Mr. Echo's Arc

Chapter 6 of 25

The elders melted back into the hollow. The Bunnyman stayed at Mr. Echo's side a moment longer, then turned and followed its kin. Mr. Echo lifted the brass box. It felt lighter than it should. He spun the reel and pressed the lever. Nothing came out but a thin hiss. He pressed again. Still nothing. The gift to the warren had emptied it. Every scrap of animal calm, every stored tap and branch-crack, gone into the ears of the elders. The box was a shell now. Kate watched his hands. "How bad?" "Empty," he said. "If she finds us on the path north, I have nothing to throw at her." He did not need to say who. The pale woman ate sound. The box was the only weapon that had ever made her flinch. Without it he was a man walking uphill with a tin can. He climbed out of the hollow and stood on the rim. North, the ground rose again toward the far dark. That was the path the elders had granted him. He could not wait for the box to fill by chance. He had to record something now, in this ground, before he stepped onto open trail. He turned in a slow circle, listening for anything the box could hold. The warren was already quiet behind him. Ahead, only wind in the pines. The little ghost girl drifted off his shoulder and pointed. A short way down the slope stood a cherry tree in bloom, out of season, its pink canopy bright against the black pines. Under it, two shapes waited. A tall rabbit man and a tall rabbit woman, ragged at the edges, glowing faintly blue. Dead Bunnymen. Old ones. They watched him without moving. The girl tugged his sleeve and pointed at the box. He understood. The dead speak to animals. The dead speak in a register the living cannot hear, but the box can hold. He walked down to the tree and set the box in the grass at their feet. He tapped the lid once. The ghost rabbit man leaned close and spoke into the brass, a long low sound Mr. Echo felt in his teeth but did not hear. The ghost rabbit woman spoke after him. Petals fell on the box. When they stepped back, Mr. Echo pressed the lever a hair. A dense pressure came out of the reel, thick enough to bend the grass. He shut it off fast. Loaded. Not with calm this time. With something older. He picked up the box. It weighed right again. The ghost pair bowed once and faded into the trunk of the tree. The little ghost girl settled back on his shoulder. Kate came down the slope to meet him. Above the pines, a thin bright moon watched from a face he did not want to name. He turned north and started walking.