The Edge of Strange Hollow

by Gabrielle K. Byrne

  Mack cast a look at Nula and moved to Poppy’s side. “What about your parents’ ward?”

  Poppy grimaced. “I’ll walk till it breaks.”

  Mack’s mouth dropped open. “That is not a good—”

  “A ward?” Nula interrupted.

  Poppy turned to face the pooka. Her head had begun to ache just thinking about how bad this was going to hurt. “Blood ward,” she grumbled.

  Nula’s eyes pinched. “On you?”

  Poppy nodded.

  Nula cringed. “Yeah, the elf is right. You could walk off the ward … and it might work. But it’s more likely to just kill you outright.”

  Poppy felt her cheeks go pale.

  The pooka smiled and leaned forward to confide in Poppy’s ear. “But you know … the faeries like me way better than most pooka-kind, so I’ve picked up a few things.”

  “Like what?” Poppy asked. Mack was shaking his head and giving her hand signals that they should talk in private. But Poppy wanted to hear what the pooka had to say.

  Nula’s smile was so bright it made Poppy blink. “Like … how to break a blood ward,” she said as Mack dropped his forehead into his palm and did a nose-sigh.

  * * *

  Poppy had to try it … but of course Mack was grumpy about it. It took two apples and an apology to cheer him up, and even then he kept kicking at the dirt with his toes as they walked the first hundred steps into the Grimwood, following a short distance behind the pooka.

  Poppy stopped walking when they got close enough to see the thorn tree up ahead. Her head was pounding. Pins and needles raced over her body in waves. Dog shifted their weight to lean against her leg.

  Nula studied the thorn tree. “Let’s move west. That thing makes me nervous and I don’t want to give it any ideas.” She chuckled, but it sounded hollow.

  Mack caught Poppy’s arm. “Can we talk about this?”

  “Not now, Mack. Maybe later.”

  “I’m really not sure about this, Pop.”

  “I know. But I am.”

  They walked west until they were out of sight of the thorn tree. This time it was Nula that called a halt. She whipped a tiny silver sickle out of her sleeve.

  Mack moved to block her way.

  “Take it easy!” Nula rolled her eyes. “It’s just my herb knife. Now”—she turned to Poppy—“give me your hand.”

  “Uh…”

  “Do you want me to help you break the blood ward or not? Blood for blood. It’s the only way in the Grimwood.”

  Poppy swallowed and held out her hand.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Mack said. “We can go back—see if Jute will make cookies.”

  Poppy didn’t need to consider. Another few steps and she’d be in the forbidden part of the Grimwood. Farther than she’d ever been. Free.

  Nula must have seen the decision in her eyes because she gave Poppy a nod and took her hand in a firm grip. Poppy gasped as Nula swiped the sickle across her hand. It was a small cut, but blood bloomed to the surface, pooling in her palm.

  “Sorry,” Nula said, not sounding the least bit sorry. She brushed away the leaves and twigs with her foot. “Now. Squeeze your hand tight and let the blood fall onto the Grimwood soil.”

  Mack groaned as Poppy stared at her palm. She shook off a wave of dizziness, and did what the pooka said.

  Nula gripped her elbow and gave her a reassuring smile. “Repeat after me, okay?”

  Poppy nodded and met the pooka’s bright gold eyes.

  “Let. Me. In.”

  Poppy blinked, then repeated after Nula. “Let. Me. In.”

  “Now, twice more. Everything is thrice in this bloody wood.”

  Poppy grinned. “Let. Me. In. Let. Me. In.”

  Nula let go and looked up. “Right. That’s done. Got a bandage?”

  Poppy stared. “Wait, what? That … that’s it?”

  Mack’s face was full of storm clouds as he handed Poppy a roll of self-sticking bandages.

  Nula snatched it out of her hand, wound Poppy’s palm. “Blood wards on people can only take root with consent … or on those who aren’t strong enough to give permission. Your parents probably did it when you were little, right?”

  Poppy nodded.

  “So. You’ve taken back your consent. Done.”

  Poppy turned her attention to her body. Nula was right. Although her hand was throbbing, the buzzing in her head had stopped … the pins and needles were … gone! All that was left was the pain where her hand had been cut. She let out a peal of laughter and ran across the invisible boundary. Dog leaped after her with a bark.

  “Poppy, wait!” Mack shouted.

  She skidded to a stop and tipped her head back to look up into the trees. The air was soft on her skin, as familiar as the touch of a friend.

  Everything smelled sharp and golden—promising, like the scent of apples, and crushed pine needles under her feet, and of the heat rising off her skin. She was in the Grimwood! She could go as far as she wanted. Nothing could stop her. She spun in a circle until the dizziness came back, as Dog frolicked and barked around her, giddy and joyful.

  She fell to the ground, looking up at the sky through the trees with her arms spread wide, as if she could hug the world.

  Nula stood back, watching with an expression of startled bewilderment.

  “Feel better?” Mack chuckled, snatching Poppy’s injured hand from where she waved it in a sunbeam. He checked Nula’s wrapping and gave a grim nod.

  “I feel great!” Poppy shouted. “Mack!” She jumped to her feet and gripped his arms, shaking him. “We did it! I’m in the Grimwood. I’m really here.”

  He flushed, and his smile twitched. “Yup. You, me, and Pooka McStabby, over there.” He rolled his eyes. “Really though,” he said as he turned back to Poppy. “I’m glad you’re happy.”

  “Now we just have to find a way to get you into Strange Hollow. Then we’ll both have our wishes!”

  Mack’s cheeks grew redder.

  Nula grimaced. “You’re welcome, by the way. Why do you want to be in here so bad anyway?”

  Poppy shook her head. “I—I can’t explain.”

  How could she explain what the Grimwood meant to her? She had been hearing stories about it all her life … had held it up as the someday answer to every question. How could she tell a stranger that even though she’d never been past the edge of the wood, it was like family to her. The Grimwood had given her everything she loved. Mack! And Jute! And Dog! Even their home!

  And now she could pursue things to the fullest, all her questions … every single one—even the ones she hadn’t thought of yet—would be resolved and explored. She couldn’t wait to write down how to break a blood ward in her journal.

  Everything was perfect.

  The Grimwood was perfect.

  Mack let out a low grumble that she’d never heard before.

  “What is it?” Poppy stared at her friend as the tips of his ears twitched.

  “Something’s coming.” He turned to her, his copper eyes wide. “Something big.”

  As if echoing his words, she felt a strange drumming sound rise through the soles of her feet.

  She looked up, but there was no storm—only a canopy of green and shadow.

  “Hide, Poppy.” Mack scoured the wood. He grabbed hold of Dog’s collar. “Whatever it is, it’s huge! Hide now.”

  “What is it?” Nula flattened herself into a low crouch.

  Poppy could hear the drumming now—growing louder with every passing moment.

  The ground began to shake and even the trees shivered in place. Poppy’s stomach dropped. She pulled her knife from her boot.

  Nula met Poppy’s eyes and poofed into a small blue bird, rising to a high tree branch above Poppy.

  “Shouldn’t we run?” Poppy called to Mack, holding out one arm for balance.

  He shook his head. “It’s too late for that. And some things it’s best not to run from. Just please—hide, like I said. Get beh
ind a tree and try not to move. Hold on to it if you have to.” He picked up Dog and slung them over his shoulder.

  Poppy’s pulse leaped as she leaned her back into an enormous beech tree and waited. Its leaves quaked and rustled all around her.

  They stared into the forest—waiting as the drumming grew louder and louder. Dog whined, only to be hushed by Mack.

  The flashes of light were the first thing she saw. A whole flock of sparkles that shifted through the forest like a dream. The drumming was loud in Poppy’s head, echoing the throbbing of her pulse—faster. Faster. It sounded like … hoofbeats.

  The sparkles shifted, resolved into shimmering forms.

  Poppy stared.

  Unicorns! A whole herd of them. Their fur was thick and smooth—like mirrored silver, reflecting the sunlight and refracting rainbows as they ran. Their wide sides cast blurred reflections of the trees as they passed. Poppy gasped as one galloped so near that for a sharp moment she could see her own face reflected in its fur. It lifted its head and the light gleamed off its glass-like horn. Even their eyes seemed to catch the light and throw it back again.

  A moment, maybe two, and the herd was gone. The drumbeat of their hooves faded away to nothing, and the forest stilled in their wake, as if shocked into silence. It took a few minutes for Poppy to stop shaking, but she knew she’d been given a gift, and she promised herself she would never forget it. The Grimwood was magical. She had always known it, but she had never imagined anything so beautiful.

  “I wonder what they were running from,” Mack said in a low, awestruck voice.

  Nula, the bird, fluttered down from the tree to land between Poppy and Mack. A soft pop and she was a pooka again. “Wow,” she breathed. “Glad I didn’t miss that.”

  “Me too.” Poppy swallowed as she turned to the pooka. “Thank you, Nula. Really.”

  Surprise flashed across Nula’s face. Her cheeks flushed as she gave Poppy a small nod. “It was … It was no trouble.”

  On a whim, Poppy threw her arms around Mack’s neck and squeezed. Her reward was his fleeting look of shock and a red stain that spread up his neck.

  Poppy laughed and rolled her shoulders a few times until her neck cracked. Everything was perfect. She patted her leg to bring Dog to her side, relaxing as Eta leaned in to lick the back of her hand. “By the way, Nula. I’ve been meaning to ask you … When you change forms like that … what … happens to your clothes? I mean … they come right back again, but … where do you put them?”

  Nula stopped walking and turned a blank face to Poppy. “I never thought about that.” She laughed. “I don’t put them anywhere. When I shift, I guess the magic just knows what things are mine—the same way it knows the rest of me belongs to me.” She shrugged. “I don’t need to know how, as long as everything comes back again.”

  A mystery for another day, Poppy thought, turning to look over her shoulder at Mack. Sure enough, his blush had deepened. She put him out of his misery and changed the subject.

  “Let’s go to the Holly Oak. If anyone can tell us where to start looking for an altered malediction, it’s her.”

  Mack was still recovering from their conversation and Poppy’s burst of exuberance. His voice was softer than normal. “I know the unicorns were amazing, but the Grimwood’s not everything you think it is, Poppy.”

  “It’s more than I even hoped it would be. We’ll be fine—this is the right thing. Can’t you feel it?”

  “Well…”

  “Come on, Mack! This might be my only chance to explore. And anyway, what’s the worst that could happen?”

  He frowned. “Seriously?” He met Nula’s eyes, looking for backup, but the pooka’s gaze slid away.

  Poppy grinned at him. “We’ll be careful,” she amended. “I promise.”

  He huffed a breath. “Well, we’ll have to be.”

  They moved into the forest at a good pace. As they moved through the wood, the trees grew denser. Here and there, they saw thorn trees and avoided the darker circles of soil that marked their reach.

  Poppy was surprised how many there were … just on their own. Her parents’ journals spoke of the thorn groves in the Grimwood deep on the far side of the Holly Oak, but she hadn’t expected there to be so many thorn trees on the way. Dog kept their distance too. For the first time, Poppy could smell the iron-tinged scent of blood coming off the soil like a warning.

  The wood was quieter than she expected too. A breeze rustled through the canopy from time to time. But besides that, the occasional Mogwen song in the distance, and the thumping of a woodpecker, the only sounds were their footsteps, and Dog, panting. Maybe she had just grown so used to the constant buzzing of the blood ward that once it was gone everything seemed quiet.

  Dog was alert, except for Two, who kept falling asleep, his head lolling. Brutus trotted along next to Poppy, while Eta kept her ears cocked forward, listening.

  Ahead of them Nula slowed as she passed a tall moss-covered stone. She dropped down into the form of a small lynx and prowled around it—sniffing.

  “Mack?”

  “Yeah. I see her.”

  “What’s she doing? That looks almost like … a gravestone.”

  Brutus’s knees locked straight at the sight of the cat, but Poppy put her hand on his head. “Leave it, Brutus.” He gave her a baleful look, checked to see whether Eta was interested (she wasn’t), and huffed a breath.

  Poppy slipped forward to examine the stone too. It sat under a hawthorn tree—yet another plant covered in two-inch-long thorns—but at least the hawthorn trees didn’t try to eat you like thorn trees did. It had to be a really old grave. The stone crumbled at the corners, and the writing was so worn and covered in moss it was impossible to read.

  Mack stiffened. His voice was wary. “Poppy, does it seem … darker to you?”

  She looked up. A pall had fallen over the woods. “No … it’s just fog.”

  As if naming it gave permission, the fog began to sift up out of the ground. Nula appeared out of nowhere behind them and even Dog jumped. Brutus gave an offended woof.

  “We should go now,” Nula whined, herself again. She lay her ears flat into her thick brown hair. “I don’t like it here.”

  Poppy nodded, just as a piercing scream rattled through the fog. Dog tucked their tail and took off running.

  “Go!” Mack said.

  They ran.

  Nula was a lynx again, streaking through the trees like a ribbon. She passed Dog, and the cerberus raced forward, following Nula’s every zig and zag. Mack ran straight ahead, and although his stride outpaced Poppy’s, he stayed with her. They leaped over a fallen tree as behind them another wail rose.

  Poppy risked a look back.

  A woman made of fog and darkness swept toward them with wide blank eyes and open mouth. Her hair didn’t move at all. She had no feet.

  Poppy stumbled. “What is it?” she rasped as Mack hauled her up.

  “Banshee,” he said, panting. “I think it’s a banshee! Run for the river!”

  Poppy put on a burst of speed. She could feel the cold behind her like a wind at her back.

  Mack’s voice was ragged. “If an angry banshee catches us, we’re done. It’ll suck the life right out of us.”

  “Which way’s the river?”

  Mack pointed west and they cut to the left. Nula and Dog were way ahead, and Poppy hoped they were okay as she and Mack crashed through the undergrowth behind them. She tacked right to avoid a thorn tree and regretted letting go of Dog. What if they ran under one of the trees and the banshee grabbed them?

  “I hear the river,” Mack gasped.

  The sound of water rushing was like a beacon. They half ran, half fell down a steep slope. Dirt cascaded into Poppy’s boots. The river was fast and wide but didn’t look too deep. There was no time to consider it further as she stumbled in, Mack right behind her. The fog rolled down the hill and stopped abruptly a few feet from the water. It rose into a wall that danced and swirled as somethi
ng unseen paced back and forth inside.

  Poppy leaned forward to catch her breath. The water was ice cold but thankfully didn’t penetrate her boots. She looked upstream and saw Nula and Dog hurrying down the river toward them. Her lungs filled. Thank goodness. As soon as they were in reach, she pulled all three of Dog’s heads close, rubbing her forehead against Two. “Good dog,” she murmured as Eta kissed her cheek.

  Poppy looked back up at the wall of fog, wondering how long the banshee would wait.

  Next to her, Nula was wide-eyed and twitchy. Her skin had gone a deeper shade of blue. “Banshees aren’t usually so aggressive,” she said, wiping blue beads of sweat from her brow. “But I’m sure it will leave soon,” she added in a whisper as if she had heard Poppy’s thoughts and was trying to convince them both.

  Mack cast a look at her. “Banshees are tied, either to their graves or to their families. They aren’t meant to be aggressive at all … unless they’re disturbed … which, I guess, this one was.” He frowned. “Anyway, they can’t go too far, so we should be out of her territory soon.”

  Poppy pressed her lips together. “We’ll cross to the shore on the other side.”

  Poppy spun and marched toward the opposite bank, trying not to splash water over the tops of her boots. The river stayed shallow. She felt a rush of gratitude for practical footwear as she reached the other side and let her pack drop to the ground. She yanked out her journal.

  Nula leaned toward Mack. “What’s she doing?”

  Mack snorted. “If I had to guess, I’d say she’s making a little map showing the banshee grave … maybe taking a few notes?”

  Poppy nodded, but otherwise ignored them.

  “Now?”

  Mack shrugged. “The banshee won’t cross the river. Poppy doesn’t want to forget.”

  Nula cast a hopeful look at Poppy. “You did bring lunch though, right?”

  Poppy lifted her face to Nula’s and pulled a face, aiming her thumb at her pack. “Of course I did. I want to get a little farther first though.”

  Nula frowned. “Oh. Of course you thought of that. I should have known. You’re smarter than me, probably,” she added. Something flickered through Nula’s eyes, but it was gone before Poppy could even be sure she’d seen it.