After that, Wilfred attended to his niece’s and nephew’s injuries, minor as they were, and Smalls watched the water quietly, finishing his apple and only catching bits and pieces of the conversation. Wilfred didn’t point out the tension that had arisen between Smalls and Picket, but Smalls bet his apple that he’d be getting an interrogation over it later. His mind wandered, and he wished he had a book. Sadly, that wasn’t something he could carry with him. Too much weight.
“You should both be fine with some rest and food.” Wilfred said, rummaging in the medical kit for a strip of bandage. Heather’s ear had a split mark in it that was about an inch long. It wasn’t bleeding, but Smalls could see that it had been. “I’m so sorry about your ear, Heather.” Wilfred said, binding the split. “It’s nothing that will hurt your hearing, but I’m afraid it may always be like that.” Heather smiled and nodded, but her eyes showed a storm of hurt.
“It could have been so much worse.”
“It’s a mark of distinction, It in no way diminishes your beauty.” The words came out of Smalls’ mouth long before he ever thought about them. Heather blushed very pink and looked anywhere but at him. Picket bristled and glared, and Wilfred’s eyebrows had shot remarkably high up onto his forehead. For a moment no one said anything.
This is why I should never be allowed to get bored, A voice moaned in his head.
Just as Smalls was beginning to wish he could disappear and never be seen again; Heather came to his rescue.
“Uncle Wilfred,” She said quickly, “Where have you come from? How did you know we were in trouble? Why have we never met you?” Wilfred cast one last look at Smalls, a look Smalls resented, because he hadn’t done anything, And turned to respond to Heather.
What? What did I do? How did I manage to get everyone glaring at me over a compliment? He knew it wasn’t the compliment, but it still irritated him. What on earth does he think I’m implying? Nothing!
Smalls offered to paddle at some point, just out of need for something to do. He wasn’t paying much attention to the conversation until he heard his name mentioned.
“Picket, can’t you tell that Smalls is Uncle Wilfred’s son? He’s our cousin.” Heather said.
Smalls faltered at the oars for a moment, surprised and a little uncomfortable. He particularly didn’t like hearing that from Heather. He didn’t know why-he knew he would never have been as bothered if Picket had suggested it, and it wasn’t like he’d never used that cover before, but instinctually he did not want Heather thinking they were related.
“Well, my dear nephew and niece, Smalls isn’t……” Wilfred’s voice trailed off, and Smalls finished for him.
“I’m not his natural son. He has……adopted me.” It was the truth. When it really came down to it, Wilfred was as good as Smalls’ father and they both knew it. He barely remembered his real father, he’d died when he was so young. Smalls struggled to imagine a world in which Wilfred was not there.
Wilfred cleared his throat. “Right.”
“So, you don’t have a wife and kids?” Picket’s blunt voice rang out in the following silence.
Don’t ask about that. Anything but that, Smalls thought, and he wished that Picket had never spoken. Wilfred had a deep sadness regarding his dead wife, Anne, and drowned little daughter, Mercy. Smalls had never heard the full story and didn’t expect too anytime soon. When it came to that, Wilfred still carried a hidden grief that he rarely spoke of.
“Let him talk, Picket.” Heather reprimanded. Smalls was growing to like her more.
But all Wilfred said was, “No Picket. I don’t have any family like that. Not anymore.” A heavy silence weighed on the boat, and Wilfred turned slightly away, swallowing hard. The only noise was the splashing of the oars in a steady rhythm, sad, and lonesome. The once-beautiful day was beginning to cloud over once again.
“Uncle,” Heather’s tentative voice broke the quiet, “What can we do to get Father and Mother and Jacks back? If they’re still……you know. If they’re all right.”
Picket tensed beside Smalls, and Smalls only barely stopped himself before saying what he’d been thinking.
They aren’t alright. No one is ‘alright’ after being taken by Morbin. If they’re alive they’ll be injured-at best only enslaved. Morbin will use them against us as leverage, he knows Whittel’s importance. They aren’t safe. Neither are we, but at least we’re free still.
But he couldn’t say that to either Heather or Picket, who had no idea how terrible and frightful the world really was. They’d gotten a taste of it the day before, and Smalls was afraid there would be many more to come. It sickened him, but he wasn’t surprised. Morbin would have gone after the Longtreaders eventually.
“They’ll be taken to the Great Wood, or worse.” He finally replied. Though he managed to keep his tone even, righteous anger spilled out and he stabbed the water more aggressively than was necessary.
“What’s so bad about the Great Wood?” Heather asked, voice hardly above a whisper. Their ignorance was astonishing and concerning, and Smalls wondered what kind of rabbit Whittel must have been to have lied to his children for so many years. He almost responded, but Wilfred shook his head, clearly seeing the look on Smalls’ face and taking it as a bad sign.
“It is a ruin, Heather.” Wilfred said, voice weary and sad. “It was invaded and decimated, and almost all good was twisted into darkness. The crumbled wreck is ruled by pathetic puppets whose only goal is to benefit themselves.”
Winslow. Curse him, Smalls thought, bitterness and anger prevalent.
“Smalls and I came from the Great Wood. We were on our way to see you.”
Ah. One of Wilfred’s odd half-truths, where he wasn’t technically lying but he wasn’t technically telling the truth either.
“I haven’t seen my brother in many years, and I haven’t seen you, Heather, since you were a little child.”
“You’ve seen me before?”
“Yes, and Picket was a baby the last time I saw him. You’ve met Smalls before too-but you were both too young to remember it.”
Heather glanced at him, and Smalls decided to pretend that he hadn’t heard Wilfred. There was already enough awkward tension because of him.
“Your parents are very dear to me,” Wilfred continued, “But I had work to do. Since they had you, they decided to leave, along with most families who could.”
A heavy silence descended.
“We’re coming up on Slender Bend in a few minutes.” Smalls said in the pause that followed. High hills rose in the distance, and Smalls could see Cloud Mountain on the horizon. Finally. A goal.
“Ah, good.” Wilfred nodded. “Up around this bend, our friend Decker has a home on the Whitmer. He’s been here for years, gardening and living his own way. He was like your parents. He left the Great Wood for the safety of the wider world. Of course, it used to be the reverse. People would never think of leaving the Great Wood for safety, and people flocked there for protection.”
“And now you’ve left the Great Wood as well, why?” Picket asked.
Because Winslow wouldn’t tolerate us anymore. Because they were re-enforcing the wall and making the black gap wider by the day. Because if we hadn’t left three days ago, we would have never left at all. And living sounded nice as opposed to being burned alive in state execution. Again, Smalls bit his tongue.
“Because,” Wilfred replied, “Things finally got so bad that we had to get out as well.”
Bitter, painful fury rose inside of him, And for a moment Smalls struggled with it. He shoved it back down. But it continued to simmer, bubbling, just below the surface. His own angry resentment of his older brothers was a fault, he knew, but if anyone had the right to be angry it was him. They're sick. Everything is sick. They shot forward as he jabbed the oars sharply into the water.
“I’m sorry.” Heather said, and Smalls acutely felt her gaze, and was glad for the second time that morning that mind-reading was a skill none of the Longtreaders possessed.
“We didn’t know about the wolves at first. We were away up north of Nick Hollow for a little while.” They’d been in the backwoods of the backwoods of the backwoods before slowly making their way back down. “But when we came south, we saw signs of trouble. We made good time traveling to your home. But we were too late. When we arrived, the elm was burning, and we knew there were too many enemies to attempt a rescue.”
Too many. Too many. That seemed to be a common theme in Smalls’ life, that there were always too many enemies to face.
“You saw Mother and Father?” The hope in Heather’s voice made Smalls feel terribly sad. Even though they were alive then, they likely weren’t now. And-maybe there was a little bit of jealousy there, over the fact that Heather had grown up with both parents at all. That she and Picket-that they had a relatively normal childhood.
Wilfred nodded slowly. “And the baby.”
“Jacks! How were they?” Picket asked.
“They were hurt, I won’t lie. Your father looked bad.” Wilfred responded. Picket’s hopes deflated, and Heather’s posture sank.
Picket sniffed. “I’m sure he kept fighting until they made him stop.”
“I think so.” Wilfred agreed. “That would be like him. But they were all alive. At least, they were then.” A few drops of rain sprinkled over the boat, and in the far distance thunder boomed.
“Nearly to Slender Bend.” Smalls muttered after a long moment. The river shrank, twisting and turning and practically churning itself into rapids. Some distant part of Smalls’ consciousness warned of rocks and wrecks. His anger simmered. He’d like to see the river try anything with him today.
“What will we do, Uncle?” Heather asked.
“I’m not sure yet, Eat and get some rest at Decker’s Landing. Then figure out where to go from there.”
There was a pause, and then Picket whispered, “I can’t believe they’ve been taken.” Irritation at Picket’s in belief and in-acceptance stirred inside Smalls, and his frustration and annoyance towards the younger buck reappeared.
“Get used to it, lad.” He said curtly. How is he so sheltered? He wondered bitterly, shoving the oars into the water, and speeding the boat along faster.
“I’m not your lad.” Picket snapped. “Sorry if I’m upset that we just lost our family.” Smalls laughed bitterly and glared angrily down at the bottom of the boat, clenching the paddles so tightly that his hands burned with pain. You have no idea. None. You don’t know the half of it, you don’t know what real occupation is like.
“Picket don’t-” Wilfred started, voice urgent and worried.
Even Wilfred knows you shouldn’t cross me right now.
“How would you know how it feels to lose those you love most?” Picket shouted, cutting Wilfred off. The words were so ignorant and foolish that all Smalls could feel then was hot fury and a stinging indignancy. He wanted to let Picket have it. “I’m sick of your charming, stuck-up attitude and your ‘lad’ this and your ‘lad’ that. I’m not a kid anymore. I don’t need permission from you to think or talk. I don’t like you, and I don’t want to hear you talking to me like I’m a little child.” Little child. The words instantly snapped a memory in front of Smalls’ eyes.
“Really? He looks pretty little-even for a child.”
“Shut up and obey orders. Daggler said to grab this one. Said he might know where Prince Whitbie ran off to.”
“Pfft. Really? I’ve never even heard this one speak!”
Wilfred started to speak again, but Smalls shook his head. His anger was fading, leaving behind the hollow emptiness of tragedy. Picket didn’t know. He didn’t. And that wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t his fault that Smalls was angry and bitter, it wasn’t his fault that Daggler did awful things to him. It wasn’t his fault that Smalls’ father was dead, it wasn’t his fault that Smalls had lived like an outlaw for most of his life. Picket might be acting like a brat, but he didn’t seem to know better.
Smalls let the paddles rest. It was raining truly now-the sky above dark and clouded over. The river narrowed. His anger had dissipated.
He lifted his head and turned to look at Picket, vision blurred by tears. “Picket,” He said, meeting the younger buck’s gaze, “Stay angry. It’s okay if it’s at me, for now. If you aren’t angry about all the wicked things happening in the world all around, then you don’t have a soul.”
They rounded the bend, and Heather screamed.