by S D Smith
That roused him up from his stupor, and he pointed at the bolting bird. “There! We can’t let him escape!”
“We know, Picket,” Emerson said as the team of rabbits worked to secure the base of the weapon. “Forget securing it!” Emerson shouted. “We have to fire!”
Picket remembered that Emerson’s father, Emery, had been killed by Falcowit while he was trying to enter the city for the cause.
“Stand clear!” Heyward shouted. Stout rabbits held the bowstriker onto the cart, and Emerson trained the blastarrow at the escaping form of Falcowit.
Picket watched with intense anxiety. He’ll only get one shot.
Emerson aimed, carefully tracing the pattern of the white falcon’s flight, then fired. The blastarrow leapt from the launcher. Unsecured, the machine recoiled violently and came apart on the cart. Its wreck sent rabbits sprawling all around, including the brave strong ones who had held it to the cart with their own hands.
Picket watched the shot sail into the sunlit sky. It sped ahead, a slender shaft in a vast canvas of blue.
By the time Lord Falcowit saw it, it was too late.
The blast came. A loud cracking explosion, and the raptor lord came apart in a terrific unmaking eruption that sent white feathers scattering across the sky. Picket watched, disbelieving, as the bowstriker crew recovered enough to cry out with joy as the huge white feathers fell in aimless arcing dips all around them.
That blast was the last emphatic note in the song of the retaking. The city belonged to the free rabbits of Natalia. The First Warren was liberated.
Chapter Fifty-Five
THE RETURN OF SHUFFLER
Picket woke a few hours later and heard cheerful singing in the distance. There were large numbers of singers, of that he was sure. An attendant told him he had passed out in the aftermath of the battle, amid the cheers and hustle of the post-battle work. When the attendant saw him awake, she left quickly. In a few minutes, Doctor Zeiger came in, clearly tired but smiling wide at Picket.
“How’s is mine friend, Picket?” he asked. “Big knuckles-head hero all the time flying and fighting like some kind of mad rabbits from story-tales! Them medics says Picket captain’s fighting wars like Zeiger-doctor speaking. Crazybuck!”
“It’s good to see you, Doc,” Picket said. “Is the city secure?”
“Mine work to fix soldier body, sick body, every kind of rabbit-bodies,” Doctor Zeiger answered. “But I haven’t hearing no bomb-booms in long time. No hurrah-shouts nor yikes-oh-me shouts for long times.”
“Is Emma okay?”
“Doctor Princess doing work now. She talk to city in just little bit of time.”
“What about Jo, and Cole?”
“These friendbucks hurt, but Cole come back fine. He’s stout and has big will inside his soul-heart. Jo hurt worse, and sleeping. Hope for good, but he still have a bit of dangerbad.”
“When can I see them?”
“Soon, mine think. Need healing for your leggy.”
“Will I ever walk again?” Picket asked, deeply fearful of the response. He was afraid he had given his last contribution to the cause, and, even on this day of tremendous victory, it filled him with gloom.
“Can walk now, treaderbuck,” he said. “But some help-self need for times. Hip cut-wound yes, knocked socket twist, but I’m setting this correcter. Knee got nasty knock, but will heal okay.”
Picket was relieved, and he hoped he understood Doctor Zeiger correctly. One was never quite certain. “Thank you, Doc. I think the knock on my knee was lucky. He caught me with the flat of his blade, I think.”
“That’s being a close miss,” Doctor Zeiger said, laying his hand on Picket’s wrapped-up knee. “But Picket One-Leggy make great name for sister story when this war finish. I see you again, soon.” Doctor Zeiger left.
Picket thought of Heather, wondering if she was well and where she was. He wished she could be close, to hear the sounds of victory in First Warren. He believed he was in the palace, and the singing must be coming from outside in the square.
Then Emma came in, her hands behind her back, walking with her attendants behind her. This included a few doctors, Heyna Blackstar, and Mrs. Weaver.
“Mrs. Weaver!” Picket cried, and the old rabbit moved to Picket’s bedside and bent down to kiss his head.
“My dear Picket,” she said. “You’re getting into some very bad habits of getting yourself hurt.” Then she bent over his head and whispered, “I’m so proud of you.”
He smiled, tears starting in his eyes. He coughed and then tried to get out of bed. He wanted to sit up and pay the proper respects to Emma, but he was struggling inelegantly. He found that his injured leg was wrapped straight and couldn’t be bent.
“Your Highness,” he said, bowing his head as best he could.
“Captain Longtreader,” she said, smiling down on him with a hint of mischief. “Or, should I say, Shuffler? Yes,” she said, looking at his leg. “I believe that is appropriate once again.”
He laughed. “Doctor Zeiger said I was nearly Picket One-Leggy, so Shuffler doesn’t sound too bad by comparison.”
“I brought something for you.” Emma smiled wide, then brought out a crutch from behind her back. It wasn’t as ornately made as the one she had given him long ago at Cloud Mountain, but it looked like it would do the job.
“Thank you, Emma. I mean, Your Highness.”
“You’re welcome, Picket. I mean, Shuffler.” She handed him the crutch and bent to embrace him. Both shed tears, and both felt joy breaking stubbornly through a strong barricade of pain.
Emma helped him out of bed and onto his feet. He found it awkward at first, but soon was hobbling around the spacious room on the crutch. Weezie came in then, and she ran to Picket and wrapped him in a hug. Helmer and Airen followed her in, and the reunion was sweet. Helmer asked the princess if he could introduce his sister and niece, and Picket watched happily while Airen and Weezie pledged their faithfulness to the heir and future queen.
Lord Morgan and Lord Blackstar came in after, nodding to Picket, then bowing to Emma. “Your Highness,” Lord Blackstar said, “all is ready.”
She nodded, and they left the room, followed by the lords and captains. Picket followed behind, hobbling along with help from Weezie.
“Can you believe it’s done, Picket?” Weezie asked, a wide smile on her face. “I saw what you did! I saw you soar in and blow up the statue.”
“With your help,” Picket said, wincing through a smile.
“And when you saved your friend Jo,” she said. “I saw it all. I didn’t know, until hearing from the leaders of the other citadels, what a hero you’ve been. That the Picket Packslayer song was almost true. But I didn’t need to hear it from them, really. I saw it myself.”
Picket hobbled on, pain playing up and down his leg but his heart glowing with joy. He was, he found, getting over the thrill of being a hero to rabbitkind. But he liked being one to Weezie. “And you,” he said, “sent up those blastpowder keglets and then helped lead the younglings to safety. Without you, they would have been destroyed.”
“Well, not everyone made it out,” she said, bowing her head. “But we did save so many. And I did make a difference.”
They walked on in silence until they reached the stairs. Picket found that he had been put in a room on the bottom floor, and now Emma was beginning up the stairway, surrounded by her wartime court. Then she stopped, turning back to where Picket stood with Weezie.
“Picket,” Emma said, “will you come with me to the balcony? I’m going to address the city.”
He looked up at Emma, glanced over at Weezie, then back to Emma. “Is it all right, Your Highness, if I watch from the square?”
Emma’s eyes seemed to shine a moment, and she blinked, then smiled. “Of course, Picket.”
“I know you will do an amazing job, Your Highness,” he said, and he bowed low, using the crutch to support himself. When he looked up, she was hurrying up the stairs.
Chapter Fifty-Six
VICTORY DAY
Picket, helped by Weezie, walked slowly out into the square. He couldn’t help but smile at what he saw and felt. He saw so much to swell his soul, but it felt so different here. He couldn’t quite put it into words, but his leg hurt less, and Weezie squeezed his arm as they walked into the busy square. He saw that now all of the seven standing stones had been restored to their former order, with the vile statues blasted off and hauled away. Symbols are important. Weezie was leading him into the crowd, which gave way before him as many bowed when he passed. They whispered his name, and a circle of murmuring awe surrounded him.
He wanted to get away.
Picket turned then, gently pulling Weezie back, and they moved to the base of the first standing stone. The entrance was being watched over by several blue-robed votaries, including one who looked as old as Helmer.
“Picket,” Weezie said, pulling him back, “I don’t think we’re allowed—”
But the older brother in blue, who knew Picket from Halfwind, had seen how the wounded warrior was pressed by the crowd and nodded for them to come up. Picket nodded, touching, with his free hand, his eyes, ears, and mouth. The old votary bowed and motioned for them to pass. Very slowly, Picket hobbled up the countless stairs leading up the first standing stone. There was no railing, so he leaned on Weezie and looked out over the square as he made his ascent, marveling at all he saw.
Even though the scars of war were plain and the square itself and the west wall nearby were wrecked in many ways, the city was teeming with joy. He saw the same children who, only a short time before, were meant to be slaughtered by the raptor sentinels or taken away for the feast of the Six, now happily playing games near their joystruck parents. Near the forest where he and Helmer had first seen the horrors of Winslow’s treachery, the long-oppressed residents of First Warren mingled with soldiers from every free citadel. Picket glanced from face to face, and he marveled at what he saw. The same warriors who had, only a few hours before, been hard at the brutal work of battle now showed tenderness toward the residents. Picket saw many soldiers listening intently to the natives’ stories. Picket’s heart swelled to see these heroes, so fierce on the field, show such kindness. Soldiers from Halfwind, some of them votaries, taught a small knot of children the game of bouncer. He laughed as the ball bounced off the stone and the little ones all collided in the middle just under its rebounding arc. It rolled along and merged with a game of hoopvolley, which was being explained to an overly energetic youth by an exasperated soldier from Harbone. The two games collided and became a new game—an old and simple game—where the players all rush wildly and tackle whoever had the ball.
The steps went on and on, and Picket was beginning to wonder if this decision had been wise. But he felt such energy from the happiness all around and inside him that he pressed on, sweating as he made his uneasy way up. Finally, as they neared the top, Weezie whispered to Picket as she gazed out over the square. “I’m proud of you, Picket.”
“Thank you, Weezie,” he answered, squeezing her hand as they finally arrived on the top of the standing stone. Five votaries were working to break away the last remnants of the statue that had stood so long there.
The kneeling form of Garten Longtreader.
Picket felt a stab of anger, mingled with worry, as he thought of his treacherous uncle and how he had, among his many crimes, taken Heather away. What had happened to her? Would he ever see her again?
A stout brother chiseled away the last scrap of the statue’s base. The top was smooth again, and, after a brief cleanup, the brothers took their tools, gathered the statue scraps, and headed for the steps. Weezie and Picket were alone.
They sat then, Picket stretching his well-wrapped leg while Weezie settled down beside him. There was no higher point in the city than these stones. And Picket could see the tops of the buildings, the wall, and the lake beyond First Warren. There, out among the blue water, stood seven islands. The middle island was taller than the others, and it looked to Picket like a desolate rock. Forbidden Island. The island Helmer and Sno swam to in their reckless younger days. He felt a strange pain inside when he saw that island, another stab of worry.
“What is it, Picket?” Weezie asked.
“I miss my sister,” he said, a tear starting in his eye. He wiped his eyes with his black scarf.
“Me too,” she said, and they stared off into the distance for a little while. Picket turned back toward the forest and frowned. Part of it had fallen away when Captain Moonlight blew up the Citadel of Dreams and the deep belows collapsed on Daggler’s wicked band. Now there was only a gaping pit, a maw of death that fed on the destroyed wolves and raptors that had fallen in the fight.
“It’s the Brute’s Gorge,” Weezie said, “though some call it the Chasm of Death. Whatever it’s called, after the bodies are dumped, the rabbits stay far away. It’s a cursed place now.”
“It’s not close to the farm, is it?”
“No,” Weezie said, smiling. “It’s far away.”
“Good.”
A hush fell over the crowd, and Picket turned to watch Emma walk out onto the balcony. His heart rose once more to see her there, in the place of her fathers, in the place where King Jupiter the Great had once addressed First Warren. She needed no gesture for quiet, for the gathered rabbits fell into reverent awe when they saw her. She looked out over them for a long moment, and Picket was happy to see her so confident and bold. Even though she had never desired the task and they had all wished for her beloved brother to have this honor, she was becoming the queen they needed.
“Friends,” she began, and her voice echoed over the square, “we are home again. Rabbits truly rule, once more, in First Warren, the heart of the Great Wood. This is a great triumph, and we do well to celebrate this day!” Cheers erupted through the square and beyond, where thousands stood and cried out with joy. Picket believed he could almost feel the rising tide of joy lift him on his perch above the square. When the crowd had quieted, Emma went on. “I look out on you, and I see many different kinds of rabbits. I see the long-suffering citizens of this city, whose painful wait for liberation is over at last. I see soldiers and support forces from every secret citadel. And our citadels are no longer secret, for here we are, out in the open, defying Morbin and his dark legions.” Some in the crowd murmured when they heard Morbin named, and a ripple of disapproval rattled some in the square. “I know, for many, that name has filled you with fear. I know that many of you are wounded by even whispering these words. But we will not allow words to destroy us; we will not make sacred our cursed foe’s name. Morbin Blackhawk is the vile tyrant who slaughtered my father on this very day years ago. I will not bow to his rule nor honor his name. I say his name is cursed and his rule is ended. I will never hesitate to say it, though the name is like bile in my mouth.” She paused a moment, looking down to gather her thoughts, then went on. “He will come, we know. He will bring his army down on us, and we will not have long to prepare. But prepare we will. Already, our military council is at work to make the best defense of this, our home, reclaimed after long resistance and never to be lost again!” A slow cheer began, but Emma shouted over it. “I have been advised by some to leave the city, to seek protection to ensure against the loss of the bloodline of my father. I was also advised not to come on this day. But I tell you, my friends, that I will not quit this city until Morbin is defeated. He shall know where to find me,” she cried, thrusting her fist into the air, then pointing down at the square, “for I will be here!” A thunderous cheer met this defiant cry, and the city once more rose with one voice to clap and loudly shout their approval.
Emma raised her hands for quiet, and once more the crowd settled in to listen. “Today we came together and fought together. We, who are many, became one fighting force. An unstoppable force. The innovation of Harbone met the devotion of Halfwind. The resolve of Vandalia met the valor of Blackstone. The heart of Cloud Mountain met the so
ul of First Warren’s resistance!
“We have been divided by treachery and betrayals, divided by distance and distrust. We have been divided and carved up like a ritual meal for their perverse feasts. We have been torn apart. But not today. Today, we joined. Today, we fought for a cause bigger than any single citadel. We fought for the cause for which the citadels were formed. We fought with passion, and we fought together!”
Again, they cheered loud and long. The good feeling spread all over the square as thousands shouted and raised their hands.
Princess Emma stood there, nodding at the glad cheers, bending her arm before her with a clenched fist, and scanning the crowd with a bold and determined expression.
Then Emma stepped to the left side of the balcony while Helmer led out Prince Winslow to the right. The crowd was unsettled by seeing him alive, and an angry current spread quickly, ending in jeers and angry cries. Picket frowned and sat up straighter.
Emma let it go on awhile. She let the crowd, still mostly made up of citizens of First Warren, have their say. Then she raised her hand again.
Helmer bowed low to Emma, then spoke loud enough for all to hear. “Your Royal Highness, here is the traitor Winslow, sometime pretended ruler of this city. His crimes are many but include submission to Morbin, capitulation to our greatest enemy’s evil plans, and tyranny in his name over this place. Prince Winslow has allowed the kinslayer Daggler to perform unthinkable acts, including the murder of many innocents. He had not, perhaps, direct knowledge of these atrocities. But he still bears responsibility for Daggler’s years of evil work, for they were done in Winslow’s name and by his authority. Finally, Prince Winslow has usurped your place as rightful heir to your father’s throne. So then, Your Highness,” Helmer went on, bowing again in crisp military precision, “I await your orders as to the punishment of this wretched rabbit who has betrayed his blood and all of rabbitkind.” With that, Helmer shoved Winslow roughly so that he staggered forward.