A Picture of the Heart

Nasovey didn’t dare leave the safety of his hiding spot on the bookshelf while he listened intently to the voices on the floor above. If the man hanging outside the window could hold on and if the guards didn’t recheck the window, he might just get lucky. Of course, that was a lot of ifs, and then there was the small matter of climbing back up the sheet to the window without falling to his death.

“He’s out here, Delve!” someone shouted from above. “He’s hanging onto the sheet.”

Nasovey’s heart sank. They’d found the man, and there was nothing he could do except wait for the inevitable and report to the King once it was all over. He was standing on the shelf fuming while one of the guards taunted the man when he spotted something brown from the corner of his eye. In all the excitement, he’d forgotten about the box the Wiggletwig had left behind. Hopping down, he flipped open the lid and admired the glass bird. How the Gift could be lifeless one moment and the next full of vigor was beyond his understanding, but it certainly pointed to the brilliance of the King. Preparing himself for the shrill sound, he put the whistle to his lips and blew.

One moment, the Gift was a perfectly clear inanimate glass ornament with blue liquid settled inside; the next, it burst from the box and hovered in front of Nasovey. Blue light, resembling flames, danced through its body from its beak to the tip of its tail feathers.

“There’s a man upstairs who’s in trouble,” Nasovey said, hoping the Gift could understand him. “I believe the King would want you to help him.”

The Gift didn’t move. Had it understood him? Was that how you dealt with the Gift? Nasovey was hardly an expert in these matters. After all, the first time he’d seen a Gift in person was a few hours ago. He was about to repeat himself when the Gift turned and, in an instant, disappeared up the stairs, leaving behind a streak of blue light. A few seconds later, the stairs were illuminated with bright blue light, and someone upstairs yelled, “I can’t see!”

A moment later, a tall man came lumbering down the stairs, rubbing his eyes and muttering, “When I get my hands on him, I’m gonna make him wish he’d never escaped.”

Nasovey smirked. Satisfied he’d done everything he could, he bounced off the bed, sprinted upstairs to the window, and peeked. Across the glade, something caught his eye. It was the man! He’d escaped and was near the tree line where the Gift was waiting beside the path. Unfortunately for him, two Wiggletwigs were chasing him and gaining ground. Nasovey watched anxiously. If the man could reach the path before the Wiggletwigs, he might stand a chance of escaping, especially with the Gift's help. Movement from below pulled his attention from the pursuit. A bald-headed man was on his hands and knees; slowly, he pushed himself up onto one knee. Reaching up, the man rubbed his eyes. Clearly, the explosion of light had affected him as well. Good. Serves you right. Looking back to the chase, Nasovey suppressed a cheer as the man reached the path a few seconds ahead of his pursuers and disappeared along with the Gift.

Now, it was time for Nasovey to make his getaway. All he needed was for the man below to hurry up and get moving. He was moving, but he certainly wasn’t in a hurry. Slowly, he wobbled away toward the left side of the tree. Although Nasovey would prefer to know where both men were below climbing down, his window of escape had opened and he needed to make his move. Decision made, his claws scraped along the bark as he slid midway down before releasing his grip and dropping. Padded feet absorbed the impact, and spring-like legs propelled him toward the hollowed-out log. Confident he could win an all-out sprint, he didn’t look around. Once near the log, he dove into the opening, rolled to his feet, and returned to the Gathering Room hidden below the village.

With the main tunnel collapsed, Nasovey was forced to try the alternate route leading west. The dank tunnel, filled with cobwebs and roots, wasn’t pleasant, but at least it wasn’t collapsing. At least the tunnel itself wasn’t, but he did have to stop several times and clear debris from fallen platforms. Still, he’d gladly trade those minor inconveniences for stability, and this one seemed to have that going for it.

Eventually, the narrow tunnel led to a cavernous room where a few beams of sunlight illuminated a vine ladder. Moving to the middle, Nasovey gave it a tentative tug. The vine felt strong, but that didn’t necessarily mean the place they were attached was. Convincing himself the climb was necessary, he started upward. Midway, he made the mistake of looking down. The drop was breathtaking, and the swaying ladder didn’t help matters. Just take it one rung at a time, he encouraged himself. At the top, he poked his head through the hole in the platform and pounded on the wood with his fist. It seemed sturdy, so he pulled himself up. The planks creaked but held his weight. Reaching overhead, he grasped the door handle and paused as his Academy professor’s words came to mind, ‘It’s time to recite the three little rules.’

‘One,’ the class said in unison, ‘never be seen top side by anyone other than the King. Two, never be outside the safety of the tunnels during daylight. Three, never patrol the southwest part of the city.’

‘Excellent,’ the professor had said. ‘Why don’t we patrol the southwest portion of the city?’

‘It’s unsafe since the fireplaces stopped burning,’ the class had replied.

‘And what defines the boundary for Watchers?’

‘The last two-story building on Market Street.’

Over the past year, no subject had caused more tall tales than the fireplaces in the city’s western part. No matter how many times the city’s fire maintenance crews lit them, they never burned as brightly as the others throughout the city, and most burned out within hours of being lit. There was no shortage of theories amongst the Swiftfoot, some reasonable, others, not so much. One suggestion that seemed most plausible was that something was happening outside the wall on the Western side—the side Nasovey was on right now.

‘There are no good reasons to break the rules.’ That’s what the Swiftfoot elders would say. Yet, he doubted even they could resist the urge to twist the handle and pop out for a quick look. After all, the same trait that drove Nasovey drove all Swiftfoot—curiosity. And as troublesome as that trait could be at times, it was the very thing that made Swiftfoot good Watchers.

The King had said the rules would guide him. The Elders would boot him from Watcher training if they ever found out he’d broken the rules. There was no telling what Elder Pin’roe would do to him, but it wouldn’t be pretty. Slowly, he forced his paw to loosen its grip on the handle. It’s for the best, he encouraged himself. Just remove one finger at a time. One. See wasn’t that easy. Two. Come on, Nasovey, you can do it. Three. Nope! And with only a moment’s hesitation, he’d grasped the handle and twisted.

The lid sprung open, allowing golden rays of warm sunlight to flood the hollowed-out stump. Nasovey closed his eyes and let the light wash over him. Climbing up, he grasped the stump’s lip and pulled himself up. Although light from ventilation holes reached the floor of the Swiftfoot City during specific times of the day, it paled in comparison to the scene before him.

Golden fields, bathed in late evening sunlight, stretched on seemingly forever. Suddenly, a tear fell from his eye and absorbed into his cheek fur. Swiftfoot history told of a time of peace in the realm. Then Swiftfoot had roamed the fields in front of White Oak without fear. Could his people reclaim these fields for themselves? Perhaps they could return topside again, he thought excitedly.

Nonsense, he chastised himself. As long as the Wiggletwigs existed in the realm, his people could never safely return to the fields. The thought was a sober reminder of his mission. With renewed purpose, he pulled his eyes from the scene, intending to drop back into the stump, when he spotted something equally impressive from the corner of his eye—a dashu tree.

From what he’d learned in his Races of the Realm class, dashu trees only had one seed, which the Bergsteigers harvested. Other than the two dashu trees in White Oak’s throne room courtyard, he’d never heard of any outside the Bergsteiger village. Of course, he was hardly an expert on the subject, but his Academy professors had never mentioned any others. Perhaps the mystery of the tree was something the King could solve, and the sooner he reached him, the better.

Grasping the stump lid handle, he used his weight to pull it closed. It clicked into place. He dropped and grabbed the ladder. At the bottom, he retrieved the striker from his pouch and loaded it with a fresh wick and flint piece. The flame illuminated a crevice in the back wall. Swinging his satchel over his shoulder, he squeezed through the hole. After a short crawl, he popped out into the center of another cavernous room with a dull green vine ladder hanging in the center.

Instead of the supple ladders he’d encountered thus far, this one felt dry, but he wouldn’t know how dry until he started climbing. Sadly, he’d have to climb in the dark since old vines and fire would likely equal a little too much excitement and add a considerable challenge to the climb.

With the striker extinguished, he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face. Nothing to it but to do it, he thought, as he placed his weight on the first rung. It held. Rung by rung, he ascended, wondering which step would be the one to send him plummeting through the darkness to the floor below.

Thankfully, his doubts proved unfounded as he reached a platform. He pounded on the wood. It seemed sturdy. Lighting the striker revealed not another overhead door as expected but a square one in the wall. Beside it was a dusty lantern full of oil. He lit the lantern, extinguished the striker, and twisted the handle. The door cracked open a few inches. He peeked. Too dark to see. He pulled it wider and found himself face to face with a Swiftfoot. Startled, he jumped back and fell through the hole.

Desperately, he groped for the ladder and caught a rung that tore away, causing him to tumble in midair. Abruptly, he jerked to a halt as his foot tangled. The sudden stop ripped the lantern from his paw. He watched as the light grew fainter, then blazed brightly as it smashed into the floor far below.

Nasovey took a deep breath and tried to calm himself as he watched the flames creeping along the floor. Are the flames getting closer? The ladder! Frantically, he crunched upward and groped for a rung, which he caught and used to pull himself upright. After a brief struggle, he freed his right foot. The flames were much closer. Throwing caution to the wind, he scrambled up to the ladder to the platform. He wasn’t sure why there was another Swiftfoot in the room beyond, but the platform was likely to catch fire next, and it wouldn't be long after that before it collapsed. He had no choice but to face the Swiftfoot.

Lighting his striker, he peered inside. The other Swiftfoot hadn’t moved. He huffed. He’d nearly been killed by his reflection. Stepping inside, he circled the object which had created the chaos. If he remembered his history lessons correctly, the King had crafted three Gifts for his neighbors. The Bergsteigers, the Steward of White Chair, and the Master of the Dragon Ship all received one to aid in their resistance against the forces of darkness. Yet, here he was, face to face with another Gift or perhaps the same one if it could have found a way inside the tree, which seemed unlikely. Regardless, this mystery, like the dashu, would have to wait until he could speak to the King.

A quick search of the wall revealed gears with vines interlaced through them and a switch. Nasovey flipped it, which caused a section of the front wall to swing downward and thud against the thee. Moving to the edge, he lifted the striker. He was inside the tree! He’d expected to find hollowed-out dashu trees in the Bergsteiger village; after all, the trees were their homes, but why put one here?

Hopping down, he sprinted to the first stair and paused as a faint creak caused his ears to perk. He wasn’t alone. Turning, he leaped, caught the compartment lip, and pulled himself up. Now, he needed to figure out how to operate the pulley and get the door closed. The vine attached to the compartment door snaked over and under pullies of various sizes, and the tail end was hanging from a hook on the back wall. Grasping the vine, he pulled. Slowly, the door lifted. It wasn’t cumbersome, but it wasn’t moving nearly fast enough. Doubling his efforts, he pulled faster. The door was halfway closed when light peeked over the lip. Come on! He only needed two or three more pulls. Leaning forward, he grabbed the vine and yanked.

The sudden movement caused a bind. The vine frayed and snapped. Lunging forward, he caught the end and leaned back to brace himself but was violently jerked forward. The force ripped the vine from his paws, but the damage was done and he was sliding toward the edge. Rolling onto his back, he slammed his claws into the floor. Nasovey grimaced. His claws felt as though, at any moment, they’d break, and his momentum would send him over the edge. Gritting his teeth, he pressed his claws harder into the wood. He managed to stop as his head and shoulders slid over the edge.

Nasovey wanted to release a roar of delight, but the light was much brighter. Any moment, whoever was in here would round the corner, and there was no way they would miss the open compartment. He couldn’t save the Gift, but they’d both be in danger if he didn’t hide. Digging into the wood, he used his claws to pull his body back inside before hopping up and scrambling behind the Gift. Moments later a human hand thrust into the compartment. Nasovey watched helplessly as another Gift was stolen.