by S D Smith
Winslow kept his feet and came to the center of that balcony from which he had spoken so often as the tool of Morbin and the bane of his own kind. The crowd, which had, in angry silence, heard Helmer’s account of all his evil, now erupted once again in a torrent of angry cries. The citizens of First Warren shouted and shook their fists at him. Winslow winced as he looked out over the crowd, then over at Emma, and then down. He sank to his knees and hung his head. Picket thought he could see tears in Winslow’s eyes.
Emma stepped toward her eldest brother, the symbol in this city of those rabbits who had bowed to Morbin and worked his villainous will. Winslow took the crown from his head, a crown that had been the gift of Morbin, and handed it reverently to Emma. She held it in her hands a moment there in the center of the balcony. Then she cast it down with such force that it shattered into pieces, sending the jewels it contained spraying over the balcony’s edge. None in the square below would dare drop to recover them. Emma resumed her poised posture, though a high fury imbued her expression. She looked at Helmer and held out her hand. He bowed again, then unsheathed his sword, placing the hilt in her hand. She lifted the sword while the crowd, which had so loudly jeered, fell slowly silent as they watched in awe as she stood before her brother and raised the heavy sword.
“Have you anything to say for yourself, Winslow Joveson?” she asked.
Winslow coughed and, still hoarse, said, “I am guilty of all I am accused of, and more besides. I deserve the death you so justly deal. But I am sorry,” he began; then, choking on these words, he continued softly, “for the evil I have done, and allowed to be done, in my name.”
Emma raised the sword. Winslow never moved. He held his head high, offering his neck for the end he knew he deserved. The square below fell silent but for a thousand breaths catching in a thousand throats. Picket’s eyes widened, and he stumbled up as Weezie helped him to his feet.
Emma brought the sword around, and Winslow closed his eyes.
She touched it gently to his shoulder.
“By my right as heir and rightful bearer of the Green Ember, I pardon you, Winslow, son of Jupiter, for all your crimes.” There was an audible sigh from the crowd, and Picket too breathed out in relief. “You will be watched, brother Winslow, and your influence will be limited during this war, but you will be spared the grim ending you deserve.”
Helmer received back his sword, sheathed it, and bowed to Emma once more. Then he helped Winslow to his feet and led the awestruck buck back from the balcony’s edge and into the palace.
Emma turned back to the square. “I have come home today. I am, at last, in my father’s house. It’s good to be home. So let me proclaim it now, a blanket pardon for all who are willing to come home to our cause, to come home to their own. To pledge to fight the enemies of rabbitkind together.”
The space beneath the balcony was cleared, and the crowd stepped back almost in the same way they had made a space for the younglings who were that day to be slaughtered. Out of the palace, with Winslow at their head, came a large band of soldiers who had worked at the palace or formed the guard that had carried out the traitorous mission of Winslow’s governorship. They came, heads hung low, and filled the space available. But Winslow looked around, eyes wet, his expression one of startled gratitude. Many in the crowd came forward. From the edges of the square and from the edge of the woods, they came. They knelt at the base of the balcony, and Emma pronounced pardon on them all. She charged the others to welcome them back and work together for the good of the cause and the battle to come. “Many disputes will be settled when the war is over, but for now let us all work hand in hand, turning our swords on the true enemy. Morbin is coming, and we must meet him when he does. But we must never forget that beyond that clash comes the Mended Wood!”
The crowd cheered again, and the relieved rabbits around Winslow joined in. Music struck up, and Picket saw several places where bands were positioned around the city. And they sang a song of the resistance. Picket and Weezie joined in from atop the first standing stone, and the song echoed over the square and filled the city. The song echoed over the lake.
“My place beside you, my blood for yours,
Till the Green Ember rises, or the end of the world!
I’ll stand by my brothers, my sisters, my own,
I’ll be firm and sure as the solidest stone!
My place beside you, my blood for yours,
Till the Green Ember rises, or the end of the world!
I defy the darkness, will to it never bow,
and to this resistance, add the old vow:
My place beside you, my blood for yours,
Till the Green Ember rises, or the end of the world!
My place beside you, my blood for yours,
Till the Green Ember rises, or the end of the world!
Till the Green Ember rises, or the end…of the world!”
Chapter Fifty-Seven
HEART OF HOPE
Heather thought she heard singing. Faint, and far away. But it made her come suddenly, and painfully, awake. She remembered falling. She felt in her belly the brutal wound from her uncle’s blade. She was weak, sore, and sad. She knew, even before she opened her eyes, that she was in a dark place. The dank smell was familiar. She recognized it from a hundred nightmares. Heather knew what she would see before ever she opened her eyes. But she opened them still.
Heather was in a deep cavern, dark except for a single shaft of light high above. That was the gate through which she had been kicked. Her head and back ached. She was lying on thick wet moss. It had cushioned her landing. All around the top of the cavern she saw dangling patches of dripping green. She had believed she could convince her uncle; she had believed in the power of her persuasive words. But she was wrong. He stabbed her, then kicked her down into a pit where she would, in agony, die alone.
But in her dreams she had not been alone. There had always been the scaly hand, the slippery voice, and that memory filled her with terror. Maybe she wasn’t alone down here. She closed her eyes again, breathing hard. But that wasn’t all her dreams had shown. She forced herself to roll over to her right and open her eyes.
He was there.
The unmoving body of a white rabbit.
She had been, as Morbin once warned her she might be, buried with Smalls. She swallowed hard and crawled slowly toward his body. Her physical pain was intense, but it was nothing compared to the emotional agony she felt. She reached his side and bravely gazed at his face. Heather saw by the dim light that it was set forever in a sad expression. She felt overwhelmed with woe. It seemed like a long time, but it had been only a few days since he fell in a fight to free slaves.
Part of her was almost grateful to be with him at the end of her life and glad that they would be sealed together in this vast tomb, forever.
She could almost make herself believe that the cause would succeed, that Emma would ascend the throne she had never really wanted, and that her family would all survive. Hadn’t Jacks made it to District Seven? All would be well, and she would rest forever beside the one she loved most in all the world. She would die lying beside Smalls.
Heather took off her satchel and set it aside, then looked into his face once more. A well of grief came flooding up again, and she sobbed as she never had before, rocking back and forth as the weight of all her pains came rushing over her heart. When the worst was over, she bent and laid her head on his chest, resting there a moment over his heart.
In a few seconds, her expression changed. She gasped.
Her eyes grew wide with wonder.
The End
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
S. D. Smith is the author of The Green Ember Series, a middle-grade adventure saga. Smith’s books are captivating readers across the world who are hungry for “new stories with an old soul.” Enthusiastic families can’t get enough of these tales.
Vintage adventure. Moral imagination. Classic virtue. Finally, stories we all love. Just one more chapter, p
lease!
When he’s not spending time writing adventurous tales of #RabbitsWithSwords in his writing shed, dubbed The Forge, Smith loves to speak to audiences about storytelling, creation, and seeing yourself as a character in The Story.
S. D. Smith lives in West Virginia with his wife and four kids.
www.sdsmith.net
WANT TO BE FIRST TO GET NEWS ON NEW GREEN EMBER BOOKS, S. D. SMITH AUTHOR EVENTS, AND MORE?
Join S. D. Smith’s newsletter.
www.sdsmith.net/updates
No spam, just Sam. Sam Smith. Author. Dad. Eater of cookies.
WANT FREE GREEN EMBER COLORING PAGES?
Green Ember illustrator Zach Franzen created these beautiful scenes for your family to enjoy.
Give S. D. Smith 5 and they’re yours!
www.sdsmith.net/gimme5