The Last Rabbit

by Shelley Moore Thomas

  Well, it got the dreadful part right. But Wellington? That’s not scary.

  Just as the Dreadful Wellington passed, someone let out a battle cry.

  Then everyone began to howl.

  “Evasive maneuvers!” Lulu yelled as Janie veered their ship to the right. “Isolde, the rigging!”

  I wouldn’t have thought Isolde knew much about rigging, but she was an admirable first mate.

  “You should go, Boy,” she yelled over to me. “It might get rough here soon.”

  “I need to make sure you’ll be safe,” I yelled back.

  That’s not part of the rules. But I wanted to anyway.

  “You just want to stay around Janie and prove yourself worthy,” Isolde called over, laughing.

  Since the actual fighting hadn’t started yet, there was a moment to joke. There was a lot of teeth gnashing and insult flinging happening between the ships.

  “Avast, you slimy slugs. You rat-tailed scallywags,” yelled what could only be the captain of the Dreadful Wellington.

  The captain, of course, was a she. Her sword sliced through the air so fast, light couldn’t catch the blade. She saw my shocked face and laughed. The most terrifying laugh I’d ever encountered. And I sail the Sea all the time. That should tell you something.

  “You’ll not be threatening the good people of this city!” Isolde yelled, standing on the edge of the bow.

  “Isolde, get back here!” cried Lulu.

  “Ah, let her go, Lulu. She’s up for a good fight,” said Janie.

  “Isolde, NOOOOOOO!” I screamed into the night.

  She flashed me a quick smile, then turned away and leaped over into the Dreadful Wellington, brandishing her sword and crying out, “Which one of you cockroaches is first?”

  There was fighting everywhere. Pirates were landing on houses, jumping in and stealing, while others ran through the streets setting fire to whatever they found. The smoke soon surrounded me. I couldn’t see where I was going.

  It was the most frightened I’d ever been.

  The smoke entered my lungs, and I began coughing and coughing. I fell onto the deck of my boat, only to feel something, perhaps an ill-aimed curse, slam into my boat, giving it a hearty shove and sending me spinning far, far away from the fighting.

  Far away from Isolde and from Nodnol altogether.

  Once again, the Boy left me with an unfinished story. And though Caragh and I had a million questions, there was only one that really mattered.

  How would we get to Nodnol?

  The Boy didn’t say much about that.

  He hemmed and hawed about how difficult it was going to be, even though he wouldn’t give any details.

  Very strange indeed.

  And we’d been on the boat for a good long while—longer than when we traveled to find Caragh’s circus.

  He was hiding something.

  I wanted to talk to the Sea more than ever, but she was having none of it. The waves were becoming fierce, and clouds looming overhead completely blocked the moon. She sloshed us about on the tide—up one wave and down the next. It is as if the Sea doesn’t want us to succeed.

  Caragh screamed from time to time, but the Boy was as calm as a cucumber. We both knew the Sea wouldn’t sink us. Deter us, yes. But I didn’t think she was allowed to sink the Boy, and I knew she’d never do that. But while she was thrashing about, it was impossible to have any sort of conversation with her.

  I needed to speak with her alone. Finding alone time on a small boat occupied by a girl and a boy is nearly impossible.

  A wave, not too big, lapped up against the boat.

  Perhaps the Sea herself sent it to me. It was perfect.

  Soundlessly, I hopped off the edge of the boat and floated on the wave into the blackness of the Sea.

  Yes, it was cruel to let Caragh and the Boy think that the Sea took me. But there were more important things to worry about. I’d be back soon enough.

  At least I hoped I would.

  You might think that rabbits don’t know how to swim, but it felt just like when I was a girl and had learned in a pond near our house. And luckily, rabbits are light. I just had to keep my paws moving and my head above the surface.

  The water was very cold, and in a few minutes, I was shivering.

  I didn’t know where I was going, but I had hoped that the Sea (or Murien, or my grandmother, whichever she would like best), would know I was here, paddling in her depths.

  Silhouetted against the full moon, the little boat carrying Caragh and the Boy was tossed upon the surf until it was a dark speck against the brilliant white circle, the small storm following their every movement. And then it faded.

  I was alone, swimming in the freezing ocean.

  Maybe she didn’t know I was here.

  “Hellooooo,” I said to the Sea. “It’s me, Albie.”

  The more I pondered it, the more I just couldn’t think of her as my grandmother. Whoever Murien was had dissolved into the waves long ago. Perhaps it was like those stories of Greek gods the Magician read to us, who took human form sometimes. That’s what I thought happened with the Magician and the Sea. She became human for a time, had a magical child, and then vanished.

  Did the Sea even remember being Murien?

  There was silence for a minute. Two minutes.

  “Albie, I thought that was you.

  Why are you swimming in my waves so blue?”

  “Well,” I started, but the words wouldn’t come. I hadn’t really planned how I would start the conversation, and now that I was here, in the big middle of the ocean, I was rather tongue-tied.

  “Oh, you are not doing what I think you are doing.

  Are you?

  Please tell me no.

  I do not want it to be so.”

  At least she was still rhyming.

  “Yes, the Boy and I and Caragh are going to rescue Isolde.”

  “Rescue?”

  “We are going to take her back to Cork.”

  “And you think that’s what she wants?

  That is her wish?

  To go back to Cork

  And, and…flop like a fish?”

  Uh-oh.

  That was the worst verse I’d ever heard from the Sea. She must have been pretty flustered.

  And I was shivering. My little teeth chattered against each other violently.

  “Oh, Albie, I am sorry.

  Here you go.

  I did not mean

  To chill you so.”

  And upon a wave, small and lilting, floated a white round circle.

  A life preserver.

  I swam under the edge as the Sea pushed me up through the center. I noticed the faded letters RMS TITANIC.

  “Just something I had lying around.

  Hold it close, it’s safe and round.”

  “You didn’t want the Boy and Isolde to go through the portals to Nodnol? And you don’t want us to go back there now?”

  The Sea chuckled, gentle and deep.

  “Oh, Albie, I would not choose to harm any of you. Not at all.

  But there are guardians in the waters, some large and some small.”

  “Don’t you control everything in the ocean?” I asked.

  “No.”

  That one word worried me even more than Hybrasil sinking.

  “But there are creatures that we must vanquish?” I asked. “Is this correct?”

  “The ocean is mine, ’tis true.

  But control it? I do not do.

  Nature is an unusual beast,

  Control is difficult, to say the least.”

  “I really wish you wouldn’t rhyme. It makes everything seem a little sillier and less serious than it actually is.”

  She was quiet then, for a minute. Two minutes. Five minutes. Then she said quietly, ever so quietly,

  “I am sorry, Albie.

  Speaking in verse

  Is as close to speaking

  Your language

  As I can come.
<
br />   And rhyme is the easiest.

  You cannot speak my language.

  You do not understand the words of foam

  Or the nuances of the waves

  Or the narratives I create

  As I splash upon the shore.

  The best I can do

  Is to make you feel poetry

  In your blood

  When you look at me.

  I apologize

  If you find it

  Annoying.”

  There wasn’t much I could say, except, “I’m sorry.”

  She was quiet again, absorbing my apology, and (I think) accepting it.

  She finally replied. And for the first time, not in verse.

  “I have been trying to keep you away from them, for I cannot help you defeat the beasts, Albie. But I can show them to you. Perhaps that will help you on your journey.”

  She made a whirlpool then, right next to me, where the center of it was as clear as glass. Then, it became foggy, and a figure appeared.

  It was horselike, which was strange, for horses didn’t usually swim in the ocean.

  “Kelpies,” the Sea said. “Water horses.”

  They were lovely, actually, with their pelts an iridescent black and green. If you just looked at their coats, and the way they shimmered in the water, you’d soon be hypnotized by them. Which was why I looked away.

  “Beautiful. Dangerous.”

  I could see both the loveliness and the deadliness. What I couldn’t see was how the Boy and Isolde had survived their encounter with the kelpies.

  “You said you can’t help us, not really, anyway. Although, I know you’ll be watching, of course you will. But if there’s anything we can do to—”

  “The Boy knows, of course.

  He did it before.

  Now he must return

  What he stole.”

  The last part shocked me. Apparently, I wasn’t the only thief. I stole magic. What had the Boy taken?

  Before I could ask, the waves changed direction, and I floated away from the whirlpool and back toward the Boy’s boat. I knew it was useless to argue with the Sea—she wanted me to go, and so I would.

  But I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t mad about it.

  On the horizon, in the shadow of the full moon, I could see the outline of Caragh and the Boy, sitting just a little too close in the boat. The small storm was gone—I guess the Sea knew she was dealing with someone as stubborn as herself. But knowing that didn’t make me feel better. A storm was one thing—beasts were another. Soon, I drifted up to the side of the boat, my life preserver barely brushing it. I leaped over the edge, with both elegance and silence.

  They hadn’t even noticed my absence. They were staring dreamily into each other’s eyes.

  Ew.

  I had to put a stop to this. I made my way to the front and wedged myself right between them. Gave myself a nice shake for good measure, soaking them both.

  “Albie!” they cried in unison.

  “How did you and Isolde get past the kelpies?” I blurted.

  The Boy moved back, startled. Good. “How did you know about the kelpies?” he asked.

  “What’s a kelpie?” asked Caragh.

  I love knowing stuff that I’m not supposed to know. But the look on the Boy’s face wasn’t as satisfying as I’d hoped. It was a little terrifying.

  I’d never seen the Boy lose his wits.

  Now he was sweating, which made his hair stick to his head in an embarrassing way.

  “Albie, I need to know. How did you find out about them? You went into the Sea, didn’t you? What did you find out?”

  I paused and looked up at the moon for courage. Then out at the waves for strength.

  “I’ll tell you. But I’m not the only one with secrets. Maybe you should think about sharing yours before you get us all killed.”

  “And what secrets do you think I have?”

  His voice shook, the teensiest bit. My rabbit ears picked it up. Caragh pulled the scarf the Boy gave her around her head, to keep out the wind, which was whipping in irregular bursts. The storm might have gone, but the wind remained.

  “Well, you already told me the island was sinking because of you, but you never told me why. And then there’s the fact of your job—I mean, what kind of a boy floats a boat across the ocean to different places and different times? And as for the kelpies, well, we both know there is more to that story, don’t we?”

  I didn’t really know there was more to it, but I took a chance.

  “If I tell you,” he said, looking at Caragh, not me, “you will think less of me. And it will change things. It will change everything.”

  We were in a small boat getting tossed about, with no idea where we were or how we were supposed to get to where we were supposed to go. A change was what we needed.

  “Get on with it, then,” I said. “We haven’t got all night.”

  To know about me, you must first learn about my father.

  There are those who think my father is Death himself. That isn’t true. Not at all. They say that Death rides a silent chariot—which isn’t true, either. At least not all the time.

  Sometimes Death rides in a boat. And when he does, my father pilots the boat for him.

  My father is called Barinthus. And he is older than time. When King Arthur was slain and floated on a barge to Avalon to await his chance to rule again, it was my father who saw him safely there.

  Our family knows the Sea. Every secret the Sea possesses we possess as well.

  And so you are asking yourself how is it that a boy, a normal-looking boy, is the son of the Ferryman? He doesn’t look—unusual—as one might expect. No, I look incredibly, boringly usual. It is my destiny to fade into the crowd, to see but not be seen.

  But you, Caragh, and you, Albie—and each of your rabbit sisters—you see me. For whatever the reason, you see me. And I can’t tell you how strangely wonderful a thing that is—to be seen. And I would have never had the pleasure of making your acquaintances had it not been for the Magician. And a bargain.

  The Magician is better at magic than you can fathom. He has cheated Death for hundreds of years. He has come as close to immortality as any mortal probably ever has. It became a joke, almost, between Death and the Magician, the unstoppable, unkillable Magician.

  Until the Magician vanished.

  Death knew he was out there, somewhere. He had to be. If he had died, then Death would know. That is his job—his sole purpose.

  The Magician was hiding well—on Hybrasil. An enchanted island is the best place to hide from Death, for the rules aren’t quite the same as they are elsewhere. Enchantment has its own guidelines.

  So, there the Magician was, hiding from Death. But we know the secrets of the Sea, my father and I. And soon, my father told Death where the Magician was.

  Death sank the island, and the Magician escaped. Then Hybrasil mysteriously resurfaced, along with the Magician.

  My father had been training me because, in the true style of predictable destinies, I will one day be the Ferryman. I go out on my boat, learning the Sea’s moods on my own. There won’t always be a Barinthus to learn from.

  When Hybrasil reemerged, my father didn’t notice. Or if he did, he said nothing to me. Perhaps he was too busy. It’s an overwhelming job, dealing with the death barge.

  So many souls.

  As I was learning to navigate the Seas, I stumbled upon Hybrasil, the island that should be on the bottom of the Sea. It was my duty to tell Death of my findings.

  But I didn’t. I waited, fascinated by my discovery. I wanted to explore, but after a day or two of spying, I realized that magic was afoot, and that I’d stumbled upon a very powerful enchantment. I went to the Magician and told him that I knew. He was deflated, to say the least—not happy to see me at all. He’d never intended to be found, not until he was good and ready. Not until he’d figured out what to do about you rabbit girls.

  He was so very tired of holding the
island afloat. For it is him, his magic, that has kept the island above the waves all these years. When I found the island, I broke the rather large enchantment that holds the island afloat. It can’t be fixed. The Magician knew his time was limited, but he needed time to see each of you rabbits off into the world. To save you. We made a bargain. I agreed to ferry you girls across the Sea into new lives and he got more time. Once you were away from Hybrasil, it was his hope that the spell that turned you into rabbits would be…less binding. Once you choose your destinies and change back into girls, he will sink into the Sea.

  And Death will have the trophy that he has sought for so long.

  Caragh was weeping when the Boy finished. There were tears in my eyes, too, but I blinked them back. We cried for different reasons, I’m sure.

  The Boy didn’t comfort Caragh. He probably thought that she wouldn’t want him to. Maybe she hated him now for weakening the Magician—and she didn’t even know he was our grandfather yet.

  I needed to tell her. Later. In private.

  And the Sea had said the Boy stole something and had to return it in order to defeat the kelpies. And if we didn’t deal with that, the rest of it wouldn’t matter.

  “Ahem. Kelpies?” I asked.

  No answer.

  “The Sea said you stole something.”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a shimmery leather cord fastened together in junctures with small gold rings.

  “This.”

  As he held it in his hands, a horse’s bridle, you could see the magic dripping off it.

  Dangerous.

  “It tames the kelpies. If you put it on their leader, then the herd will follow,” the Boy said.

  “Where did you steal it from?” I asked.

  “Not where, but who,” the Boy said sadly. “My father.”

  The ocean stilled. Even the lapping of tiny waves as they licked the side of our boat quieted.

  The Boy looked up at me sheepishly. He still wasn’t brave enough to see if Caragh would meet his eye, but I guess a rabbit isn’t as frightening as an angry girl.