Hiraeth – To Miss the Home One's Never Known
"Fe," the Rabbit murmured, feeling the word slip between the ventilators of his mask and tingle in the air. "Wealth is a source of discord among kinsmen; the wolf lives in the forest."
"Ur," as always, the words bounced against the glass dome of his prison. Always, they burst and disappeared before they could grow into a usable spell. "Dross comes from bad iron; the reindeer often races over the frozen snow."
He crossed his right leg over his left. In one hundred blinks he would repeat the motion in reverse. Blinks were his only method of keeping time. That and the screaming, roaring engine of the train as it hurtled by his prison every other hour. He knew what a train was. He had never seen this particular one.
"Thurs. Giant causes anguish to women; misfortune makes few men cheerful."
Blink five. The train went by, and the ground trembled against the bottom of his prison. The black air danced with sound, invisible, heavy, shapeless. The Rabbit closed his eyes and imagined a time in his past…a fiery whirlpool of magic as it carried him. Sending him forward, blades outstretched like the silver wings of a butterfly. A butterfly that was aiming straight for the hideous, blotched face of an ogre.
It broke up his blink-counting, but the Rabbit had given up on keeping precise track of time long ago.
"Fas. Estuary is the way of most journeys; but a scabbard is of swords."
"Reidh," a new, huskier voice broke the silence as a blinding shaft of light erupted. It stretched from roof to ceiling before it swung back wide and let loose an entirely different world of color, light, and sound that bled into the darkness. Like a portal, really. "Riding is said to be the worst thing for horses; Reginn forged the finest sword." Giant hands just beginning to show signs of age finally became clear as the Rabbit's mask adjusted to the brightness. "I see you're practicing the Old Norse Runes again."
"Kaun," the Rabbit bared his teeth. It was foolish to ignore Aro Molena…in the past that had often lead to him being left alone in the darkness for far too long as punishment. But the Rabbit felt nothing but hatred towards the Magician of Mousewood at the moment. "Ulcer is fatal to children. Death makes a corpse pale."
Rather than shut the door as expected, Aro simply looked at him. With that sad, sloppy, disappointed look that raked the Rabbit's spine like the claws of an avenging Furie. He was going to be sick or he was going to swear and slam his face against the glass…anything to get that disgusting face to go away. But he couldn't let his rage towards his captor spiral out of control. Not if he wanted to see his own paws in the daylight for a little while longer.
"Are you here to gloat again, magician? Or tell me it's my birthday. A present would be nice, for once."
He knew what the old fool, his old friend, would say. He knew what mindless, meaningless platitudes would leave condescending lips as his tormentor closed the doors again and left him alone in the darkness. Suffocating in a glass bottle. Lost in nightmares and regrets and futile schemes. Nothing felt worse than the helpless, trapped hatred. Nothing was more oppressive than the feeling that he would never open his eyes again. That the blackness was all he would ever know of his remaining immortality.
At least it wasn't as black as the Mirror of Shadows.
Suddenly there was a dim wall of skin around his bottle as the light was partially blocked. And he was lifted. For the first time since Aro shut him in his dismal, decrepit cabinet…the Rabbit was lifted out into the living world.
He threw his arms out to steady himself, gritting his teeth to keep his muzzle from quivering in excitement. He was soon suspended high in the air. Someone was looking at him. But instead of Aro's green eyes, he saw a new pair. Brown, human eyes studying him. Brown and kind and clear and warm…as Aro's hadn't been in a hundred years.
This was a surprise. The Cold One was not often surprised. He was grateful for the helmet shielding his face, hiding even a flicker of shock from the prying gaze of this stranger.
"Marquis de Hoto," it was a young man. He spoke as if this meeting was all-important, as if they were two great warriors on the field of a fabled battle. That was the worst part of it. He was proud, happy, expectant…but free of arrogance, almost naïve. He was enjoying himself. "Please allow me to greet you with the respect your past good deeds deserve." He was bursting at the seams with courage, faith, and whimsy. Everything the Marquis de Hoto had once been. But not the Cold One.
The Rabbit would never be that foolish again. "I presume we've met before," he said dryly, watching the young man sweep wild brown curls away from his forehead in a way that was unaffectedly attractive. "Or you'd know that that hasn't been my name for a long time."
"Now that's a story, one you don't need to hear yet," the man replied simply with a smile that was infuriating in its strong, sweeping radiance. Odd that he only now saw the man's strength…and it was in his smile.
Without waiting for the Rabbit to reply, the man turned to Aro. "You know what he's capable of, more than I do. I'll be taking him through some of the places he's strongest in. Can you shield us? I'd rather save what I have for later."
"I can." Aro was somewhere on the other side of the hovel, but the Rabbit didn't care to turn around and look at him. "Unlike him I was forewarned of this trip. You know when he last had to exert himself, years ago…he's out of practice."
A trip? Despite his best self-control, the Rabbit's right ear perked up. The left one hadn't been able to since the day it was almost severed from his head. Cut by a bolt of lightning during that terrible battle on a world of ice that had been already dying for centuries. Where Aro, Owl…all of them had first seen the terrible proof of how the Mirror had changed him. It was there that he committed the unforgivable crime of cutting off a root of the tree so the rest of it could live. He saved countless worlds that day, but they turned on him.
And they called themselves guardians. Anger prickled the back of his neck. "For a man who sleeps most of his life away, not to mention the lives of many others, you really aren't qualified to comment on my practices," he called out to the back of the room. It was petty, but he knew it would hurt Aro. Sometimes, that was all the satisfaction the Cold One needed to get through the day.
He directed his attention to the young man, who was left holding the bottle and looking at him with stern disapproval. The Rabbit ignored it. "Who are you, stranger? You have me at a disadvantage."
"I know better than to give you my name." His brown eyes travelled to where Aro was probably finished packing. "I'm doing my very best not to underestimate you. Let's just say…a dream of yours once made a dream of mine come true. And now I'd like to return the favor."
"When was this?" The Cold One insisted, immediately intrigued. If he had freely, actively helped the lad to fulfill something as insubstantial and trivial as a dream, it should have been far too long ago. And there was only one human that far back in the Rabbit's past. It was certainly not this fellow.
The mysterious stranger shrugged. "That's always been a difficult question for you and me."
The reply was maddeningly vague. The Rabbit was about to tell him so when the stranger turned suddenly. Determination had chased away the softness in his features and it made the Rabbit wary.
"Make him dream, Aro."
There was a soft, dangerous shuffle as Aro stepped towards the bottle. The air twitched and shifted like a heavy blanket being thrown over the three of them.
Instantly, the Rabbit crossed his arms over his chest, a Rune of protection flaring to life just below his chin. A fiery, fierce defensive spell that was more than capable of deflecting anything Aro of all people could send his way. The Cold One smirked at that…he'd always been more dangerous than Aro where elemental magic was concerned.
The only truly remarkable skill Aro had was the dreaming-form, and dreams were no good to anybody.
Oh, but he cursed himself when he realized he'd completely forgotten the stranger. Who of course had magic. Powerful, strange, intense magic that seized his arms like an invisible wrestler and pinned them behind him. His Protection rune, left alone hovering over his chest, sputtered and died away. The Rabbit remained calm, trying to focus his paws into a funnel for a powerful blast of hate-storm that would hopefully cause the stranger to flinch and drop the bottle…
And then Aro's magic, a sleepy, dreamy, comforting spell, slipped into his ears and wrapped around his brain like a blanket made of summer warmth and a mother's sweetness and a warren's fireside.
And the Cold One dreamed. His ears drooped, his arms relaxed. The stranger's magic died out and the Rabbit slumped against the glass before sliding to the bottom in a heap, a snarl fading from his face. Now he was just a quiet lump of white fur and black leather, rising and falling peacefully with every breath.
The two men spent a moment in silence, observing the miniscule terror. Finally, the brown eyed-stranger looked up at Aro. "I understand, Aro. You thought he was your responsibility…between you and him, and all that. You wanted me to begin rebuilding the Treewalkers and not have to worry about the past. But still…I wish you'd told me sooner that he was still alive. More than that, I wish you'd told me you had him in your medicine cabinet!" His voice was a harsh whisper.
Aro whispered less harshly back, making the two of them sound ironically like a pair of parents trying not to wake their child. "There are many things I wish, as well." The old magician looked tired and worn, as if he hadn't slept in a hundred years. "That I'd been strong enough to kill him. That I'd stopped him from looking in the mirror. That I'd never rescued him from that magic show, never taken him home to the Treewalkers in the first place."
He looked down at the jar. His green eyes were dim and haunted under his heavy grey brows. "I was never strong enough to stop the Rabbit…and he always knew it."
A faint whiff of magic tingled in the air, and Aro's knapsack soared to his outstretched hand. He looked up, a spark of youth and daring and…most surprisingly of all, hope in his eyes. "But you, Jeremiah Hazelnut…if what you have told me, if what I have seen is true than maybe, just maybe, you are strong enough…to save him."
For the first time then, there in that hovel by a set of run-down train tracks, the old magician smiled. "After all, nothing is impossible."
"Your name. Tell me your name."
Big brown eyes in a small, frightened face stare at him. "Uh…I'm Jerry, er…Jerry Hazelnut."
"Jeremiah. Jeremiah Human." That is a name. That is power. The Cold One doesn't know when he'll have an opportunity to see this world again. He carefully takes the name and folds it a hundred times into his mind. He casts his gaze around the Roots Between Worlds and gently leaves a thread. A trace to tug…if he's ever strong enough.
"I was never strong enough to stop the Rabbit…and he always knew it. But you, Jeremiah Hazelnut…"
Aro's whisper echoed through the walls of his head, his big ears catching the sounds and lobbing them deeper into his mind, even into his dream. Underestimation. Indeed.
The boy he is talking to…Jeremiah Hazelnut…is wearing the hat of his former apprentice. He'd know that silly, battered shape anywhere. The private joke turned into an insulting reminder. But he isn't petty enough to dwell on it.
Because there is strength in those eyes, in that stuttering voice, in those clenched fists. Inner strength. Standing boldly before him in a place stranger than any other…the boy is lost and yet dares to ask him questions. Dares to answer them. Dares to cast magic.
Yes, the Cold One will remember the boy, and wait.
Wasn't there a beetroot in that spell? A beetroot he never ate, blocked by the bottle, rolling helpless through the Roots-Between. It is his by right. The Ritual demands it. He only needs to find it now.
In the memory, in the dream, in the bottle carried by the boy become a man, the Cold One smiles.
He hadn't yet found the beetroot when he woke up. Pure, rich sunlight slanted through the top of his glass. Aro's spell zipped through the lid and evaporated as the Rabbit sat up straight. All around his bottle there was tall green grass. Beneath his feet the giant grass blades had been flattened, and there were cracks of brown earth and loam staring up at him. He was on the ground.
And there was a song, a deep, swelling, relentless song. Like crickets on a summer night or the crash and fall of ocean waves. Wind through branches. Creaking of memory. The First Tree.
He couldn't quite see the tree…just the dappled green light high above his head, broken by the cork of the bottle. But there were three large shadows around him, three beings staring down at him. Aro, sitting cross-legged on a blanket. Jerry, sitting with his hands clasped intently before him. And, kneeling, elbows bent inwards, hands clasping his knees as the very picture of anxiety was Zaroff, his old apprentice.
Old in the literal sense it seemed. Zaroff's dark eyes were watery, his face gaunt. His head was hemmed by feeble wisps of hair that gently waved in the breeze. His brown, scraggly beard had leaves in it…as if he'd been taking a nap under the tree.
Zaroff's fingers were trembling. He licked his lips, struggling to find the right words as he met the red eyes of his old master. "It…it's good to see that you've…changed as much as I have," he said at last. He must have been taking in the armor, the mechanical mask…the swords at the Cold One's back.
The Rabbit had a comeback ready, immediately. A disbelieving remark that was almost an accusation. "It's good to see that you were able to surprise me after all."
A cold fire flared in Zaroff's pale face. Anger and pain flashed like lightning there and his fingers curled like claws. The Rabbit was satisfied to see how brittle the man was, how easy to manipulate. As always.
Zaroff looked like he was about to dash the bottle to the ground. That would have been just perfect. It would have freed the Rabbit. But something seemed to rest on Zaroff's shoulders. The Cold One couldn't quite make it out…a faded golden blur that moved like dust on a slant of sunlight.
At its touch, Zaroff turned his head and gazed at it. Then he simply closed his eyes and hung his head, rebuked and exhausted.
The First Tree murmured softly in the rising wind, branches shifting, leaves rustling together as if in anticipation.
"You've said some cruel things to Aro and Zaroff," Jeremiah spoke. His voice was loud and stern in the Cold One's ears as he turned to look up at the human. The man's eyes were steely with determination. "And yet no one has said anything cruel to you. It's about time you had some of your own medicine."
Somewhere, a Raven cawed. Like the laughter of a crowd. Jeremiah bowed his head and extended his hands over the Rabbit. "Hiraeth," he murmured, "Addysgu mi pa cartref yn."
Teach me what home was.
Suddenly, the bottle is no longer made of glass. It is black felt, soft and bottomless. Jeremiah Human's hands have changed as well…they are longer, thinner. Hidden in cold white gloves with gold brocade as they gesture above him. There is music and loud noises outside the warm black felt…and a hole in the sky.
The Rabbit sniffs, too frightened to blink his little red eyes as he sits against the wall, hoping that if he doesn't move, then he won't be a threat…he will not be noticed, not be hurt.
"Hey, Presto!"
The voice booms. The cold hand darts at him like a white snake, grabbing him by the ears and wrenching him into the hole in the sky. Pain shoots down his skull and he squeals in terror. Legs kicking and spasming, always, always trying to run away.
All he can hear are people screaming in delight, and the world breaks apart with their clapping and shouting and stamping.
The man holding his ears is not Jeremiah Hazelnut. It's Cosmo the Conjurer. He yells back at the crowd, throwing his arms wide as if to embrace their screaming adulation. The Rabbit's ears pull painfully as he pivots at the end of the swinging motion before being shoved down, down into the black felt, disappearing into a trapdoor and then, finally, his cage at the bottom.
The same cage where the ground is made of wire, and it cuts his feet. And he is fed carrots and pellets but never a green thing. The same cage where he sits in drafts or in sunshine, in some neglected corner of the Conjurer's apartment while wine bottles crash around him and guests laugh and scream and fight.
Sometimes, he gets so frightened he feels a flutter in his chest, like his heart going upside down. He knows he'll die someday. Someday that flutter will split him wide open and he'll finally escape from the madness.
The world shifts, and it's almost time for the next act. Cosmo is practicing the trick again. The Rabbit sits in a miserable lump on the trapdoor of the black-felt hat, waiting to be grabbed. Waiting for his ears to be wrenched from their sockets.
He's afraid. He's done this so often but he's still so very, very afraid. So small. So weak. Helpless.
The hand darts in. Grabs his ears. But he pulls wrong. Cosmo is shaky with pre-performance jitters, and so he yanks the Rabbit's ears sideways. The Rabbit lets out a scream that pierces the backstage workers and they look up from their duties, uncomfortable. No one will care, of course. But a scream of pain is still a scream.
Cosmo lets go and pulls back out, ready to try again.
And then…the hat moves. Cosmo shouts something angrily but is quickly silenced. This time, two hands enter the hole in the sky. One hand is reaching, the other hand is hovering, ready to help. They're slow, gentle. The Rabbit stares up at them, still afraid, still too scared to blink or breathe.
One hand touches his back. He jumps…this has never happened to him before. But the hat is only so big. He scrambles to one side, mute in his fear. But the hand is large and strong and the other one dives in to help. They curl around his stomach and side and lift him out.
He's still frightened…but there is no pain. And the hands are so big…he doesn't feel like he's going to fall. So he quivers, staring at the large human who's captured him.
It's Aro Molena. Young and lanky and covered in strangely bright clothes. He gazes at the rabbit, sending a powerful message with all the force of his soul…that everything was about to be alright.
Still clasping him carefully, Aro turns and begins to leave. Looking behind them, the Rabbit can see Cosmo standing there with a stunned look on his face. He can see the felt-prison, the magician's top-hat, lying on its side, defeated.
And then he sees the world rip asunder with swirling golden light.
Owl was the first of all the Treewalkers. During the night, when all others were dreaming, he flew through a starry sky. His wings had always carried him safely to the hunt, until that one time when his wanderings took him directly into the dreams of another, then to the Roots-Between-Worlds, and then, finally, to the First Tree.
And the Owl sat in the tree and heard it sing. He mapped out the paths. He understood the Tree better than anyone. And so he flew between worlds to share this gift with others. They called themselves the Treewalkers…though they had considered Dreamwalkers. Because the roots of the First Tree were deeply entwined with all worlds, even the ones that only existed in the fanciful imagination of sleeping beings.
When Aro brought the Rabbit home, the timid little creature became Owl's apprentice. Just as all the other Treewalkers…Bat, Boar, Snake, and Man…were his apprentices first. Aro found him, but it was Owl who trained him. Owl showed the Rabbit how magic could make him grow.
"Why him?" Owl asked once, as they watched the Rabbit chasing frogs, running on two long, spindly legs, upright like any other intelligent being. A far cry from the quivering, crawling bundle they'd first taught to speak.
Aro was levitating so as to be nearer the branch Owl was perched on. His legs were crossed, a giant medallion resting in his lap. He smiled as the Rabbit tripped and went head over heels into the pond. "I saw his eyes when the conjurer lifted him up. There was terror, overwhelming terror. But beneath all that…I saw sadness, and intelligence, and patience. I saw dreams in those little red eyes."
"And then I heard his cry of pain, and it was over. I had to show him how much better his life could be. Now, to see how right I was…to see him outstrip me in wit and magic and power…and those dreams, of course. Those dreams, always growing."
"And now? Was it worth it?"
Aro turned to look at the Owl. "I would love to chat more, Master…but you yourself are only a dream. The Rabbit and I are the only real things here, and I have a duty to perform."
The Owl whistled softly, chuckling. "Of course. Of course. But do not tear yourself down so, Aro. If this is all a dream, as you say…then you may yet have the Rabbit outmatched. For this is your gift, after all."
Aro smiled gratefully. He snapped his fingers to lower himself to the ground.
The Rabbit was crawling out of the frog-pond, sputtering. He wore a burgundy red Victorian shirt. The puffed sleeves hung heavy on his arms and there was pondweed in the front pocket. In this time and place, he'd not yet chosen his own coat. He was still dressed as the Owl's youthful apprentice.
Their eyes met, and Aro knew the Rabbit was as awake in this dream as he was.
The Cold one wiped his mouth with an equally wet sleeve and stomped towards Aro, seething. "You! What's the point in all this? Why would you make me relive old history? I've survived all of this and I know there's nothing to learn from it!"
"You've been deluding yourself for a long time" Aro replied calmly. He knew he couldn't be hurt here. "You tried to forget this ever happened…that you were once small and four-legged, trapped in a world without magic. That your entire existence could have been as miserable as its beginning."
It was strange, hearing the Cold One's bitterness, feeling the chill of his deep anger and hatred, watching his poisoned aura float around the youthful face Aro remembered so fondly. The ears were tall and strong. In the Cold One, magic lurked. In the Marquis de Hoto, magic had danced.
"True. And you could have remained a homeless vagrant on the edge of nowhere," the Rabbit snarled, "Yet you found me, brought me to the Treewalkers, and I became more powerful than you. Stronger. A better Treewalker, a greater Treewalker. Even before my so-called 'Fall' I was a hero in a thousand worlds."
"And, despite what you hope, I was never envious." Aro saw the Rabbit's ears quiver, and knew he'd hit a mark. "I was only ever proud."
"You were weak. Slow. Hesitant to act. Merciful to a fault. I saw the dangers coming and I cut them off at the root. You and the other Treewalkers…you would have let the Age of Dragons come again. You would have failed the First Tree, let her be taken over by the first warlord who could find her. You showed me exactly what kind of Treewalker I could never be. The weak kind."
"I was the first being to show you kindness," Aro said, unable to help himself.
The Rabbit's aura quieted. For a moment, his outrage dulled. "And for that, I would have let you live. I would have let you all live, if you'd only kept out of the way. If you hadn't tried to stop me."
Aro looked at him very quietly, then. Hiding a storm of pain and regret and disbelief…even controlled anger. He simply looked at the Rabbit. "Would it have been very strong of us…to see someone committing cruelty, committing evil, and not try to stop it? Do you think the Owl…do you think he would ever have just simply sat in his tree and gone to sleep, turned away from the things you were doing?"
The Owl never would have. And that was why the Rabbit had loved him.
"No," he responded. His ears drooped, his red eyes burning. "But you were too weak to stop me. You had to trick me into using that bottle. If all the Treewalkers together couldn't stop me then how could they protect the First Tree? Even when Zaroff attacked, you needed my help once again. You couldn't have done it by yourself, even with that boy, Jeremiah…"
Aro cut him off. Interesting. "All this talk of how weak we are, how strong you are…how strength is such an important quality, indeed, the only quality of a Treewalker. And yet you yourself are and always have been motivated by simple fear."
The Rabbit laughed. He made sure it was long and loud. "Fear? For the First Tree, maybe. For what will become of her with you idiots in charge. But I'm no longer hiding in a hat, helpless and mute. I have words and I have power, and I will never be without them again."
"And that is the problem with you, old friend. You think strength comes from what you can do, who you can hurt…that it comes from an Ogre army defeated, a weak apprentice banished, a thousand portal worlds living in fear you…or a hand grabbing you by the ears. When in reality, strength comes from a smile. From faith. From the willingness to serve. From the willingness to suffer. Strength is to be ready for whatever life requires of you...not to shape life into what you require of it."
"I've long forgotten my days in the Conjurer's hat, until you made me dream this…"
"I don't think so. I firmly believe that the source of all your animosity with me…your willingness to hurt me, your need to call out my weaknesses, to be better than me…is that you feared me, like any other human. As an apprentice you were shy, terrified of saying the wrong thing in my presence. As a Treewalker, you didn't need to be afraid anymore, and you became one of my best friends. As the Cold One…you became afraid again. Because of the Mirror. And so many have suffered since that day because of your fears. Your weaknesses."
In an instant, the Rabbit was right in front of him, staring up into his face. Paws quivering at his side, ears flat. Red eyes stared at him like a wild beast, baring its teeth at a ring of hunting dogs. "I." The voice was a hiss. "Am stronger than you. Stronger than anything you could do to me."
Aro wanted to take a step back from that livid face. He didn't. He had to remind himself. He cannot hurt me here. I will not hurt him. "I never would. I never did. But everything you feared from me, you did to Zaroff. He was a boy, weak and small and afraid, just like you. And you made your own nightmare come true for him…because of the Mirror."
The reaction was instantaneous. The Cold One faltered back as if he'd been slapped across the face. "That's…not true." Something was grabbing his ears, yanking at them. The severed one felt like it was about to come off. He clutched at his head. "Zaroff was a fool. He was weak. Nothing to me…"
He felt sick. He leaned over, forgetting Aro, hearing only the First Tree singing relentlessly through the Summer sky. "I am a Treewalker," he forced out between lying teeth, "the Tree gives me power. My power makes me strong. I am better than all of you."
"And yet, that never quite made you any braver," a new voice echoed, "It was only when you still believed in the values of the Treewalkers that you felt…not strong, maybe, but brave enough to pretend to be."
He was awake. The bottle was far too strong, far too close around him. He was bent over, panting, his broken ear hanging over the eye port of his mask. Which was entirely too hot…he was suffocating. Quickly, without thinking, the Cold One took the mask off and a hiss of filtered air entered the bottle.
He threw his face up, not quite beaten but ready to ask them nicely to stop.
"Forgiveness for the pain," Jeremiah murmured again, holding his left hand out as the First Tree turned golden with autumn.
The Rabbit realized this was a ritual…one he'd never heard of before. One that was intricately linked with the First Tree, the Dream-Roots, and whatever power it was that Jeremiah Hazelnut had. Clumsily, he tugged at his seeker spell, praying he hadn't broken it off during his distress.
It was still there, touching and stretching and reaching, searching all over the Roots-Between-Worlds and all his old haunts for that damn beetroot. If only he could find it…he could yank himself out of the bottle and away from this ritual.
His concentration was completely interrupted when the golden blur from earlier shimmered into existence before him. It dropped to its knees and leaned forward, staring solemnly into the glass.
The Rabbit staggered back. It was Zaroff. Zaroff as a young boy, just a little older than when they first met. Dusty brown hair and eyes that were deep, wide, and almost black. Black with a hint of starlight. The thin, mysterious looking child blinked quietly at him.
The Rabbit glanced wildly around and saw the old Zaroff, still kneeling where he'd last seen him. And he wondered which was the Dream from the Tree and which one was real. Zaroff as a child, or Zaroff as that bitter, wizened old man.
He didn't have long to think on it, however.
Jeremiah's voice continued, soft and relentless, "Imi roi yn ol fy mhlentyn."
Give me back my child.
He is the Marquis de Hoto, wandering in a world without magic. People stop to stare at him as he walks by…they assume it's a very good mask and he's late for a performance of some kind. The man-sized rabbit strolls quietly through the rotten streets of London.
It wasn't his original intention to go exploring. His plan had been to check on this world and then leave as quickly as possible. He has no love for Earth.
But he has a soft spot for humans, more so even then for his fellow animals. A human saved him from other humans. A human brought him to magic. A human was probably even now dozing and dreaming about their next game of Quartets.
When he would be soundly beaten by a certain white rabbit. The Marquis smiles fondly to himself.
But his ears, attuned as they are to magic, happen at that moment to pick up acute sounds of misery. Sobbing, to be more accurate, hidden and stifled in the shadows of an alley. He strides carefully into the darkness, kicking his way through the trash.
The sniffling stops. The Marquis takes off his hat, allowing his ears to better swivel towards the sound as he turns his head. "If someone is crying here, please come out. I'd like to help…did you know the world doesn't have to be as grim and terrible as it is now…that it can be so much better?"
Something stirs. The Marquis keeps talking, his red eyes glued to the spot. "You could make it better. You could help me make it better."
No response. He switches tactics. "Did you know that I am a very busy man, in need of a friend in this dark place? Did you know that I know where to find a goblin who makes the finest meat and drink, and he will make it for free, because I once saved his life from invading knights?"
Now the child moves. Moves like a shadow between the trash-bins and comes to stand just out of reach. Thin and ragged, he stares at the Rabbit with eyes as big as saucers.
The Marquis throws his arms wide in a gesture worthy of Cosmo the Conjurer. "Did you know, my dear boy…that I am a Rabbit?"
A smile cracks on the dirty boy's face. The Marquis grins in relief. He drops to his knees, white fur brushing the filthy cobblestones. He beckons the boy closer. "What is your name, young sir?"
"I…" distrust and curiosity war in that haggard face. "I'm Kazimir. Kazimir Zaroff."
"Russian ancestry?" the Marquis sounds delighted. "Did you know the ability to tame firebirds most likely runs in your veins, young Kazimir?"
Kazimir looks intrigued for a moment. But it can't be real. None of this can be real. The energy in his face shuts down and he frowns. "I don't know much of any of that."
The Marquis sees he's overwhelming him. He leans back, keeping his voice soft, calming his aura. "Well then…do you know anything about being a friend, Kazimir?"
Kazimir hesitates. Shakes his head.
The Marquis waves his left paw in the air. A magician's top-hat appears on it. "I was once pulled out of a hat just like this. Once, I didn't know anything about friendship. Or courage. Or helping others. But I learned. If you'd like to learn, Kazimir, I can teach you."
The boy takes very few minutes making up his mind, once he sees the blue flame of magic in the Rabbit's paws. "I'll come with you, Sir!"
The Rabbit smiles. "Then put on this hat," he plops it on the child's bare head. It sinks down below his ears and Kazimir lifts it up, huffing. The Marquis de Hoto laughs and Kazimir smiles sheepishly. The Rabbit extends his paw. "And take my hand."
Finally, breathlessly, Kazimir does. The Marquis clasps a warm, smooth little hand in his and summons a portal. The world erupts in brilliant golden magic.
They were standing together, Rabbit and Child. Somewhere…the place didn't really matter this time. It looked bleak and grey. The Cold One looked down at the child whose hand he was still clasping so tightly.
This wasn't how it went.
When he first met Kazimir, he had taken him directly to the Goblin and gotten him a fine brown coat made of bat-skin and a bath in the river. After feeding him he'd taken him to the Treewalkers so he could be accepted as an apprentice. And then the lessons began. And he taught Kazimir his first spell.
He took so long, compared to the other, more gifted students. But when Kazimir finally sent his first Green-Grow spell into the ground, the Marquis had whooped with excitement, stomping his feet as a scattering of purple flowers sprung from the earth. Startled and then elated, Kazimir had turned around and pelted into his Master, wrapping him up in a fierce hug, burying his face in the white fur. He'd shouted over and over again until he believed it, "I did it! I did it! I did it!"
It was a memory even the Cold One cherished, despite his best instincts. And now, as he looked down at Kazimir, he realized with a sinking feeling how self-aware the boy's eyes had suddenly become.
Zaroff pulled his hand away and took a step back. The Rabbit watched his little friend disappear, replaced by the hurt, crazed old man from the Clearing of the First Tree.
"You sent me away," he said finally. His voice was reedy and frail.
"Because you stood against me, your teacher. You didn't even stand with those other Treewalkers. You stood against me. Argued with me. Doubted me. It seemed your entire purpose had become just to spite me."
"I didn't…" Zaroff hesitated. "I thought that what you were doing, what you were saying…was wrong. It went against everything you'd ever taught me. But I always respected you so much. I thought you could do no wrong. So what exactly was right? I didn't know. I felt confused and betrayed. And this turned to anger. I wanted you to make things clear to me again."
"You should have trusted me. I was your teacher."
"More than that!" Zaroff snapped suddenly. The strength of his outrage startled the Rabbit. "You were my protector, my hero. You raised me. I pierced the heart of the First Tree with four great nails, and she helped me find myself again. One wrong word to you at the wrong time…and you threw me away forever!"
The Cold One remembered the words, how silly they were. You're nothing but a trick I could pull out of my hat.
And still it enraged him. His red eyes flashed at Zaroff, wishing he had his swords with him in this illusion. "You should be grateful. You are a poster child for everything I despise in a being…weak, worried about reputation, unwilling to get your own hands dirty. All you ever wanted was security. If you'd been strong enough not to care, you could have lived your own life as a Treewalker instead of hanging onto my coattails, my glory, my success! You were long past the age of an apprentice when I exiled you!"
"Was I any different when you found me?" Zaroff shouted, and his voice was raw, damaged like an old record. "Why come down off of your mightiness to scoop a small and weak thing out of the dirt?! You should have left me! You should never have taken me out of that alley! Trampled me underfoot, exterminated me for my 'weakness'! I wish you'd never found me!"
There are many things I wish, as well. That I'd never rescued him from that magic show, never taken him home to the Treewalkers in the first place.
Aro's voice stunned the Rabbit. He was lost for words. Caught up in the parallels. Caught up in a voice that screamed from the back of his head. This is wrong.
Encouraged by his silence, Zaroff grew a little quieter but no less intense. "I know what the Mirror showed you. I was there, remember? Always, both as a hero and as a villain, I was smaller than you. Weaker. But you were weak too. Every living thing has weakness. Every living thing can break. But you came down to my world and saved me, fed me, taught me. You kept me even though I was nothing but shame and disappointment to you. You made me into a tolerable magician. You saved what was weak and took me into your life."
He staggered on his feet suddenly, holding a hand to his head as if a huge pain had blossomed there. "Don't you…don't you understand, Master?" he murmured, "The Mirror clouded me. It filled me with fear, insecurity, and anger. It drove what little courage and faith I had right out the window. But…it couldn't quite get rid of love. I was angry at you, and I hated you. I despised you. I even drew my wand on you…perhaps I would have done something terrible. But I still loved you, even as I saw your eyes leave me, as you pointed that dreadful hand and summoned the portal. As I felt the world I had known rip away from me. As I felt the gifts you had unlocked within me leave me."
Something was burdening him. He fell to his knees, drained.
Afraid, aghast at what he was hearing, the Rabbit moved to him, paws outstretched.
Zaroff's head flew up and he held out his hand, stopping him with a shaking finger. His face was lined with determination, with the absolute resolve to finish what he had to say.
"You took me in and kept me when I was weak. And you…no matter how weak you are, how fearful, how selfish…I would have kept you with me as well. I would never have abandoned you."
He was awake. Sitting against the walls of the jar. There was still a sickness rolling in his gut but the tears in his eyes quickly made him forget everything else. His breathing hitched and he tried shakily to wipe the tears away. Even his eyepatch was filling with tears. His head swam and his heart ached.
He was crying. And a part of him knew why, a part he'd thought too weak to ever lift its head again. It throbbed reproachfully at him and he knew…he knew that if he saw the vision of Kazimir as a child again, his little friend whom he taught to laugh and trust and grow…then he would sob uncontrollably. If he saw the betrayed, ancient face of what he'd turned Kazimir into…then he would break down completely.
I would never have abandoned you.
The memory sent a fresh well of misery and self-disgust into his soul. He shuddered and covered his face, furious that they were using this against him. The fact that he still cared, somewhere deep inside.
An arm shifted and tapped the glass. The Rabbit took his paws away to look. The Treewalker symbol was tattooed on the arm, and his bottle seemed to have grown larger.
Brown eyes peered worriedly at him. When he saw the Cold One's tears, relief and pain flooded those eyes at the same time. And then the hands moved to hover over the bottle once more. "Forgiveness for the sorrow," Jeremiah intoned.
"No," the Cold One's voice spoke without him. "No, I don't want anymore…"
"Iachau'r y camgymeriad ar fy."
"Please," he begged.
Heal the error of me.
This is more like a dream and less like a memory than the others. This is a floating void, somewhat like the Roots-Between-Worlds. Glowing Treewalker symbols are carved in the wood, twisting and stretching for miles. They're like fireflies, made of words.
After all this time, he can still read them. Family. Courage. Peace. What the Treewalkers strive to preserve.
Helping the helpless. The Treewalker maxim.
Ahead of him, a top hat approaches. A stranger walks beneath it. It's Jeremiah Hazelnut. Tall and strong, wearing his father's old aviator jacket. His face is still honest and open as a child's, full of kindness. He approaches, and the sight of him is terrible to the Rabbit.
He's holding something in his hands.
"I don't know you as well as the others," he says as he approaches, brown eyes glinting. "But I also never knew you at your worst, so I suppose that will help me now. I've got nothing to forgive you for."
He moves his hands, and the Rabbit sees what he's holding. Cards. Quartet cards. Jeremiah flips through them like an expert. "You…a dream of you…taught me how to use these. You and Aro, working together. We munched on chocolate late into the night and I almost fell into a giant cup of milk. You made fun of Aro and Aro told me how hopeless you are at conversation when you're startled."
Jeremiah sighed, twirling the cards in his fingers. "And a dream of you taught me that the Hall of Apprentices has a magic press that makes cards from the leaves of Portal Trees. Cards they look like, but what they really are is dreams. Dreams to be interpreted. Is this your card?"
He lifts one suddenly, and it glares bright in the light of the Treewalker signs. The Rabbit flinches.
It's him as a little bunny rabbit, a rabbit in a hat. Big red eyes, staring at the world with terror. A world that's never known him or loved him or even taken the time to slow down. A speeding train he can never escape from. Paws out over the brim, he's too frightened to leave the hat by himself, although others only ever inflict pain on him when they do. That's who he's always been, at the Core of himself. A stupid little rabbit some farmer might eat for lunch. A stupid little rabbit, a trick on some other magician's table.
Jeremiah interrupts his dark thoughts. "Or is this your card?"
The Marquis de Hoto. Face curled in a snarl of combat, magic blossoming and swirling protectively around him as he fights something unseen. His red coat flares in the wind, and there is someone with him. A top-hat, with a shock of dusty brown hair beneath it. Black eyes peering out from beneath the brim. Kazimir's eyes, full of awe at his master and trust in his ability to save him. The Rabbit's throat grows painfully thick as he remembers his last dream. Whether he ever really loved Kazimir is not something he's prepared to answer. But how he treated him…he can't help but know it was wrong. It wasn't a decision based on need, or strength, or saving anyone. It was anger. And fear. And wrong.
"Or this?"
It's him as the Marquis again. Only his eyes are wide and blank, staring off to the side. Always staring. The Rabbit knows exactly what the fool on the card is staring at. When he first received his quartet, he didn't understand much of it. He does now. He's staring at the Mirror of Shadows. He's about to change… everything. How he sees himself, how he trusts himself and others. The Mirror forced him to examine himself, and he found himself wanting. In a rage, he turned around and examined the rest of the world…and found it wanting. The Rabbit knows now what's about to happen in that card. He's about to become alone. Forever.
"Alright," Jeremiah's voice is jovial, almost like he's playing a trick. "THIS has to be your card."
The most confusing card in the quartet. The one that had worried him the most until much, much later. When he looked in a mirror.
He's there, dressed in black armor, having gotten rid of his precious red coat long ago. One ear broken, the other one erect. His mask is gone, revealing his eyepatch and a nasty gash across his chin. He's sitting against the trunk of a tree, wild-eyed, haunted…obviously evading pursuers. Obviously on his last legs. That card had always tormented the Rabbit…that somehow, to be hunted down and killed was his fate. The Mirror only enhanced a fear that was already there.
With a start, the Rabbit realizes what his own mind had just said to him. Fear. He had been afraid.
He had always been afraid.
Like Zaroff, he fell to his knees. Claws in the dirt, his vision swimming.
"The Cold One was a terrible being who brought suffering and death, because he was weak. Because he decided to rule his own fears by ruling others."
Jeremiah's voice was close by. The Rabbit didn't have the strength to look up.
"But the Marquis…the Marquis that I knew? He was excited, adventurous, daring. He loved romance and hope and the stumbling climb to success. He wanted everyone to be safe and happy and, most of all, brave enough to dream. That Marquis was a hero to many worlds, saving them whenever he could. He did this because he was good, and he did this because he made him feel strong."
"Not a perfect reason, you might say. But nobody's perfect, I'd say. That didn't matter. What mattered was that, for whatever reason, the Marquis always did what was right, even when it was hard. Even when it made him feel weak, or helpless, or a fool."
"The Marquis I knew didn't care if he saw the future in a scary mirror, because he was strong, because he knew that no matter what happened to him…he would never be cruel, never cowardly, never evil. That was his strength."
The Rabbit looked up. Jeremiah was extending his hand. Smiling. "Are you in need of a friend, in this dark place?"
The Rabbit didn't take his hand. "I need to…" he couldn't find the words. Was sick. "I need to see Zaroff. I need to let him kill me."
That wasn't something Jeremiah had expected. He froze for a moment. "This is the final test of strength," he warned, "don't give up now. There's always a way back. No matter how difficult."
"You don't understand!" the Rabbit's claws dug deeper into the roots of the First Tree. The Runes warbled like a flock of startled birds. "I am weak! The Mirror was right! I went and destroyed everything…everything! I wish Aro had never saved me. Never taken me from that hat. I can't save anyone. All I can do is kill."
You are weak.
The voice shocks him. It sounds like his own.
"But the great glory of being alive…is that there is no choice we cannot make. No trial we cannot overcome. Weak and strong, great and small alike."
"Nothing is impossible."
"Forgiveness for the guilt."
For the first time Jeremiah's voice sounded strained, as if he'd poured all of his effort into the last dream. They were awake again.
There was something soft and soothing beneath the Rabbit's head. Grass.
The texture memory, so long unused, spark more tears in his eyes. He was outside of the bottle for the first time in so long. Directly above his head, the First Tree's branches waved, gold with autumn, turning green at the edges as Spring rolled back around. There was no Winter in the Clearing of the First Tree.
He was lying on his back, and there were strong auras on either side of him. Jeremiah Hazelnut. Kazimir Zaroff. Both of his apprentices. The three of them were flat on their backs, and the Rabbit could feel them and every breath they took, every curl of the roots beneath him as if they were curling around his heart. He felt like a child finding a moment's respite in the arms of his mother.
But there was something bending over him. Something blurred and golden. He felt terror seize at his heart and he stared back, unable to blink, unable to breathe. Frozen. His paws were shaking.
Staring down at him was his own face. The Marquis de Hoto, both eyes clear, both ears erect, looking disappointed and all-knowing and terrible. The Cold One felt his heart stop.
And then a hand clasped his, fingers prying his claws open. It was thin, frail. Kazimir.
Another hand took his remaining paw. Firm and warm. Jeremiah.
Aro's voice, from somewhere behind him. Strong and echoing, loud and full of enough courage to wither his shriveled soul. Aro believed, hope beyond hope, that they were about to save him. Old fool. Old friend.
"Rhoi yn ol ganalog I mi."
Put back the heart of me.
He is on all fours again. Kneeling, crawling…it makes no difference. To his right is the First Tree, glowing strongly against the darkness, yellow and aged. To the left is the Mirror of Shadows, a sharp, bronze frame cut into the darkness, with even more darkness inside of it.
And before him stands…himself.
The Marquis de Hoto looks down at the Cold One. His face is stern as he cuts to the heart of the matter… the source of all the trouble in the Rabbit kneeling before him. "What you saw in the mirror…your 'potential'…was both light and dark, heroic and evil. Few can bear that truth, to see the best of what they could be. Yet not everyone has to fall. Some fall through greed, some fall through anger, some fall through fear…and that was you. When you saw your dark ego towering in the Mirror, you assumed that evil was the more powerful part of you, that it outweighed the good. And you thought…if I can be this terrible, if this is possible…then how can I stop it. If the Treewalkers cannot protect me from this…than how can I be anything else."
The Rabbit has been crying. For a long time. He blinks, the fur on his face wet and dark. He looks up, red eyes pleading for an end. Because he is terrible. He is unfaithful. He is unworthy. He is abominable.
There is no sympathy in the Marquis' eyes. "How easily you forgot, Rabbit…you never had to be the greatest. Or even the best. All the First Tree asked, all your friends, your family asked…was that you be good."
"I knew. I destroyed those who protected me. Those who would have forgiven me. I listened only…only to myself." The Rabbit says. In the Mirror of Shadows there is a muffled groan. He turns and sees him standing there…the Cold One. Eyes gone dark. Swollen with power. Terrible and heartless.
The Marquis glances with him. Together they watch the Cold One as it stands, curled up like a serpent behind the glass. Then he turns and his voice is hot with accusation, with justified anger. "You chose to become the Cold One. You chose to embrace the power you saw there, so it could protect you. You fell from grace and burned your wings, Rabbit. You will never be the Marquis de Hoto again."
Those were the words the Rabbit had been longing to hear all this time. But to hear them killed him. It clove his heart in two and he gasped, sobbing. When he looked up, the Marquis was gone. There was only the Cold One in the mirror, ready to welcome him back. As his slave, as his servant. As his constant companion into hell.
Only the Cold One…and the First Tree.
It glowed strong and bright. As it always had, when the Owl brought the Rabbit there to see it. As it had when the Rabbit brought Zaroff there. As it had…when Jeremiah brought the Cold One there.
Slowly, stiffly, he got up off his knees. He was naked. The black armor was gone. There was no red coat. Only his white fur. He felt vulnerable, but also free. In terrible danger, but also…the air was alive, humming, vibrant with anticipation. The Tree was calling him.
He turned to face it. He felt the icy air of the Mirror pool against his back and he shivered, rubbing his arms.
Leaves fell from the Tree. With each silent journey came a whisper. And each whisper joined together to make a soft, unbearably beautiful voice that spoke to the Rabbit in a language long forgotten.
"You will never be the Marquis de Hoto again."
Again, the words he had longed for and feared. His ears drooped. Despair came crawling from the mirror, pawing at him. He took a stumbling step back, ready to fall into its arms.
"But you need not be the Cold One again, either."
He halted. Muzzle twitching in disbelief. Eyes wide.
"You can become something else, something entirely different. Something rougher at the scarred parts, purer at the smooth parts…and stronger at the broken parts. Something still worthy of being a Treewalker."
"No…" he can't believe he's refusing. He can't believe his own words. "I am too weak, too tempted by power to go out among the portal worlds again." He shivered. The chill from the Mirror was in his bones, sapping his strength. "Too arrogant," he whispered sadly, "Too fearful."
"Protect me, then," the First Tree says, "Protect the Dream of Me, for all time to come. Become my Guardian, as your master was."
He shakes his head. Bitter, wild guilt climbs in his soul and he longs to be emptied. To be cold. To cease. The Mirror calls, hissing. The Rabbit looks at the Tree and his words argue, even as his eyes plead. "I am not worthy," is all he can manage.
"That…" the Tree murmurs, "Is the first worthy thing you have said."
Is it that easy then?
"But the great glory of being alive…is that there is no choice we cannot make. No trial we cannot overcome. Weak and strong, great and small alike."
"We can choose," the Rabbit says suddenly, a light glowing in his eyes, "whatever the future, at this moment, in this place…I can choose."
He remembers the Quartet card, of him being hunted in a wood, defending a tree. He realizes now…it wasn't the future he thought it was.
At least…it doesn't have to be.
He takes a step forward, squaring his shoulders, trying to be brave in this terrible place, where he is powerless. He dares to risk, to do the right thing, even when the consequences seem so grim. He does it…not for himself. There is no reason to save himself. He does it...for the Tree. For Jeremiah and Aro and Kazimir. Because he can still be of some use to them.
He feels the icy fingers of the mirror rip away from him. Hears the Cold One cry out in agony and distress and loneliness. The Tree seems to stretch out, roots and branches reaching for the Rabbit like the arms of the living. After all this…can he still make amends?
"Nothing…" he swallows, letting the words, the idea of them, be brave for him.
"Nothing is impossible."
The First Tree erupts into emerald green.
"Forgiveness…and thanks."
Jeremiah's last words were exhaled like a prayer. The Rabbit sat up, the empty bottle rolling harmlessly away from his feet. He was acutely aware of the three gazes fixed on him. He knew…not what he had to do or even the best way to do it, perhaps, but he knew what he had to say.
Quickly, before anyone had time to react, he was on his knees before Zaroff. The old man had one hand against the First Tree. He could have been using it to help himself up or asking it for protection. But he froze, staring at his old master.
The Rabbit bowed his head, his one good eye fixed on the grass. "I did grieve," he said at last, "But I would not let myself regret. And I did it because I was ashamed of what you had seen me become, and because I was ashamed of you. I do not know why you agreed to help with this ritual, but I am your servant for as long as I live. Whatever you need, whatever you want…everything I took from you, I will spend my life trying to give back."
A lengthy, awkward silence passed. Then, finally, Zaroff spoke. "The Tree…she showed me that I really never needed any of those things," he said at last, "I just wanted them. And you…the only thing that still hurt me was the fact that you wouldn't admit what you had done. But I am too old for regrets now. Too old for a servant, even. I just…I'm glad. Glad you got the same chance as I did. Because the Tree is good, and these Treewalkers we betrayed…" he glanced at Aro and Jeremiah, "Are also good."
The Rabbit looked up at him. "I will never leave you again," he insisted, "Unless you command me to."
For the first time since the Mirror of Shadows, he saw Zaroff smile. "I'll think about it."
Relief pierced his heart like sunlight through clouds. But there was still one more apology to make. One more time to bare his throat to someone who deserved the opportunity but would never take it.
He turned to Aro, who was huddled under his shawl, exhaustion lining his eyes. He was waiting expectantly. Almost like old times, when the Marquis lost one of their frequent bets.
"I hated you, Aro," the Rabbit said, "because you saw me at my weakest. I never considered that perhaps…perhaps that was the part of me that you thought worth saving. That was the part of me you mistook for a Treewalker. I wanted someone to blame, someone to defeat, and I chose you, my savior. But please believe me…that was only an excuse I came up with after the Mirror. All the time before that…there was unease and competition but also friendship and humor and good times and…Aro, please believe me…you were my friend. It wasn't fake. It wasn't hidden hatred. Ever. All the good times we had together were real."
Aro leaned forward, scrutinizing him. Green eyes met red. "Marquis…"
"Rabbit," the Rabbit said quietly, "I am only a Rabbit now."
An uncomfortable pause. Then, Aro shook his head, chuckling. "Phileas," he continued, "Phileas sounds like a good name for a strange Rabbit who lives under the First Tree…the Guardian, whom I have never met until this day."
"But I…" Phileas stared at him. "Bat, Boar, Owl…"
Aro's eyes flickered with grief and anger a moment. "It didn't have to happen," he said at last, "but they died for the good of all. They died like heroes. And you…they died to save you, in a way. I'm not going to throw that to waste. I will befriend you because a Treewalker forgives. I will befriend you because you need it…and…"
Phileas was surprised to see guilt there. Guilt and self-disgust and sorrow. Aro leaned back, cursing, trying to make it look like he wasn't covering his eyes. Crying like an old man. "Because I missed you, you old fool."
And there it was. Both forgiving him. New chances. A way forward. All because he chose the right thing. There was so much guilt in his future, so much regret and restitution and suffering and nightmares. But Phileas would fight through it. He owed it to the First Tree. He owed it to the portal worlds. He owed it to these two men, Aro and Kazimir. He owed it to all the Treewalkers who had died.
He owed it to that little white bunny rabbit, trembling in a Conjurer's hat.
His eyes were wet as he tore his gaze from Aro, from the friend he'd hurt so much. Finally, last of all, he turned to Jeremiah Hazelnut. The young man was sprawling confidently in the grass, beaming at him. The strength of that smile was almost unbearable. Phileas felt a shade grumpier. He liked the lad, he truly did. And he was grateful but...well, a fish who'd spent most of his life in the dark wasn't required to enjoy the unfiltered, burning glare of the sun, after all.
He remained on his knees, paws resting respectfully on each leg. "I still haven't the faintest notion of who you are or what we mean to each other," his voice was calm, level. Because he knew what kind of Treewalker this was…the kind that only came around once a millennium. "But I understand now that you are the Chief Treewalker, blessed by magic and blessed by faith. Your mercy brought me to the First Tree today, and to your justice I submit myself. Ready to face punishment or to live out my remaining years guarding this very tree I completely and utterly betrayed."
There was silence. He expected a direct answer. Instead, Jeremiah rose up, dusting blades of grass off of his trousers. "Guard yourself, Marquis," he said after a moment, "You've fallen very far, and lost yourself in a very dark mirror. But now you're climbing out. Remember, if you fight with the courage of a true Treewalker, you will always find a light to lead you back."
Jeremiah's voice was as amused as when he'd first greeted the Cold One in Aro's hovel. All this ceremony and pomp…the very idea of being a Treewalker…was like oxygen to him. He loved it. Believed in it with all his heart. His master must be very proud of him, indeed, Phileas thought, he's exactly the kind of magician the Marquis would have loved.
Jeremiah picked up his pack and fished inside of it a moment. "Oh," he smiled, lifting whatever it was out. "And this is for you. I knew you were looking for it, so I summoned it myself…after recommitting oneself to the light, a good snack is exactly what's needed to keep up the spiritual constitution."
In his hand was the beetroot, snatched from the place of summoning. Untouched by time, undimmed by age, protected by the Roots-Between-Worlds.
Phileas reached out and took it, blushing under his fur. "While I'm thankful this didn't work, how on earth did you detect my hidden seeker when it was outside of time and space? You'd have to have been blessed by the Flames of Karemont, and those burned out long before you were born so it's impossible."
"Phileas, don't get caught up with details like that," Jeremiah put on his hat suddenly, straightening his father's jacket on his shoulders. Phileas blinked up at the tall, imposing figure. A true Treewalker, with a smile like the sun in the sky above and a heart as strong as the roots of the First Tree.
Jeremiah Hazelnut grinned, saluting Phileas with his wand as blue sparks danced at the tip. There was another tattoo on his other arm. The image of a Rabbit. "You above all people should know…nothing is impossible."
FINIS
Author's Notes: "Night of the Rabbit" is another game by Daedalic Entertainment. An underappreciated, under-advertised gem. Gorgeous art, good voice acting, and a lovely, enchanting world. Give it a try if you like puzzles, music, and lovable characters.
If on the other hand you're completely familiar with the game, then this is my attempt to slap a bandage on the wound of never getting a sequel. I also wanted to explore a bit of the Marquis' past and what may have influenced him to change so badly because of the Mirror. After all, it isn't our flaws that define us, but how much we pay heed to them.
ALSO: My design for Jeremiah Hazelnut as a young man (as opposed to the little boy he was in the game) was inspired very much by Mangatimelord on Deviantart. mangatimelord Check out their stuff!
Thank you so much for reading. Please enjoy...and leave me a comment that I can offer to my Muse...perhaps if she appreciates it enough she'll actually give me a GOOD idea for a story. :P