Ember Rising (The Green Ember #3)

by S.D. Smith

“You should know, oh great Scribe of the Cause, that we each tell ourselves a story about our place in the world.” “But the story needs to be true,” she said. “Who is to say what’s true?” he asked. “All who claim to know it are only seeking power. Which side is right? History will decide in a hundred years.” “If you’re on the side that murders, betrays, and enslaves,” she said, “that might give a hint.”

Her mind just had room to inventory her various pains. She knew she was dehydrated, exhausted, and famished. She knew of several sprains, innumerable bruises, and a few likely breaks. Distantly, she remembered the cause and the reasons she had exchanged her life for Emma’s. Through her anguish, she weighed the cost and settled in her heart that it was worth it.

“The poet Herbare Fond mused that ‘We cry more intensely in our joys than ever we do in our sorrows,’” Father said, wiping at his own eyes.

“I am deeply grateful, my lord,” Emma answered. “I admit I balk at asking more of you, for I know and honor the tremendous sacrifices your community has made for our common cause.” Lord Booker stopped and turned, looking into her eyes. “My dear princess,” he said weakly, “there is no cost too high for doing what is right and no retribution great enough for doing what is wrong. To believe otherwise is to surrender our liberty to lies.”

“I do not have much to offer in your service,” Lord Booker said, resuming their walk, “but all I have is yours. We are small but determined. We are hard pressed but persistent. We are wounded, yet we live. We are humble but hopeful. And our hope is ignited by the sight of you, Princess Bright.”

In the tumult and the trials, we found our callings. And we have done some good. Thank you for loving us, Mother and Father. Thank you for preparing us for the unnumbered dangers we’ve faced. We had no idea that when you gave us all the light you did, you were guiding us to one day strike out at the darkness so fiercely. We have been far from flawless, but we have made a hard dart at that darkness. We have seen cracks forming and the light seeping in.”

There were few patients left waiting now. She realized with some satisfaction that she had helped, but she felt keenly the failure to save that haunted her every time she worked at healing. She could save seventy but would remember most vividly the one or two for whom she could do nothing. “I want to save them all,” she whispered as she made her way home. “Why can’t I save them all?”

“Who knows what fresh villainy they have planned for this year’s Victory Day sham? What fresh horrors will we silently witness? When freedom comes, will we be strangers to goodness? And if we are strangers to goodness, then should we even be free?”

“And here I thought you were some exciting soldier with tales of adventure,” she said, laughing. “I have those,” he replied. “But it’s no way to live.” “Adventure is no way to live?” “Not always, Weezie,” he said, tossing a stick into a thicket. “You want rest at some point.” “You don’t seem like you’re ready to rest.” “Not yet,” he answered. “Not while the world’s as it is.”