The Green Ember (The Green Ember Series Book 1) by S. D. Smith

Author:S. D. Smith [Smith, S. D.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Story Warren Books
Published: 2014-12-12T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Three

CALLING AND COMMUNITY

Before she turned in for the night, Heather stood before the painting of what she was convinced was her old home in what had been the Great Wood. A heaviness fell on her. Images of Father, Mother, and Jacks filled her mind. She imagined them all together, living in the hollow in the painting. Looking at the painter’s initials, F. S.—Finbar Smalls—she thought of Smalls, then of Emma, of the whole upside-down world and its million broken hearts. She wasn’t sure exactly what they meant by the Mended Wood, but she began to long for it. She began to believe, somehow, that she always had been longing for it. She turned for her bed and saw that Picket’s eyes were already shut. She blew out the candles, rolled into her bed, and was asleep at once.

* * *

The next day after breakfast they ascended the stairway to light. Picket appeared quicker, better. At least, his foot seemed better. He was getting more agile with the crutches. As for his mood, he would say almost nothing. They were astonished as the morning light filled King Whitson’s Garden. They walked around, silently enjoying the sun-soaked air, alive with color, a beauty they seemed to inhabit. Picket finally sat beneath the statue of Captain Blackstar, silent and ponderous. Heather watched him for a little while, then walked back to enjoy the flowers and trees and soak in the glow of the broken light blanketing the garden.

As for Heather, this interlude in light refreshed her heart the way the restful day and night had refreshed her body. Well, mostly restful. She thought back to the mad events of early yesterday and wondered if anything would ever feel normal again.

They heard noise of work from inside the nearby octagonal building of wood and windows. Lighthall. She wondered what was in there.

“Gort told me no one’s allowed in there yet,” Picket said, walking up and motioning to the building. “That access to Lighthall is forbidden.” He said it with a hint of accusation.

“That’s true, Shuffler,” Emma said. “I don’t know about saying it’s ‘forbidden,’ like it’s the secret tomb of Lander’s Dragons. That’s a bit dramatic. But no one’s allowed in for now, except for the artisans.”

“That’s what forbidden is,” Picket said, adopting Kyle’s smirk as he sat down on a bench.

“You know you have a choice about how you see things, Picket,” Emma said, frowning at him.

“What are they doing?” Heather asked.

“What artisans do,” Emma said. “Making lovely things, I suppose.”

“Why can’t you answer our questions, Emma?” Heather asked.

“I want to, Heather. I really do,” she said. “But the law of initiates is very important for the security of this community and that of the citadels. There has to be a period of trial. If we blab everything to every new arrival, we are setting ourselves up for betrayal.”

“So they think we’re traitors,” Picket said.

Emma didn’t answer immediately. She looked down, her eyebrows scrunched. “I don’t think you’re traitors,” she said. “I call you my friends, and I trust you, even after such a short time.

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