, chained on top of this desolate island?”

  “The rebellion cannot succeed, Heather,” he said, looking at her with intense exasperation. “You have been undoing the work of years!”

  “I am glad to undo the work of traitors. May many more do so after I’m gone.”

  He ripped free his sword and pointed it at Heather. “You don’t understand, because you are only a child. But we live in a world with certain realities.”

  “Realities, like Morbin eating our young at his feasts?” she asked, defiant. Garten’s face changed from cold anger to hot rage. She went on. “Realities, like we are betrayed by our own flesh and blood?”

  “Yes!” he said, lunging forward.

  He plunged his blade into Heather’s middle.

  The pain was intense, but the shock was greater still. She couldn’t believe he had done it. She stood and staggered back, hands pressed to a wound she knew was mortal. She gasped, eyes wide, and lurched farther back still. Uncle Garten advanced, his face set in a simmering glower. She tried to speak but coughed painfully instead. Her vision blurred, and she struggled to stay upright. Garten stepped closer still, glancing behind her before returning his angry gaze to her terrified face.

  “I was building a world where rabbits could survive,” he said, his voice cracking and his face taking on an almost tender expression. “I was making order. I was making a way. All we had to do was bow our heads and bend our knees. That was the price of peace, the price of survival. But you! You and your agitators rose up and raised your heads.” He took a deep breath and looked out over the dam to First Warren and sighed. He turned back to Heather, his eyes wet and his voice hoarse. “And so Morbin will come. He will take our raised heads and pile a stack of skulls so high it will blot out the sun. You don’t understand, little doe, what you’ve done. But all these deaths are on your head.”

  Then Garten Longtreader kicked Heather hard, so that she stumbled back and fell into a deep black pit.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  THE CHALLENGE

  It was Victory Day morning in First Warren, and Picket was walking to the governor’s palace in broad daylight. He shook his head, glancing across at Helmer, who limped along on the other side of Whit, the tall white rabbit whose face was so horribly scarred.

  “We’re taking a terrible risk,” Picket said, and Whit nodded in agreement.

  Helmer shrugged. “You have to jump in order to land,” he said.

  “But you don’t have to jump on a spike,” Picket replied. “This is madness.”

  They had gained the gate with a word from Whit, to whom the guards bowed as they passed.

  “Moonlight was certain Whit could get us in,” Helmer said, “and we have a job to do.”

  Picket frowned but walked on in step with his fellows. At the governor’s door, a nervous servant with a splendid red neckerchief stepped forward ahead of the fifty guards who surrounded the door, holding up his hands. “I’m so sorry, but Prince Winslow is very busy with the Victory Day ceremony set to begin soon. He may not be disturbed today.”

  “Out of the way,” Whit growled. Stepping past the servant and through the unsettled soldiers, he pushed the door open. Picket breathed out relief as they passed the soldiers, and he and Helmer followed Whit in. Inside, they saw a spectacular entrance with a double stairway leading up to the higher floors. They took the steps in threes and, reaching the top of the stairs on the fifth floor, walked into a large room that opened onto a wide balcony overlooking the square.

  Whit walked ahead, flanked by Helmer and Picket. They were all three dressed sharply, with military precision and detail. Helmer wore all black with a cape draped over his strong shoulders. Picket looked a complete officer in his neat uniform set off by his black scarf. Whit was dressed like a prince. None wore a trace of red.

  They walked onto the wide balcony and found Prince Winslow there, surrounded by several officers and councilors, including Captain Daggler. Daggler, who had been sitting and speaking, stopped and rose quickly. He moved his hand to the sword hilt at his side.

  Winslow dropped his cup, spilling wine down the white gown he wore. Picket noticed how old Winslow looked up close, how fragile he had become.

  “Whitbie?” Prince Winslow asked. “What…what is the meaning of this?”

  “Greetings, brother,” Whit said. “Do I still have the honor of protection here?”

  “Do you still swear allegiance to M
orbin?” Daggler asked sharply, stepping forward.

  “I’m speaking to another member of the royal family, Daggler,” Whit answered calmly, spitting after saying the name, as did Picket and Helmer. “I’ll address you when I’m ready—if I wish to.”

  Daggler growled and nodded at the guards, who stood ready. Picket felt an insistent urge to draw his sword, to strike out at Daggler, but he maintained a steady expression.

  “You come back this day?” Prince Winslow asked, and Picket saw from the balcony heights overlooking the square that Victory Day preparations were nearly complete. The crowd was already gathering for the imposed festivities. “Of all days, you choose this one?”

  “Do I still have your safe conduct?” Whit asked. “And that of my companions? As per the terms, I brought only two.”

  “Yes,” Winslow said, agitated. “Daggler, please sit down.” The captain backed away, sneering at Winslow as he did. He didn’t sit but stood apart, whispering to his nearest lieutenant.

  “Thank you, brother, Lord Governor of Morbin’s Second City of Slaves,” Whit said, bowing briefly with a smirk. Helmer and Picket stayed stiffly upright, neither betraying a hint of fear.

  “So you come here,” Winslow said, “a disgraced failure, accompanied by almost a child and an old cripple, by the looks of it. Though the cripple looks familiar,” he said, peering at Helmer. Then he turned back to his brother. “What does it mean, Whitbie? Do you turn yourself in and beg for my mercy? You’re right to. The resistance is so pathetically small now, and its reach grows shorter every day. What can you mean by coming here?”

  “I am the second son of Jupiter the Great, killed this day, years ago, by your master, Morbin Slaver. Our youngest brother and the first rightful heir, young Smalden, died fighting for Father’s cause. Did you know this?”

  “And so the rebellion outside is dashed to pieces and that little upstart is silenced forever,” Winslow said bitterly. “I call that good. I am the oldest!”