The Edge of Strange Hollow

by Gabrielle K. Byrne

  “What chance? The chance that this magical forest will just let you do what you want with no consequences? IN TWENTY-FOUR HOURS?” he roared.

  Mack was yelling at her. A sick feeling began to build in Poppy’s stomach. His anger had caught him off guard too. He slumped against a tree and turned to face her.

  When he spoke again, his voice was soft and sad. “You think you know better than everyone around you, but I know these woods better than you, Poppy. That’s a fact.” He wiped a tear off his cheek. “I don’t know everything … but you—you just throw yourself into things all the time. You don’t think. You don’t care what your choices cost the people who care about you.”

  There was a bitter taste at the back of Poppy’s throat and heat burned her cheeks. “What should I have done, Mack? If we’d done things your way, we would still be waiting at the Holly Oak! You know, it’s easy for you to say that we should play by the rules. It’s not your parents that are missing! It’s not you that spent your whole life trapped at the edge of Strange Hollow, between your own people and the Grimwood.”

  They glared at each other across the distance, until Poppy began to feel sick again.

  Mack’s voice was almost a whisper. “Fine. Learn the hard way. It’s obvious that nothing I say can stop you … but I choose the elven way—Do right, and you’ll be right. I promised Jute I would stay, and I will. I keep my promises. But our friendship—I don’t know if I can do it anymore, Poppy.” And with that, Mack turned and strode into the forest.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Poppy’s feet made no sound on the carpet of soft pine needles as she walked away. She needed a minute to compose herself. There was no way she was going to let Mack see her cry.

  Sitting next to Poppy, Eta and Brutus were of two minds, with Eta leaning into Poppy, and Brutus staring toward where Mack had stopped, back turned, a distance away. Two let out a plaintive cry.

  Mack’s words hurt, but at least it gave her something to focus on besides the guilt and dread that washed over her when he said she didn’t care—that she could learn the hard way. He was being unfair, and if she could be angry at him for it, then she didn’t have to think about what he said. She didn’t have to wonder if he was right. She didn’t have to consider whether it was even possible to find her parents … if they were even alive. She pushed every doubt to the side and focused on feeling the low, steady burn in her chest.

  A small sniff from behind a tree told Poppy that Nula was back. Mack must have realized it too, because he straightened.

  “Nula?” Poppy called.

  “Yes?”

  “Why are you hiding behind a tree?”

  “Because you shouldn’t have to look at me. She said I’m—I’m nobody … nothing—no one wants me.”

  “Come out. That’s not true,” Poppy said at the same time that Mack turned and said, “You’re someone.”

  “We want you,” Poppy added gently, glancing at Mack.

  The pooka sniffed. “You do?”

  “The faeries have always thought they’re better than everyone else.” Mack rolled his eyes. “They can’t stand to think they’re just like the rest of us.”

  “But they’re not,” Nula protested. “They’re so much … more.”

  “Are not,” Poppy insisted.

  “They’re not,” Mack agreed, and the kindness in his voice forced a lump into Poppy’s throat.

  Nula’s tail swished like a pendulum from behind the tree. “But they’re so beautiful.”

  “I don’t think so,” Poppy managed to say. “I think they’re creepy … with their streaky eyes, and those giant spiders spinning silk for them, are you kidding?”

  Nula stepped out and cocked her head at Poppy and gave a small, watery laugh.

  Mack gave Nula a gentle smile. “Beauty is what we do and who we are. Physical beauty is nothing compared to loyalty, and wit, and kindness.”

  “I’m witty.” Nula sniffed again.

  Mack laughed, and Poppy dropped her gaze to her boots, fighting tears. She’d never fought with Mack before—not like this. It was like bleeding—painful, and irritating, and messy all at once. You did promise, a voice in her head implored. Poppy felt the hurt in Mack’s gaze, but she kept her eyes on the ground.

  “Agreed,” Poppy answered Nula at last, her throat tight. She gritted her teeth. It wasn’t fair for Mack to be angry at her. He wasn’t the one whose parents were trapped in some kind of soul catcher. What if she couldn’t get them back? He was supposed to be on her side.

  Nula leaned against the tree. “Do you really believe that stuff … that stuff about beauty though?” Her cheeks were tearstained, bright tracks over her blue skin.

  Mack moved to put one hand on Nula’s shoulder, and the anger rushed out of Poppy in an instant, leaving her hollow and tired. “When you get to know Mack better,” she said, “you’ll realize that he’s usually right.”

  Nula must have heard the bite in her voice, because she shot a look at Mack, and then back to Poppy again.

  “Are you two okay?” she asked.

  Mack didn’t answer. Instead he looked up through the canopy. “The sun is setting. We need to make sure we’re safe for the night.”

  Poppy shook her head. “We can’t stop for the night. We only have twenty-four hours to find the Valkyries and capture their song.”

  “Right.” Mack’s shoulders tightened. “But walking through the Grimwood at night isn’t an option for us … which,” he added, “I’m sure the Faery Queen knew when she made that deal with you.”

  Poppy swallowed.

  “We’ll just have to make the best of it. And maybe we’ll get farther, faster if we get some rest. I’m going to get us some food. If I were you, I’d get out the salt and iron shavings, and make a circle big enough for all of us to sleep in.”

  Poppy muttered about Mack being a know-it-all as she pulled the bag of shavings from her pack. Nula dragged over a big flat stone for a cook fire. After seeing the thorn trees spring up out of nowhere to douse the fires they’d escaped, it seemed wise to keep flames off the soil. Poppy sprinkled the coarse grains of salt, dappled with thin curls of iron in a huge circle around them. She enclosed a large ash tree to lean against, and made sure the circle was big enough for all of them to sit around the fire, and to take turns lying down.

  Once the circle was finished, Poppy gathered windfall wood to get them through the night. Nula helped. The forest was peaceful. Spike frogs thrummed in the trees and along the riverbed, and even the crickets were starting to carouse at the edge of the stream, as the wind creaked through the trees. They settled in to wait for Mack, and Dog curled up next to her, Eta resting her chin on Poppy’s lap.

  She hoped her parents were okay. They were tough—she knew that much from reading their journals. They would fight back if they could. She hated the quiet for allowing all her thoughts to rush in. Were they in pain? If it had been her that had gotten caught, how long would it have been before they even noticed she was gone? She shook the thoughts away, but others came rushing in to take their place.

  She hoped Jute was okay. He would have noticed she was missing right away. And Mack.

  Mack. A lump rose again in her throat and she swallowed hard. After a while Poppy’s eyes grew heavy, despite the ache in her chest. The leaves danced above her, shimmering in the early evening light. Her parents were in danger. She knew that. But even knowing it, and even considering what had happened with the faeries just a short time before, it was hard, in that moment, to imagine anyone fearing the Grimwood. It’s like a bear, she thought, as her mind began to drift. Harmless when it’s resting, but dangerous when disturbed.

  Poppy must have dozed, because when she opened her eyes, the forest was the deep blue of past dusk. A sweet salty smoke drifted over their camp and she sat up. Mack’s eyes were closed, but he sat with his back against the big tree and his arms crossed, as though daring anyone to disturb him.

  Mack had banked the fire and set their single p
an across some coals. Poppy moved closer to see what was in it. Tentaculars, cut into strips and sizzling in water with cress and fresh green onion. Her mouth watered.

  Nula was wide awake too. She crouched near the edge of the circle with a book open on the ground next to her. Her blue skin almost made her disappear in the evening light. She wasn’t reading the book though—she was poking it with a stick. Poppy watched her for a moment, her brain trying to make sense of what she was seeing. When her thoughts caught up with her mouth, she asked the pooka what she was doing.

  Nula cocked her head. “I’m poking this book.”

  “Okay, yes. I see that you’re poking it. Why are you poking it … and where did it come from?”

  “I’m poking it to try and get it to show me what it’s hiding. And I got it from the Holly Oak.”

  “The Holly Oak gave you a book? Can I see?”

  “Sure. And no. She didn’t give it to me. I nicked it.”

  Poppy moved too fast. The rush of dizziness made her head throb. “You … you stole it from the Holly Oak?”

  Nula stopped poking. “I guess. Technically. But it was practically begging me to take it. You should have seen it, glittering away on that shelf in the closet. She must have known I’d take it.”

  Poppy shook her head. The book was just plain brown leather. “What are you talking about? What shelf?” Behind her Mack let out a gentle snore, and Poppy lowered her voice to a hiss. “What were you thinking? You can’t take things from the Holly Oak. What if she finds out?”

  “If she cared, she would have stopped me. She could, you know. Anyway, I told you. It wanted me to take it. Come see.” Nula picked it up and held it out.

  Against her better judgment, Poppy shifted to her knees so she could crawl over to the pooka. If Mack found out they were in possession of a book the pooka had stolen from the oldest, and most revered creature in the Grimwood, he would never speak to her again. She almost didn’t want to know about it herself.

  Almost.

  The book was small and thin—unassuming. The brown leather cover was embossed with the image of a tree inside a circle of clasped hands. The page edges were silver. Poppy’s breath tightened in her chest as she reached out to take it.

  It was heavy—much heavier than it should have been with so few pages, as though the secrets it held had a weight of their own. She opened it.

  The pages were blank.

  Except—in the middle of the book, there were several pages that looked as though someone had tried to write something and failed. A huge splotch of ink spread over the inside, like someone’s pen had vomited on the book’s inner seam. She turned the page. Blank again, but with a splotch on the left-hand page. The next was on the right.

  Altogether there were seven pages with ink splotches.

  “Seven pages,” Nula said. Her voice was as somber as Poppy had ever heard it. “Look out for sevens in the wood,” she said in a low voice. “And threes. Sometimes nines.”

  “Nine is just three threes,” Poppy said absently as she let the pages ruffle through her fingers. “What is it, do you think? A journal or something?”

  Nula shook her head. “Nothing ordinary like that. Feel how heavy it is? It’s magic. I’d bet anything.”

  Nula poked it with the stick, despite the fact that Poppy was still holding it. “But it’s useless if it won’t give up its secrets.”

  “Stop that.” Poppy pushed away the stick and rubbed at the first ink splotch. She wasn’t really sure why, but she believed Nula—that the book had something magic in it. It occurred to her—too late now—that it could have been a malediction. She shouldn’t have touched it at all.

  She narrowed her eyes at the pooka, but Nula hadn’t gone into any kind of trance. She hadn’t left the circle to wander into the wood in search of a thorn grove either. Poppy’s heart returned to its normal rhythm and she turned her attention back to the book. “I wonder what it is.”

  “Inklings,” Mack said just behind her in a soft voice that made Nula yelp and jump a mile.

  “Sorry,” Mack laughed. “I didn’t realize you weren’t paying attention to the elf sneaking up behind you.”

  “Very funny.”

  “Where did that come from?” he asked.

  Poppy and Nula locked eyes. There was a heartbeat of silence that Poppy was sure would tip Mack off. Without taking her eyes off Poppy, Nula said, “Just a book. I’ve been trying to figure out how to unlock it, but the whole thing just lies there.”

  Mack held out his hand and Poppy set the book in his palm. She scooted closer. Was he still angry?

  He didn’t look at her, but took the book, frowning at the weight. “The ink just lies there because it isn’t ink.”

  Poppy grimaced. “Well then, what is it? Moldy cheese?”

  “Like I said, inklings,” he answered coldly. “Give me your knife.”

  Poppy’s heart flipped, but she pulled the small blade from her boot and handed it over. Mack took the tip of the knife and made a cut on the pad of his pointer finger. Poppy sucked in her breath.

  “It’s like most everything in the Grimwood,” he explained.

  “Ohhhh—out for blood,” Nula finished, leaning forward. “Inklings, you say? I’ve never seen them before.”

  “What are they?” Poppy asked as Mack’s blood began to drip onto the pages. She drew back as the ink blot rolled over the book toward the blood and seemed to absorb it through the page.

  “Nine drops,” Mack said, squeezing his fingertip. “That’s seven.” He grimaced. “They’re creatures—wood folk, like us. But they live off the magic trapped in books. Plenty of magical books in the Grimwood.” He aimed a stiff smile at the ground. “Everybody’s got one.”

  “Not glittery ones,” Nula muttered.

  Mack shot her a strange look. “Annnnyway, the inklings sort of hibernate in there, until you feed them, and then they remember their places again. There,” he sighed, popping his finger in his mouth as the last drop fell to the page. A moment later, the ink on the page began to roll.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The inklings shifted and rolled like black sand, first over one page and then the other, until at last small curls peeled away to form themselves into words.

  Stay away from the Grimwood, child.

  Stay away from the fog.

  Stay away from the thorn trees, child.

  Stay away from the bog.

  Tooth for tooth.

  Blood or bone.

  Promises are made of stone.

  Know your place, and

  Watch the weather.

  Wood and home must rise together.

  A shiver passed over Poppy. “That’s like the rhyme they say in Strange Hollow.”

  “The first bit, anyway,” Mack acknowledged.

  “How’s that one go, then?” Nula asked.

  Poppy swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “Stay away from the Grimwood, child. Stay away from the fog. Stay away from the thorn trees, child. Stay away from the bog. Keep the promise. Rue the day. The Grimwood is no place to play. Close the shutters. Lock the doors. They come for you on twos and fours. They come for you on twos and fours.”

  “What do you say that for? That’s scary.”

  Poppy gave a small nod. “It’s a children’s rhyme. A warning. And, I think it’s supposed to amplify the warding … to keep away the monsters. But it doesn’t work.”

  “Humans are weird,” Mack acknowledged.

  “Well, it sounds like a bargain if you ask me,” Nula said.

  He cocked his head. “How do you figure?”

  Poppy blanched at the word “bargain.” “Well, they do both mention promises—that’s a bit like a bargain, isn’t it?

  “Only if they get something in return,” Mack grumbled, digging his toes into the forest floor.

  What do you think it means?”

  “And why did the Holly Oak have it?” Nula added.

  Mack froze. “What?”

  “I mean …
why … did … the Holly Oak also have it?”

  Mack frowned but said nothing.

  “Give me the knife,” Poppy said. “I’ll do the other pages.”

  “No,” Mack said, stabbing another finger.

  “Fine,” Poppy muttered under her breath.

  The other pages were different. There were six of them—three on either side of the rhyme. Each one was a drawing, and the inklings sketched them in like woodcuts. The first one showed monsters in a village—fires and screaming people. Arms and legs. It was gross.

  Mack flipped the page, while both Poppy and Nula peered over his shoulders. The second drawing was of a young woman with a kerchief over her hair. She stood in front of the remaining villagers with her hands up like she was trying to get them to listen. In the third picture the same woman led all the people into the forest. A huge tree stood in front of them. “Is that the Holly Oak?” Poppy asked, but Mack had already turned the page. The fourth page—right in the middle—was the rhyme.

  Nula reached for the knife and Mack gave it to her. Her blood was blue, with a pearly sheen. It beaded on the page until the inklings swirled around it like ravenous parasites. The next image was of the woman and the tree facing each other. Behind the woman stood all the people, and behind the tree—a horde of beasts and monsters. Poppy recognized the giant spiders of the faery court.

  The sixth page was different again from the others. It was a circle of hands, and a tree in the middle. “Like the cover,” Poppy whispered. The pairs of hands shivered, as if they shook one another.

  The last picture was of a grove of thorn trees. The inklings ran over the pages, making the thorny whips thrash.

  “What does it mean?” Poppy asked.

  “Nothing good, I bet,” Nula muttered.

  Poppy shuddered and slapped the book closed, in Mack’s lap. He startled and looked at her but turned away when she caught his eye.

  “Now that’s a weird book.” Nula grimaced, slipping the book out of Mack’s hands and back into the pocket of her tunic.