The Rabbit Dies Pt. 09

"I can't believe you actually cried," she says as she keeps poking Amaru's side.

"Shut up. It worked didn't it," he mumbles.

"I'm just surprised you fooled him."

"I've been on stage. Its not that hard to make people think you are what they think you are."

I step over a rabbit warren in the grass, all black with one ear up and one ear down. The nest spills from the hole. I get a curious nose poking and wriggling at me as I move. I take a few more steps before I have a hand tugging at my sleeve.

"That's her," Annette says, "That's Annette Jr. Can I keep her?"

"What the hell makes you think I can tell you what to do?" I say with a raised brow.

"I mean, I thought it would be polite. But y'know if you're not comfortable with a rabbit around..."

"Pick up the damn thing. If it will let you."

She beams at me and starts hunting for the pet. Amaru looks at me and I roll my eyes. She's playing it up.

"Go help her. She'll get her head stuck in a hole looking for it."

"Are you sure? I think we're almost there. Do you want to be alone for that?"

"I do. I think I should."

"Whatever goes down in there, you know we have your back, right?"

"I do, Amaru. But he asked me to do it. Not you."

"And I don't envy you for that. Just kind of wished he talked to me a bit more."

"I didn't have anything to say to you, big man," Warren says, "You had it mostly figured out."

Amaru jumps and I don't. He takes a long drag of his pipe and puts a smoky ring in the air, glittering gold in the evening sun. Amaru drops to his knees, averting his eyes. Even crouched, he's almost as tall as Warren. I get a sideways glance from the bastard. Still the same shabby suit that looks a bit too big for him, rumpled and creased and folded. His ears twitch underneath his hat.

"Is he always like this, Claire," he asks.

"I think it's a big deal for him. It's the first time he's seen you."

"Master Warren," Amaru mutters, "Please forgive our transgressions at your sanctuary and against the master of your house."

"Get up, Amaru. And that isn't my place or my guy. I didn't choose any of that."

"Master, I'm sorry. I don't understand."

"I didn't choose the site or who got to run it. That was all the Weavers. Now seriously get up. You're going to ruin your pants. You run through those damn things like a wildfire through a prairie."

Slowly, Amaru comes to his feet and stands as straight as an arrow. Warren takes another puff and takes off his jacket before handing it over.

"And put on a damn shirt or something. You must be freezing."

"Master-"

"Stop with the master thing. I don't like it. Warren's fine. Its what everybody else calls me."

"I call him bastard sometimes," I say. Amaru looks like he just saw his conception and I can't help but smile.

"She does and that's alright," Warren says, "You better go help your friend. She might need it. And give her this. Seems only fair."

He whips off his top hat and his ears spring up. Amaru holds the shabby thing that looks held together with hopes and prayers like it's made of solid gold.

"Thank you," he whispers. He shrugs on the jacket and despite the size difference, it fits him perfectly. Amaru turns and runs off into the grass.

"Odd friends you gathered," Warren sighs.

"Good ones, though," I say.

"A lot of the time they're the same thing. Come on. Let's do this."

We turn and keep heading for the edge of the field. The earth crests that I thought marked the edge were not soft mounds. It was stacked stones stretching from one end of the horizon to the other and back again. Right in the center, rusted and strong, was a wrought iron gate. I take the key from my neck and hold it to the lock. It's ripped out of my hands and slotted home. I feel the clink and the thunk of it turning run through my heels. Warren takes a long, long breath of fresh air and steps inside. I follow.

It's just another field. The grass is not greener, the sky is not bluer. The air isn't charged with celestial ether that lights the senses and spins the mind. It's all the same. Warren keeps walking, keeps a steady pace. Off in the distance is a hill with a tree standing proudly to the sky. Nowhere else to be. Warren keeps his head down. I think he wants to talk.

"I'm surprised you didn't try to talk me out of it," he says.

"Not my place to decide," I say.

"Most people would. Most people would say life is precious and wonderful and all sorts of things. And they're right."

"But..."

"But I've had enough of it. Everyone says don't be greedy, unless it's life. You can have too much money, too much food, too much water, but not life. I think you can. My age has a comma in it. I think that's enough. She didn't even get to half of that."

I don't say a damn thing. The words come like raindrops and I let them wash over me. I keep marching, one foot in front of the other, up the hill. I was told to get to the top of the hill and that's where I will go. I was told to kill something on the top of a hill and that's what I will do. Simple, it can all be this simple.

"And nobody else would do it. Amaru's too soft. A good soft. A soft I wish a lot more people were. Anything Weaver is its own mess of bullshit I just don't want to deal with. You saw what they did. And I tried to do it myself, but it just wouldn't work. So, I asked you."

The tree shines with golden leaves and I can't help by feel my stomach clench and look to Warren. Passable. Desirable in certain attributes. There is something to be said of a simple life under a mighty tree, whiling away the hours until I go still. He is certainly handsome enough for it. But his face, his face sags with weight of years or decades of centuries and I do not want to touch something that old. Old things are frail and it might break before I can break them. I will have Annette and Amaru back in the field waiting for me.

"I talked with some of the others and they tried to talk me out of it. Everyone except Walker and Cout. They got it. If I had to guess, I think Walker's going to be the next one to go through with it, but you never know. Its always the ones you least suspect."

The hill is a gentle climb. Just enough to get a bit of heat working in the legs. A gentle thing, but still challenging. Not the worst hill I've climbed, but also not the best. The leaves sway and rustle in the wind. A steady trickle breaks off and falls with the breeze, scattering along the earth. My steps kick them up and send them dancing. His do not.

We reach the top and the tree reaches towards the clouds. I brush a few stray leaves from my face and take my hammer in my hands. Heavy, good heavy, some nicks and dings on the head, but still strong. Despite everything, he doesn't look too worried about it. He circles the tree and I realize how damn massive this thing is. Probably the tallest tree I've ever seen. That clutch and claw at my core is still there, but it's muted now. Background noise that can be brough to the forefront, but not now. Later, maybe, when Amaru and Annette and I are back on the road. He stops at a knot of roots clustered together at the far side. They give the faintest suggestion of a body.

"That's me," he says, "And that nub right there, that's my melon. One good whack and it should be all over."

He rolls his shoulders and stands straight and tall. One last survey of his domain.

"Hey, come here," he says, "Do you see all the way over there, where its snowing? That's Gluhna's spot. She's in an ice cave if I remember correctly."

"Is she next on the list?"

"Oh no. She likes drinking too much to stop living. She's probably sleeping something off right now."

I put my hammer across my shoulders and look to the sky. It's twilight now and I can see the moon hanging near the horizon. I ask the question that I have always wanted to ask.

"What was her name?"

Warren takes a moment to answer me, looking to the pale moon hanging in the sky one last time.

"Delune."

I turn back to the tree and start lining up the hit.

"Anything else you want to say?"

He turns once more, back the way we came, back down the hill to the wrought iron gate, the fields and forests and streams. One last time, he takes a deep breath of fresh air and gazes upon his world. He bends at the waist and sweeps his arms wide, bowing to an audience that only he can see.

"I long for the world to forget my name."

He turns me with a despicable smirk.

"Did that sound pretentious enough?"

I drop the hammer. I can't stop the chuckle that happens when I do. Bastard.

---

I was on the hill. I am on the hill. I will continue to be on the hill. I march up the hill under the rising sun. The walking stick in my hand is heavy, so heavy, the end capped with a heavy iron rabbit. Of course, it's a rabbit. It had to be a rabbit, because even after all this time, I walk with Warren. Or he walked with me.

My knees ache and crack, but I do not falter. I am walking up a hill under the rising sun and I smell clear skies for the day. Good. It's been a while since there has been a day with clear skies. The moon still hangs at the edge of the horizon, threatening to dip its remaining sliver over the edge of the world. I should hope it does. The sun does not need a crowded sky.

My shoulder hurts as I raise the walking stick and set it down, dragging the rest of my body with it. It's hard, so hard to keep moving now. But I am on the hill and I told myself that I would get to the top of it, so I will. I will reach the summit of the hill under the rising sun before dawn shatters to true morning.

A tree stands at the top of the hill, still relatively young and green. But it provides good shade, good shade to hide tired bones and aching muscles from the harshness of the sun that threatens to burn in the afternoon. But I will be in the shade so I will be fine. It will all be fine.

The chill started in my stomach two days ago and it would not leave. Fine, it was all fine. Kaydod worried, just like his grandfather and grandmother, but it was fine. I had the stick he made me and it would be fine. He would be fine, after a fashion. Dumile less so. He's not here for this part.

My knee and my shoulder protest but I do not falter. I cannot falter. I told myself that I would get to the top of the hill and sit underneath the tree and so I will. I deserve a good sit. It feels like ages since I last had a chance to really sit, even though I was laying down just this morning. Even slept in a little, lingering in the empty space by my side. It was warm enough for me. The knee buckles a bit, but the stick is there to give me its strength. I start counting the steps as I walk. I get to 16 before I slip again and the stick catches me. It really is a good stick. Heavy, strong. He really did a fine job with his craft.

I reach the summit of the hill and there is no one, no one at all to greet me. I sigh and grunt and slowly lower myself to sit among the roots. There is a space carved out, almost perfect for my shape. The roots almost shift to support my back, something else that's been giving me trouble. But I made it to the top of the hill to sit under the tree.

Green, everything is so green from up here. New grass, not even a week old, pokes from the dirt to bask in the light of the sun, the dew still clinging to it. I sit at the top of a field of stars catching the light. I smile. It's nice to smile and feel the pain sitting in my joints. Even in stillness, the ache and throb and grind against one another.

The sun rises and I watch it burn away the dew. I let the thoughts catch up to me, from the hill, from the inn, from the river, from the theater, from the city, from the lake, from the forests, from the prairie, from the glade. I stop smiling as they start to slip away. I liked those memories, even the ones that weren't quite good.

I close my eyes and let the roots take my shape.