The Edge of Strange Hollow Page 10

  Poppy rubbed her forehead. “Yeah, okay, fine. Let’s try the faeries.”

  Nula sat up. “Really?”

  “That’s a terrible idea. No one can trust the faeries,” Mack grumbled.

  Poppy frowned. “What’s so terrible about it?”

  Nula snarled. Poppy hadn’t noticed she had sharp canines. “They might leave things out sometimes, but the truth is, the faeries have what everyone wants, probably what you want, too.”

  Mack’s expression turned shocked. He stared at Nula. “Oh yeah, and what do I want?”

  “The truth is that most creatures envy the Fae,” Nula said imperiously. “They have it all. Beauty. Power. Beauty.”

  “They’re liars,” Mack spat back.

  “Just because they don’t stick to your smug elven ways—with your whole ‘Do right, and you’ll be right’ thing—”

  Color rose in Mack’s cheeks. “Our ‘thing’? That is our code.”

  Nula went on as though he hadn’t spoken. “The faeries have things you could never hope to—”

  “Yeah, they have tricks. They are always trying to trap you. Fae believe they’re better than everyone—”

  Nula’s bluish skin had darkened. “The Fae love to have rare things, and they love to know things first. That’s all.” She leaned to Poppy who was watching the argument unfold, unsure whether to intervene or not. She’d never seen Mack get so worked up. Dog whined, inching closer to the elf.

  “They’ll fall all over themselves to dine with a human in the woods, never mind one traveling with an elf, and a … a three-headed-dog. They’re the rarest thing of all!” Nula flushed.

  Mack rose and brushed off his hands. “Collecting every rare thing in the wood, just to possess it because they can, does not make them better.”

  “Sure,” Nula said in a singsong voice that made Poppy hop up as well, as Mack stomped off. Poppy followed him around the next hump of roots.

  She could still hear Nula humming as she walked toward Mack. His back was turned and his hands clenched into fists. “I know you want answers, Poppy,” he said through gritted teeth. “And I know we need to free your parents … but you promised if I gave you advice, you’d listen. And I’m telling you. Do not go to the faeries.”

  Poppy paused. She had never seen Mack look fierce and frightened at the same time. She put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s just what makes the most sense, Mack. Nula says they like her, and—if she’s right and the faeries keep track of rare things, they’re sure to know something about the Soul Jar! Maybe they’ll know more about the Holly Oak’s geis too. I mean … don’t you want answers too?”

  The hurt look in his eyes made her blood race to her cheeks. Her chest got tight, but Mack was just being overly cautious, as usual.

  His shoulders slumped. “Just whatever you do, don’t make any bargains with them.” His eyes hardened. “Swear you won’t.”

  Poppy nodded. “I swear.”

  “They’re not to be trusted, Poppy.” He paused. “And I’m really not sure about the pooka either.”

  Before Poppy could reply, Nula’s tufted ears appeared behind them over the top edge of some roots. “Peace, Mack! Come look. I made us all a place to sleep.”

  They followed her back to where Dog lay asleep already. Several large piles of colorful feathers waited for them. Poppy stared at Nula. “How did you do that?”

  Nula gave a delighted laugh, her blue cheeks flushing. “I changed into a Misere bird. It’s their molting season,” she explained when they gave her blank looks.

  Poppy shook her head, silently promising herself she’d find out more about those birds when she wasn’t so tired. Despite her exhaustion, Poppy lay awake for a long time after Mack and Nula drifted off. In the quiet, she couldn’t avoid her fears. She stared up at the branches of the Holly Oak, and at the stars that covered the sky in bright friendly twinkles. The moon was dark, and the stars seemed to stretch out forever.

  Her thoughts were like stones rolling through a flood, banging together and scattering under the surge. Her parents were gone. She had always known it would happen eventually, ever since she was a little girl. The nightmares—those came and went, but now that they were real, she didn’t even have Jute to comfort her. In the unfolding night, fear poured out of Poppy like smoke from a fire, until it was thick around her and hard to breathe.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath through her nose, the way Jute had taught her to do, letting it leave her lips in a single slow exhale. She did it again. Then she counted her “at leasts.”

  One—at least Mom and Dad are alive, she appealed to the sky. She had to believe she would know—feel it somehow—if they weren’t. Two—at least I got into the Grimwood. Three—at least my friends are with me. Four—we have some food. Five—Dog’s here. Six—we’re safe for the night. Seven—at least it’s not too late. Slowly, as she thought of more “at leasts,” her breath steadied, and some of the weight lifted off her chest. Bits of hope reigned in her heartache, but all the “at leasts” in the world couldn’t shut down her fear completely. Not until her parents were home and safe.

  Maybe the faeries would be able to help. Poppy rolled onto her side to turn the thought into an “at least,” then stilled at the sound of lowered voices on the other side of the roots.

  “It sprang up out of nowhere,” one low voice snarled, moving closer.

  “Nothing comes from nowhere,” the other answered.

  Poppy very carefully moved so that she was crouched under the edge of the root. Whoever they were, they couldn’t have been more than twenty feet away. She peeked over the edge.

  She could make out two silhouettes in the darkness. Their long muzzles and sharp ears gave them away as two of the werewolves from the pavilion. She’d read about them in her parents’ journals, but—her father’s drawings hadn’t been right at all. His drawings had shown them hunched forward, almost leaning. These two stood on their hind legs, straight and tall.

  “Well, our pack leader said there was no scent left behind. The fuel was something bitter, wrapped in glass.”

  What were they talking about?

  “Did the grassland burn?”

  A fire.

  “Much of it. A passing witch was able to put it out, but now we’re in her debt, and you know how that goes.”

  “Bad news. In debt to a witch.”

  “Right, so you can imagine what my wife said when I told her—seeing as we just moved to that part of the forest.”

  “And you with pups to think of.”

  “True. True.”

  “Anyone hurt?”

  Did they really hunt in packs? Poppy wondered. Were they really as fast as her father said?

  “One of the elder wolves was badly burned—and several shelters burned too.”

  “So, you’re here to tell her about it.”

  They’re here to talk to the Holly Oak about a fire, Poppy realized.

  “I got a grievance, so I’m here to make a report. See what the Holly Oak says is to be done.”

  The voices had started to fade as they moved away. A breeze blew through Poppy’s hair, and wafted across the meadow. The second werewolf tipped his face toward the sky, and for a second, Poppy thought he was going to howl. Then he whipped around to face the rock where she was hiding, hunched and leaning forward. She ducked down, her heart pounding.

  She tried not to breathe.

  “What’s the matter, Louis?”

  “Smell someone.”

  “Ahhh. Well, don’t get in a tizzy. You can’t do anything about that here, and you know it.”

  “Might be that human who cut in front of the line to see the Holly Oak.”

  The first werewolf let out a low snarl. “That’s tempting, I admit, but it’s not worth it. Kill anything here, and you’re as good as dead yourself. The Oak will have you tied to a picker and send you to the thorn trees.”

  Poppy stayed pressed to the roots, out of sight. As soon as they were gone, s
he slipped carefully back into her pile of feathers and fell right to sleep.

  * * *

  She was the first to wake in the morning, and before she even rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, she reached for her pack, rummaging her hand all the way to the bottom. She caught the end of the gold chain where her necklace lay curled at the bottom, and gently pulled.

  She stared at it, the gold locket gleaming softly in the palm of her hand. She didn’t understand why, but she was afraid to open it. It was as if looking at her parents in the locket would bring things full circle—make their danger final in some way. Her head knew it wasn’t true, but her pulse still fluttered in her throat. After a moment or two, she pried open the little heart.

  On one side was a tiny painting of her father, his red-gold hair shining. She’d gotten the small gap in her front teeth from him. The other side of the locket held a painting of her mother, with her black hair loose. Her bright eyes looked right into Poppy’s. Do whatever you must, they seemed to say. We need you now.

  She snapped it shut and put it around her neck with shaking hands.

  When she felt better, she got up and shook Mack and Nula awake. Mack rolled to his feet with a groan, stretching his arms up so high that his T-shirt rose halfway up his chest. Nula refused to do anything but grunt. After the third time Poppy poked her, she rolled over and turned herself into a mouse.

  “How far is it to the faeries?” she asked, picking Nula up and holding her on an open palm.

  Nula yawned, and hopped off Poppy’s hand to turn back into herself. “A day’s walk … from the dock where we left.”

  Poppy looked at Mack. “Back the way we came,” she said with a sigh.

  Mack shrugged. “Good. Maybe we’ll see Jute. Maybe he’ll have a better idea than going to the faeries.” He forced a laugh. “Maybe you’ll listen to him, since you won’t listen to me.”

  Instead of answering, Poppy headed for the dock. Mack knew Jute didn’t leave the house unless he had to, and she didn’t want to fight. She shoved her hand into her pocket to get the gold for the Boatman … then her stomach fell.

  She stopped walking.

  After a moment, Mack and Nula both turned. “What’s wrong?” the pooka asked. “You look like you’re going to be sick.”

  Poppy took a breath. “I don’t have enough gold left for the Boatman. “I must have lost one along the way…” Her shoulders slumped. “I only have two pieces—not three.”

  Nula grimaced and Mack’s body tensed. “I just hope it’s enough,” he said, moving toward the dock.

  Nula slowed to walk with Poppy. “He can waste energy hoping it’s enough,” she hissed. “I’ll hope the Boatman doesn’t eat us for breakfast.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  When they got to the end of the dock, Mack rang for the Boatman. The ripple of sound seemed dimmer here—farther away, as if it rose from under the salt sea. They stood watching the water—Poppy shifting her weight back and forth, rattling her two coins in her pocket, Mack shaking his arms, and Nula twisting the end of her tail. Even Dog gave a little whine.

  And then the Boatman rose—without a sound, as if he had been just waiting there, under the water. It was just as creepy, and just as silent as the first time, and it made Poppy’s skin go cold. She remembered their first journey with the Boatman. His laughter had sent her body into uncontrollable shivers, as if she had been a mouse hearing the cry of a hawk. She hoped he wouldn’t laugh again, or worse, be angry that they had called him and didn’t have enough coins to pay.

  She tried to fill her voice with steely confidence. “This is all the gold I have,” she said, dropping the two coins into his palm. “I hope it will do.”

  She lifted her chin and met the Boatman’s eyes. They were cold, but burned all the same. It felt like a long time before he acquiesced, his thick fingers curling around the coins.

  They clambered onto the boat. Again, he watched Dog.

  “The elf might make a good meal,” Nula offered under her breath. “If you’re feeling peckish.”

  Poppy elbowed her, then settled herself in the bottom of the boat. “Back to where we started, please,” she whispered when the Boatman looked at her expectantly. She thought she knew what to expect, but when the boat pulled away and he began to laugh, she startled, every hair on her body rising, as if lightning had struck the ground next to her.

  This time she kept her face raised as the boat sped across the Alcyon sea. The Boatman’s oar, she noticed, wasn’t actually an oar. Instead, he stood in the prow with a long pole, raising and dropping it into the water as if he were measuring the depth of the water instead of traveling it. He raised it up, and dropped it down … raised it up, and dropped it down. Poppy watched the water race by as they picked up speed. She could have sworn slender shadows slipped through the water alongside them as they passed.

  It was only minutes—though Poppy was certain it was a long way across—until he drove them up the estuary of the Veena river, whose tributaries ran all over the Grimwood. The boat sped along, turning the canopy of trees to a blur, as though time and space were only inklings of their imagination.

  They jerked to the right as the river took a different path, or perhaps it was a different river altogether. It curved, veering violently, first to one side and then the other. Poppy and Nula clung together. Nula’s tail was wrapped so tight around Poppy’s ribs that she gasped for air. Mack threw himself on top of Dog to hold them in, gripping the side of the boat.

  At one point, Poppy thought she heard a feral scream, and wondered if there were things other than rocks and fallen branches in the water, bucking at their little craft to try to dislodge them.

  All the while, the Boatman laughed, the sound growing sharper in her ears—a hundred tiny knives, cutting away her hopes and bravery with each passing moment.

  When the boat stopped at last, back at the dock where they had first begun, all of them—even Dog—toppled onto the dock like it was the sweetest of homecomings. Nula and Poppy stumbled to their feet. Dog wobbled after them.

  “He took us on the cheapskate’s route.” Nula gulped. “We’re lucky to be alive.” She rose to point a finger at Poppy. “Never again.”

  Poppy crossed her heart.

  The still air in the wood was already thick with the heat of the day. Huge stands of pale birch scattered through the woods and made it look brighter, their white bark and shivering leaves both beautiful and eerie. Through the trees, Poppy could see that the sun was nearly halfway up the sky.

  “Which way to the faeries?” Poppy asked. Mack’s face grew stormy.

  Nula pointed. “That way. West.”

  Mack had turned away to look across the river into the woods toward Strange Hollow. “When we do go back, we should stay on this side of the river. It will take longer, but at least we won’t have to run from the banshee.”

  “You know,” Nula said, swatting a mosquito with her tail. “I’ve been thinking about that banshee.”

  Mack raised an eyebrow and led the way, setting a fast pace westward, as if he was eager to get it over with. “What about her?”

  Poppy and Dog fell in on one side of Mack, not quite at a run to keep up.

  Nula caught up on the other side of Mack. “I’m thinking it might not have been a gravestone.”

  Poppy grimaced and slapped a mosquito. “What else could it have been?”

  “A passage stone.”

  “What’s a passage stone?” Poppy asked.

  “That’s not a real thing,” Mack scoffed at the same time.

  “It is too.”

  “It is not. Maybe they were a real thing a long time ago, but if they were, I don’t think they do what the stories say anymore,” Mack said, pulling a face. “Now they’re just markers. That’s all.”

  “Why have I never heard of this?” Poppy nudged Mack and almost tripped over a fallen branch. They were moving so fast, she had to keep her eyes on the ground.

  “Nothing to tell.”

  N
ula’s ear twitched. “My people used to use them all the time—they say. Just because you’ve never—”

  “Well, has it happened to you?”

  “No, but—”

  Mack had never sounded so smug. “Do you know anyone it’s happened to?”

  Nula scowled.

  “Well, there you go. Not every old story is true. The stones are just really old markers. They have symbols on them. The end.”

  Nula turned to Poppy. “You know those standing stones at the edge of the Grimwood?”

  “The big ones with the symbols carved in them?”

  “Yeah. Those are passage stones. There are stories that say they can take you somewhere else.”

  Mack nose-sighed.

  Nula ignored him. “Every time you walk past one there’s a chance you’ll wind up in some other part of the Grimwood.”

  “Kind of like when someone goes into the fog?” Poppy asked, wondering why she hadn’t read about this in any of her parents’ journals.

  Nula shrugged. “I don’t know anything about the fog,” she admitted.

  Poppy stopped walking, closing her eyes for a few seconds to try to picture where she had seen the tall stones before. “Hey, wait up,” she called, hurrying to catch up to Mack. “So, that big stone at the edge of the trees just down the valley. Is that one?”

  Mack lifted a shoulder. “Yeah.”

  “What about all the stones where the kids play?” she added. “Those can’t be … what did you call them?”

  Nula had fallen behind. “Passage stones,” she called.

  “I don’t know,” Mack admitted, slapping at a mosquito. “Maybe. But there’s nothing magical about them. They’re just stones.”

  “Huh.” Poppy had to admit, it did seem pretty unlikely. There had to be at least seven of them right in the valley. Kids played around them all the time, and she’d never heard of anyone falling through one into the Grimwood.

  Nula was still talking behind them. “Some of them are really old—especially the ones in the wood. That’s what made me wonder. Sometimes they’re pretty mossy and crumbly, like that one with the banshee.”