The Edge of Strange Hollow Page 4

  Her mind went blank.

  The hob dropped to a seat in front of the tiny hearth fire. The flames hovered in the empty fireplace, burning nothing. Other folk collected windfall or harvested peat, but fire without fuel was one of Jute’s special skills. This was just as well since cutting down trees was forbidden—and for good reason. Hurting any tree in the Grimwood would grow a thorn tree at your back, quicker than quick. The house always smelled nice too—like fruit and sunshine. But that might not be Jute’s special powers. It might just be good habits.

  The fire sputtered in the grate as Jute drew up his legs. His chin dropped to rest on top of his narrow knees, and after a moment he turned his cheek to face her. His eyes were bright green—a sure sign that he was upset and angry. Poppy’s heart dropped into the toes of her boots. She had never seen him look so disappointed.

  With a lump in her throat, she spun around and ran back into the kitchen to scoop up a bowl of mac and cheese, then poured a large cup of cocoa. “Here, Jute,” she said, slipping them forward onto the small side table next to the hob. “I’m sorry … I’m sorry about that.”

  Mack did a nose-sigh from across the room.

  Jute steepled his long fingers. “You know how much I love you, Poppy?”

  She swallowed. “I do.”

  He paused, then reached out to wrap his long fingers around hers. “Why don’t you tell me how you managed to get a Mogwen feather?”

  Poppy withdrew her hand gently, staring down to rub at a hangnail. “I tracked them by their song, climbed a pine tree, and … and used Mom’s extra net gun.”

  The green slowly shifted from Jute’s eyes as he considered her words, leaving them their normal quail-egg colors again. “Oh, Poppy.” His voice hitched. “I hate for you to be in danger. You know that.”

  “It was only a little danger—not much really,” she said, rushing to put him at ease. “Nothing I can’t handle. You worry too much, Jute.”

  “Perhaps. But someone must.”

  Poppy swallowed hard. Jute was the last person she wanted to upset. He was always there for her. When she was little, he was the one that told her stories every night, and he was the one who held her hand—sometimes until dawn—when she had nightmares about something happening to her parents, or about them deciding never to come back.

  “I—I was careful,” she insisted. “And Mack was there.”

  “I was, Jute. It’s true,” Mack added. “She was in … no … danger.”

  Poppy couldn’t help her tiny eye roll. Mack couldn’t fib to save his life.

  Poppy moved closer to Jute. “I just … I just lost my temper when I realized Mom and Dad were gone again. I took it out on you. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m on your side, you know. I’m supposed to be taking care of you,” he protested, lifting the cocoa.

  “You do,” Poppy said. “You do take care of me! You make sure I eat good food, and you check on me, and … and talk to me. It’s not your fault I’m stubborn and have a mind of my own.”

  Jute slurped from his cup. “Yet, I can’t help feeling that you’re up to something.”

  Poppy looked down quickly. “You … You worry too much, Jute.”

  Jute lifted his sad freckled eyes and pursed his lips. “Oh, I do worry. You can count on that. And as to what you might be up to, just promise me you won’t do anything rash. I know your feelings are hurt that they left again.”

  “I’m not hurt. I’m angry.”

  “Angry, then. But making important decisions when emotions are running strong is never in your best interest. Better to sit with things a little while. You’ll understand what’s in the pot when it’s not boiling over.”

  “I know. It’s just—” Poppy studied her torn, dirty fingernails. “Don’t they … Don’t they miss me at all?” Her voice hitched. “Don’t they want to see me?”

  Jute made a tutting sound and reached out to take her hand. “Of course they do, sweetling. Of course they do. Do you know the reason their work is so important?”

  Poppy pulled her hand away with a scowl. “I know what they say. It’s—”

  “To keep you safe. It’s not just the Hollows your parents are protecting … and it isn’t just to understand the Grimwood either.”

  “They do it because they love their work more than anything else. That’s all.”

  “They do it because if the maledictions aren’t restrained, you will be in more danger. And you told me about the whispers in the market—all the gossip from Strange Hollow … there have been more maledictions born than ever before. Just last week, a man was taken. Ever since the new governor’s election…”

  “I wasn’t even born when they started going into the wood. Their work has nothing to do with me.”

  “Yes, they started long ago, but now … they do it to protect you.”

  “Along with everyone else.”

  “Along with everyone else.” Jute wore a sad expression as he turned to the fire. “You’re very quiet back there, Mack. Why don’t you pull your chair up?”

  Mack dragged his chair across the room. “I tried to talk her out of—whatever it is—too, sir.”

  Jute gave the young elf a gentle smile. “Well, we both know how difficult it is to talk Poppy out of anything, once she’s made up her mind.” The hob studied Mack. “Tell you what, Mack. You can do something for me—something that would ease my mind a great deal.”

  Mack’s eyebrows rose. “Sure! I mean, if I can.”

  “Whatever my Poppy gets up to, it would ease my mind to know that her good friend Mack was on her side. Can I count on you?”

  “I—I am on her side, Jute. We watch each other’s backs. You know that. I promise.”

  Jute nodded, draining the last of his cocoa. “Well, this day has been quite exciting enough. It’s time to settle in for the evening.”

  Mack cleared his throat. “I—”

  “No.” Jute held up his hand. “I won’t hear of it, Mackintosh. It’s already getting dark, and your parents would not be pleased if I sent you home at this hour. You’ll stay the night in your usual room. Poppy, bring me the penny whistle.”

  Poppy smirked at Mack and hopped up to get the slender silver whistle from its hook by the door. She handed it to Jute, who rose wearily from the chair.

  They followed him up to the third floor, and Mack waited on the landing as Poppy followed Jute up the spiral stairs to her bedroom. The round turret room that was Poppy’s looked out over the valley, Strange Hollow, and the Grimwood through a half-wall of windows that circled the room.

  Jute walked past Poppy’s mattress on the floor (she preferred it there, beneath the drafts), and stepped carefully over the piles of dirty clothes, open books, and broken weapons to the forest side of the room. He lifted the latch on one of the windows and leaned out to pipe a five-note refrain. It drifted toward the trees like light. Three more times, Jute blew the tune before the refrain came back to them with an extra note at the end. Jute gave a satisfied nod, then shut the window and waved Poppy along.

  “Your parents have been notified that you will spend the night here,” he told Mack as he passed, ushering them back downstairs to eat their dinners.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “It’s my pleasure, young man. And as for you, Poppy, given the circumstances of our evening, I hope you’ll understand that I must attempt to send word out to your parents too.”

  Poppy swallowed, but gave a stiff nod. It was only fair.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The morning came with its usual persistence, but Poppy jumped out of bed with unusual excitement. There was a lot to do. She threw on black jeans, her “They Must Be Giants” T-shirt, and a bulky black hoodie with zipper pockets. She grabbed the larger of her two backpacks—it was bigger than her daypack, but still smaller than the bulky monstrosities her parents used when they expected to have to travel in the Grimwood deep. She took the net gun and a spare roll of netting. She packed an extra knife, a change of clothes—and one of
her dad’s old shirts for Mack. They didn’t have time for him to go home and pack his own bag.

  She had a plan, and it was even better than the Mogwen feather.

  Poppy took her canteen off the small corner desk, and paused to open a drawer. After a moment’s hesitation, she snapped up her small iron bell—another gift from Jute—and shoved it in too. If she and Mack got separated, she could use it to signal him. She considered the small handful of gold coins gleaming from the corner of the drawer, then scooped them into a side pocket of her pack. Finally, she scraped together the loose change left over from her birthday money this year and put it in her jeans pocket—just in case.

  Her hand hovered over the tiny gold locket her parents had given her with their pictures inside. She had gotten it on her ninth birthday, and although she’d worn it for a while, it had never comforted her after a nightmare the way Jute did. Instead, wearing it made her feel conspicuous, as if it were meant for someone else. The locket was shiny and heart-shaped, and happy in ways she never quite found comfortable. She’d taken it off and put it in her drawer, only taking it out now and then just to look at it.

  She jammed the necklace in a pocket of her pack and went downstairs. Who knew how long they would be gone?

  Mack was already awake and playing with Eta-Two-Brutus in the meadow. She could see him through the kitchen window. There was no sign of Jute.

  Quickly, she made a batch of boar sandwiches with mustard and greens and tomatoes, on thick homemade bread. She threw in some slices of cheese and wrapped it all in waxed paper. She perused their stores. Jute would notice if she took everything … and who knew how much they would end up needing. She’d need something for Dog to eat too. They also didn’t have any apples. She couldn’t ask Mack to go along with her plan without apples. She gritted her teeth. Asking Jute to summon food was out of the question—he’d be too suspicious. No, she’d have to go through the village market and get some herself. She tightened up her boot strings and ran outside.

  The meadow was sunlit and fragrant. The air hummed with bees as Eta-Two-Brutus kicked through the grass and wildflowers, dragging a huge stick back to Mack. Brutus held the biggest section, and kept yanking it away from his siblings. Then he’d get overexcited, and whack them in the face with it.

  Poppy hitched her backpack over her shoulders. “Hey, Mack! I’m going into Strange Hollow for some food and a bone for Dog. Want anything else?”

  Mack grinned at her. He was always happy playing with Dog in the meadow. Once, he’d dug his bare toes into the ground and told her the soil was joyful out here. “Nah. I’m good,” he began. Then his smile faded. “Should I … come with you? I wouldn’t mind.”

  She did consider it for a moment. Mack could almost pass as human, and it would almost be worth it just to see his face. Seeing Strange Hollow up close was on his life list.

  Still, it was broad daylight, and there was no telling what might happen if people noticed his eyes, or his elven ears, which was likely. And in her experience, it was rarely a good thing to draw the eye of Strange Hollow folk. Poppy and her family had learned that lesson well. It was lucky none of the town folk had ever set eyes close-up on Jute, or Dog. Neither could ever pass for “normal,” and who knows what people would do if they found out there were Grimwood creatures living so close. As it was, Poppy was content to be ignored.

  “No thanks,” she said at last. “You stay here with Dog.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. I’m sure. Thanks for the offer though.”

  She could feel Mack’s eyes on her back as she strode down toward the valley. Honestly, he was as bad as Jute sometimes. “I’ll be fine!” she called.

  He didn’t answer for a moment, but then, from the corner of her eye, she saw Dog’s stick hurtle past, and thought she heard Mack say, “Just watch your back.”

  Poppy adjusted her pack as she walked down the slope of the hill toward Strange Hollow. The town was small, though it was the biggest of the seven Hollows that ringed the Grimwood. It was also the home of the new governor.

  Poppy had never explored the Hollows themselves. What was the point? She couldn’t even make a place for herself in her own Hollow—and the Grimwood held more excitement in its pinkie finger … not that it had a pinkie finger. She knew the Hollows were each a day’s walk or so from one another. To the west of Strange Hollow was Golden Hollow, and then No Good Hollow and Blue Hollow. To the east were Dark Hollow and Broken Hollow. Trader’s Hollow stood a little apart, on the far side of the forest. For some reason no one really understood, people could only pass through the fog in Trader’s Hollow. Perhaps because it was the Hollow farthest from the wood.

  Once she knew the Grimwood’s secrets, maybe she would try to learn about the fog, too, or travel to the human world beyond the fog. Mack would like that. Though exploring the fog would be just as dangerous as exploring the Grimwood. There were rumors that the fog itself was a monster too, and whether that was true or not, everyone knew that those who went in didn’t come back out.

  The fog wrapped around the outside of the Hollows and bound them to the wood, safe from the outside world. All the wood’s magic—both good and bad—was trapped inside the fog’s thick boundaries. It held the Grimwood and the Hollows wrapped tight the way fear can sometimes hold people together, even when they don’t really like one another. The fog formed a looming wall at the outer edge of every Hollow. People kept their distance, though Poppy had seen some of the more adventurous children daring one another to get close. None of them were ever brave—or reckless enough—to come nearer than a few feet.

  But inside the mile-thick walls of the fog, the Hollows thrived well enough. They enjoyed a long growing season. It never snowed, and the air was always sweet, even in winter. Technology didn’t work in the Hollows, but everyone seemed to get along fine without it. No one seemed to mind that the rest of the world—outside the fog lines—could talk to one another using tiny devices, or drive metal boxes around, or thought that killing monsters was a game. Poppy supposed the people found the benefits of living so close to the Grimwood worth the risk. As long as you didn’t get caught by a malediction and lured into the forest, life was good.

  Most people had no interest in the outside world anyway. They had their families and friends—and their warding customs, however useless they might be. And people who lived in the Hollows stayed healthy. They lived at least twice as long as people outside the fog. It wasn’t unusual to celebrate your two hundredth birthday in the Hollows. Maybe it was because of the fog. Or maybe it was something in the water. Or maybe it was the soil. Mack was always going on about the soil.

  And if you did want to see beyond the fog, you could try. Twice a year on the solstice, the governor would select a special few to pass through the fog lines from Trader’s Hollow into the outside world. They would return with what the Hollows needed or requested—jeans and other clothing, new foods to try, tools … even furniture from towns with strange names like “Ikea.”

  Poppy’s family didn’t get to make requests. People that would trade with them were few and far between. Mostly her family would trade for whatever was left over to be sold at the market. They were lucky to have Jute to conjure food.

  The fog rose beyond the rooftops of Strange Hollow as Poppy entered the town. It was bustling. Kids played on the cobbled road and in the alleys between the houses, kicking balls, playing tag, and helping with chores. People moved through the streets chatting and working. Voices stilled as she passed—as they usually did, but Poppy kept her chin held high and made her way toward the market.

  Halfway down the street she noticed something was off. It wasn’t until she was almost at the market that she figured out what. There were wards … everywhere. New waist-high monster carvings decked out almost every street corner. She had heard there had been more maledictions lately.

  A shiver ran across her skin like a breeze.

  Poppy turned and made her way toward Beth’s stall. The old w
oman was always kind, and still worked in the market every day, even though her son was the new governor of the Hollows, the highest-ranking person in all seven towns. It didn’t help that he apparently didn’t approve of Beth having a stand in the market. “But I prefer to stand on my own two feet,” she’d explained.

  Poppy swallowed as the sharp gaze of several boys her age followed her from the alleyways. Two of them fell in behind her, whispering. At first, she couldn’t make out what they were saying, but the hair along the back of her neck stood up, so she knew it was about her. After a short distance, they got close enough for her to hear them.

  “Do it,” one said.

  “You do it,” said the other, with laughter in his voice.

  “No, you.”

  Poppy stopped walking, but didn’t turn. She spoke in a loud voice. “Somebody better do it, or I’m going to have to do it for you.” Slowly, she spun to face them.

  The two boys—one dirty blond and dirty in general, and one a redhead with a sprout of hair that stood straight up above his forehead, stared back.

  The redhead laughed. “Ask her.”

  “You ask her.”

  The red-haired boy rolled his eyes. “Are you a witch?”

  Poppy’s eye roll made the boy look like an amateur. “Can’t you think of something more creative than that?”

  “Well, what are you, then? Not normal. Not like us.”

  Poppy swallowed. She refused to give them the satisfaction of upsetting her. “I’m a human girl … not a witch, or any other kind of creature. And you know my name just fine—but I’ll tell you what. You can just call me Boss.”

  The blond tipped his head, reminding her a little of Eta when she saw something she wanted to dig out of a hole. “Your name isn’t Boss. It’s Poppy.”

  “If you know it, why are you asking?”

  The redhead lunged forward and poked her hard in the ribs.

  Poppy gasped, doubling up.

  “See,” the kid said. “I told you she was just like a regular girl.”

  Poppy gritted her teeth, took two fast steps forward, and kicked him hard in the shin.