"I could never betray the cause."

Everyone in Akolan knew sorrow and pain. Everyone in Akolan knew hopeless despair and heartbreak more intimately than even the Leapers could imagine. But those of us sitting around the fire, watching its flames dance, reflected in the Tunneler's eyes, had chosen not to give in. We were the light in the hearts of Akolonians, the spirit of the Cause deep behind enemy lines.

But we also understood treachery. It was, in fact, by the hand of our own noble race, a race of brave heroes all the way back to Flint and Fay themselves, that we were forced underground, hidden beneath a thin guise of filth and disease. Our own Garten Longtreader was the cause of the Cause's near downfall, and thus suspicion permeated our society, lurking in our hearts and striking anyone it thought worthy of its attention.

Heather Longtreader, the traitor's niece, stood before us, looking us in the eyes and pledging her loyalty to the cause. Even I could not stifle my apprehension as I watched her pale fur turn from red to orange in the firelight.

"Anyone could betray our cause," the Commandant called, voicing the thoughts in each of our minds. I saw Heather shiver at his voice. We all had, at one time or another. "We all could. We all can betray. The question is, will we?"

Murmurs rippled through the crowd as those present expressed their approval.

"Aye," the Tunneler answered, and the murmuring was silenced, "and you do not yet know what our cause is."

Heather's father, Whittle Longtreader, cleared his throat. "It has been our tradition here for a very long time, since before any of us were born, to invite only those who have lived among us for many months - years, usually - those tested and approved in a hundred ways. I have asked for an extraordinary exception," Heather's expression tightened, "and the Tunneler has granted it."

"With the stipulation," said Grinith Pyre, a potato farmer from district one, "that the usual penalties apply."

Heather's brows knit. "The usual penalties?"

"Aye, Heather Longtreader," the Tunneler said. "The council will vote at the conclusion of our meeting."

"Vote about what?" There was a note of panic in Heather's voice.

A shiver of anxiety passed over me. I had no reason to trust Heather, yet, but that did not make the situation any less distressing. She couldn't have understood what was at stake when she entered the tunnel in the Leaper's district minutes ago. She couldn't have known that she might not leave the tunnels beneath the Leaper's district alive. Something inside me, something not yet marred by the distrust planted in my heart, prayed to the Leapers that she would prove friendly.

"Whether you live or die." The Tunneler's reply hung like a chill in the musty air.

I saw Heather's eyes dart to her father as he laid his hand on her arm.

"I have no doubt you will all see what I know," Whittle said. "That Heather, known all over Natalia as the Scribe of the Cause, is invaluable to our aims in many ways."

I listened intently to Whittle, not missing a single word of what he said. I trusted him, even if I was unsure about his daughter. The Longtreader couple had been a comfort to me after the loss of my sister earlier that year. While I dreaded making a wrong decision about accepting Heather into the circle of the seventh, I did not want for Whittle to lose his daughter.

Dote, who had been a close friend of my sister's, stirred beside me. "What do you think?" he whispered into my ear.

I glanced at his dark-furred face. He looked earnest. "Why are you asking me?"

He shrugged, still watching Heather with heavy concentration. "I like the look of that doe. She's a pretty one."

I rolled my eyes. "Be quiet, the Tunneler's speaking!" I murmured, pinching his arm.

He frowned and rubbed his arm, returning his eyes to the blind rabbit's face.

"I hope it may be so," said the Tunneler, his milk-white eyes still reflecting the fire. "We shall see directly. We have never used this rare, terrible, and necessary last resort, not in all my years as the Tunneler. But your father has insisted that the protocol be enacted in order that we might hear from you sooner. Have you anything to say, young doe?"

The Tunneler turned his eyes to Heather as if he could sense her presence. I wondered if he actually could. There was something about Heather, I realized as I waited for her reply. On the surface, she looked battered and weary, like most of the Akolonians. But the way she looked at us now, her eyes narrow as she scanned the rows of rabbits, I felt as though there was something much more to her.

She stood before us, fists clenched and fear plain, hardly as old as me. But seeing her eyes glow with grief and anger as she numbered our ranks made me feel as though she were every bit a fighter, every bit a soldier and a subject of Jupiter Goodson as the bravest Causer in Akolan. And she would not go down without a battle.

Her voice rang clear and strong into the silence. "I'm not certain what you want to hear, but, begging your pardon, nor do I care."

I felt my heartbeat quicken.

"If you were a thousand partisans of Morbin's murderous horde, I would say what I believe. I love Natalia and the cause of the Mended Wood. Since I first heard the name of King Jupiter, my heart has been with him. I have lived among and loved his heirs with deep and unbreakable devotion. I have risked everything, lost everything, in service to the rightful bearer of the Green Ember. If this is treason to your cause, then I do not ask your pardon," her voice trembled with defiance. "I would rather die fighting for the Mended Wood than live pretending to be free. So examine, torture, do what you want. Question me a thousand times. The answer will always be the same. I am meant for the mending, and I'll do nothing against it, come any calamity or the end of the world."

She sat down.

After a moment, the Tunneler sat down too, and the rest of us followed. I didn't realize I was crying until tears rained on my lap. Heather's words echoed through the tunnels in the distance: I am meant for the mending... I'll do nothing against it... Meant for the mending... They tolled in the Seventh and in the hearts of those who'd heard them. The Scribe of the Cause, Whittle had said, invaluable to our aims.

She spoke beyond herself, of a time and place she longed for. She said she would do anything for it.

And I believed her. I trusted her. I knew that, somehow, the doe that stood before me, the traitor's niece, was the start of something big.

And I wanted to be a part of it.

Hope you liked it! I've never written fan-fiction before, so that's why this is a bit feeble. I'll improve, though, through time! :) Excerpts were taken from pages 183-185 of Ember Rising, by S.D. Smith.