The Edge of Strange Hollow

by Gabrielle K. Byrne

  She laughed again. “Now what?”

  “We should go west,” Nula said. “Wood folk always like the west.”

  Mack shook his head. “Valkyries are immortal battle maidens, not wood folk … and this is the perfect place for a battle,” he argued. “This is the meadows. We should wait for them here.”

  Nula scowled. “You think they’re just going to show up?”

  “Okay, well, it’s a better idea than just walking west.”

  Poppy followed the trail of bent grasses that Dog had left in their wake, moving away from Mack and Nula’s bickering. She closed her eyes and inhaled. The air cleared her mind, settling her doubts.

  She was still in the Grimwood, and her wager with the Faery Queen wasn’t just a threat. It was an opportunity. If she succeeded, she would be on the track of the Soul Jar in no time. She would rescue her parents.

  She could do this. She’d been preparing all of her life. She dropped her backpack to the ground and pulled out her notebook, scanning all the notes she’d made from her parents’ journals—looking for any mention of the bluff meadow or of Valkyrie.

  Behind her, Mack and Nula had finished bickering, and like her had paused to take in the meadow. Dog was barking, so Mack threw a stick for them. A smile played over his face as he looked out across toward the bluff.

  Poppy closed her eyes and took another deep breath. When she opened them, she made out water sparkling in the distance, far below the cliffs. She wondered if it was the Alcyon. Farther still she could see more bluffs, and flashed to the vision she had seen while she was standing on the stairs of the Holly Oak, looking out. It had to be the Alcyon! She was on those bluffs—the ones she had seen—high above the fathomless salt sea, surrounded by forest. Her heart skipped a beat.

  Battle maidens, Mack had called the Valkyrie. The phrase rang a bell in her mind … reminded her of something she had heard. Across the distance a bird let out a piercing cry, jogging her memory. Her parents had talked about a bird they wanted to see one day … a bird that was beloved by battle maidens. She flipped to her glossary.

  There it was, in the B section! Battle maidens, also called Valkyrie, are warrior women (immortal) who get to choose who lives or dies at any battle they attend. In the northern homeland of the Valkyrie, warriors consider it an honor to be chosen to go with them to the afterlife. Their battle cry is a fierce weapon, honed from the souls of the fallen. They are said to ride a bird called a Kohko. It is made of iron and fire and will answer only to the same.

  A shriek echoed across the meadow, and a shadow darkened the sky above them, rippling out across the grasses like a wave. She looked up and knew what she had to do.

  “Dog!” she called, rooting through her pack. “Dog! Come!”

  They appeared at her side, covered in grass seed, all three of them sparkly-eyed and panting. She smirked. “Good Dog! Now, stay close to me.”

  She yanked out her little iron bell and set it on the ground, fishing down into her pack. Across the meadow, Mack and Nula had seen the shadow too. They ran toward her, their eyes wide. Mack was shouting.

  They were in for a surprise. She just hoped it was a good one.

  She exhaled with relief as she found what she was looking for and hurried to pull the last of Dog’s bone from her pack, waving it back and forth over her head, so the bird would be sure to see. Brutus gave an offended woof, but Poppy kept a firm grip on their collar.

  Mack and Nula arrived, short of breath, at her side.

  “What are you doing?” Mack asked.

  On her other side, Nula watched her with stark amazement, as if she might spring another head.

  “I’m calling us a ride.” Poppy tipped her chin at the silhouette of the enormous bird, growing larger against the sun. It had veered toward them.

  Mack’s mouth opened and shut, and opened again. “Not on that?”

  Poppy grinned.

  Mack grabbed her arm with one hand, and Dog’s collar with the other, yanking them both back, as if he would spin them back into the forest to hide.

  “Mack! This is right. I’m sure of it.”

  His face didn’t change expression, but he let go, and stood beside her, his body still and tense.

  Poppy had told him she was certain … but as the bird grew closer, Poppy’s doubt grew. Its wings spanned almost the whole meadow. The sun shone against it as it got closer, disappearing into thick silver-black feathers the color of iron. It opened its hooked beak to scream, red eyes glittering like fire.

  “Ummmmmm,” said Nula, grabbing hold of Poppy’s pocket and disappearing inside. Poppy patted the mouse idly, her heart in her throat.

  Mack pulled the net gun from Poppy’s pack. “If you get us killed, my mother’s going to kill us both. You haven’t met her yet, Poppy, but believe me, if I’m dead, you won’t want to.”

  The bird’s shadow fell over them and Poppy gave him a small smirk. They both knew the bird wouldn’t even notice the net. Poppy left her knife in her boot.

  Tensed to run, Poppy stepped forward, waving the bone in the air. The bird answered, letting out a shriek that split the air. It pulled up, lowering its black-taloned feet to the ground. Its muscled legs, each as big as Poppy, were covered in thick feathers.

  She tossed the bone upward, and let out her breath as the bird snapped it out of the air and dropped the bone down its gullet. Eta whined. Poppy caught a glimpse of a long black harness, covered in bells. A huge black saddle, with a rectangular basket at the back boosted her confidence.

  She took a step forward.

  The bird spun, beak wide—and stabbed forward.

  Poppy let out a yelp and jumped back, knocking Mack to the ground. Dog began to bark.

  The bird turned toward them.

  “No!” Poppy screamed.

  Dog stood their ground, legs wide, all three heads snarling.

  The bird let out another cry and stabbed again.

  Dog shot to the left of it, finding their stance again and moving forward, their snarls intensifying.

  “We have to help them,” Mack cried, running to Dog’s side. In her pocket, Nula was spinning in circles. The pooka appeared at her side again, tearing Poppy’s pocket. “It’s magic!” she hissed, diving into Poppy’s other pocket.

  Poppy stared at the bird. Think! Think! She couldn’t think. The tinkling of bells was incessant and distracting.

  Bells! Bells! That’s it!

  The bird dived again and Mack cried out, shooting a net that landed covering half the bird’s head. It shook the net off without a thought and stabbed its beak at the ground again and again.

  Dog lunged, barking to try to drive the bird off.

  Poppy’s blood was rushing so fast she thought she might pass out. She grabbed for the iron bell where it had fallen, her fingertips reaching out to touch the smooth, cool metal. She yanked it up and held it high in the air. The long wooden handle was so delicate compared to the handle of her knife, but she rang it hard, filling the air with its cold, clear song.

  The bird stilled and turned toward her.

  Poppy bent forward, still ringing the bell for all she was worth. She took a deep, shuddering breath, and kept her arm swinging, but after a moment stood straight.

  Mack was staring at her.

  “Get Dog … please,” she said quietly. “Pick them up and get on.”

  To his credit, Mack didn’t ask questions. He grabbed Dog, who had also stilled and had eyes only for Poppy, and approached the bird. Poppy stepped nearer, holding the bell high in the air in front of the bird.

  As if in a trance, the bird lowered one wing, and Mack, after a quick glance back at her, climbed up into the saddle. He put Dog in the basket and closed the lid, fastening the small hooks.

  Poppy went next. Her arm had gone numb, but she waved the bell as though her life depended on it. She was pretty sure it did.

  She climbed up in front of Mack, still ringing. The saddle had black leather loops on the sides—handholds. Mack had alread
y grabbed his. She met his eyes over her shoulder, and he nodded.

  Poppy took a deep breath and shoved the handle of the bell between her teeth, grabbing hold of the loops.

  The air continued ringing for a moment after the clapper fell silent, but as soon as the sound stopped resonating, the bird squawked and shook its head as though shaking off a biting insect. It shuffled its powerful legs, stamping as it spun toward the cliffs. The whoosh of its giant wings flattened the grasses.

  Poppy screamed through gritted teeth as it ran toward the edge of the cliff, launching them off the edge.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Wind whipped through Poppy’s hair and ruffled the bird’s feathers as they picked up speed. It circled, gaining height as their shadow passed over the meadow where they had been standing moments before. The bird arced downward, angling toward the glittering sea far below them. A moment later it evened out, moving farther out over the open water.

  There the bird paused, hanging high in the air, hovering with neither weight nor care. A joyful rush of air filled Poppy’s lungs.

  And then the bird dived—straight down.

  The wind ripped away Poppy’s scream. The bell fell, toppling from her teeth. Behind her Mack screamed too, and inside the basket, Dog let out a keening whine.

  The bird let out a cry as they plummeted toward the bell, spiraling toward the sea.

  Poppy glimpsed the Holly Oak island and saw the bell disappear into the Alcyon as the bird let out another sharp cry—lifting them up—back into the sunlit sky.

  She looked back at Mack, who had turned a sickly shade of green. Her whole body shook, and she squeezed her eyes shut. They were so high up. “Are you all right?” she called back, trying not to think about it.

  Mack coughed out a yes, and she blew out a breath.

  The bird rose and rose, and each time it beat its enormous wings Poppy wondered how far they had gone. After a few beats of its wings, she forced herself to open her eyes, and though her heart was in her throat, she couldn’t help smiling. Ahead of them rose a chalk-white bluff and in the distance, Poppy could see people standing on the rocky landscape—watching their approach.

  She nudged Mack and felt him draw in a breath behind her.

  They were close enough now for Poppy to see that the watchers were women. The sunlight gleamed and sparked off their armor, so bright they were hard to see. Poppy counted seven of them, all wearing helmets, with long spears in their hands and swords at their waists. They stood in formation, like the tip of an arrow, pointing right at Poppy. The woman at the tip stepped forward to greet them as the bird set down on the cliffside.

  Poppy slid from the saddle. Mack let Dog out and jumped down with them in his arms to stand behind her.

  The woman’s red braids hung from her helmet like soft chains of copper. The sun behind her was so bright that her head and shoulders were edged with light, as if she was on fire. The woman shifted her weight, casting her own face into shadow. Poppy caught a glimpse of ice-blue eyes and sharp, pale features before the woman shifted again and Poppy had to look away. The armor of all three women sparkled, so bright in the sun that it made her eyes water painfully.

  Mack’s voice dropped low. “Poppy … be careful.”

  She scowled, and opened her mouth to protest, then changed her mind and leaned closer to listen instead.

  Mack went on. “The Faery Queen sent us straight to them. She didn’t want to do this herself.”

  Poppy let his words sink in. He was right, of course. It was Mack’s special, and most annoying, talent. She sighed. It was time she gave him the same respect he always showed her, and listened.

  “You’re right,” she whispered back. “We should be on our guard for tricks…”

  His eyes had widened. “Yeah—okay. It’s clear the Valkyries are a danger she didn’t want to face herself. Just … go slow, okay?”

  She let Mack see that she had heard him—had understood, then turned to the women.

  Nula poofed out of her pocket, appearing at her side, and Poppy wished she could see the women’s faces properly, to know if they were startled. They kept the angle of the sunlight just right to hide their faces, and their emotions, if they had any.

  At her side, Dog let out a long, low growl, and though none of the women had spoken a word, Poppy sensed a shift in the air. She had the strange thought that there was more to them than just their bodies … that while their forms stood waiting, their spirits pushed at some invisible boundary, testing whether it could hold them back.

  Still the women didn’t speak. Poppy could see the corded muscles of their necks, tight with strain.

  Poppy’s pulse fluttered in answer, but she knew—her instinct focused on the predators watching her—that showing fear now would be a fatal error. These women were just as dangerous as any other monster of the wood.

  “Are you the Valkyries?” Poppy asked, lifting her chin.

  Nula leaned to whisper in her ear. “They’re supposed to be very proud—flatter them, if you can.”

  The woman at the front stepped forward and looked straight down at Poppy, and seemed to grow taller. Mack tried to tug her back, but Poppy resisted and lifted her eyes to meet the woman’s face.

  “I am Brynne, general of these great battle maidens. We wait for war. Why have you sought us out? You are no warrior.”

  Poppy almost argued with her, but bit the inside of her cheek instead. Flatter them, Nula had said. “Great General!” she began, trying to sound as formal as Brynne had. “I have longed all my life to learn the ways of the Valkyrie battle maidens.”

  This wasn’t precisely true. Still, Poppy wanted to know everything about the Grimwood, and they were in it.

  Brynne gave a derisive snort. “Only the greatest of gods can make a battle maiden. You are foolish to pursue it.”

  “Is it true that you choose who lives and dies in battle?”

  Brynne threw back her shoulders. “It is true. When we attend a battle, we choose those who have the greatest fire within them—the ones who are fiercest as they face death. Only they are worthy to dine with us in the great halls of the dead.”

  “Wow—that’s really cool. You must be … you must be really strong, and brave … and … and wise.”

  “Yes.”

  Mack nudged her.

  Too much? Not enough? Poppy wasn’t sure. “I bet you’re fast as lightning,” she added.

  The compliment was like a match.

  Suddenly all seven of the Valkyries burst into action—breaking into pairs and swinging their swords at each other, so they sparked and clanged.

  “Yes,” said Brynne, striking a pose with her sword. “We are beauty and dread.” She struck another pose. “We are terror and deliverance.” She lunged into a third pose, her sword arm cast like a scorpion’s sting, over her head. “We are redemption and glory and—”

  “And you’re singers?”

  The Valkyries froze. Brynne stood, stepping closer, and this time Mack did drag Poppy back. Dog moved to block the Valkyrie general, baring their teeth.

  A cold wind whipped through Poppy and she shivered. “I—I mean, I’ve heard you sing?”

  “What do you know of the song of the Valkyries?”

  Poppy swallowed. “Only that it’s the most glorious … most mind-numbing.”

  “Stunning,” Mack chimed in.

  “The finest of all songs,” Nula squeaked.

  “Hmph,” Brynne huffed, turning her attention to Dog. Poppy held out her hand—as if she could have stopped a Valkyrie—as Brynne crouched to look each of Dog’s heads in the face. Dog stilled, and Poppy tasted bile. If the Valkyrie did something to Dog, Poppy wasn’t sure what she would do … but it would take more than Mack to stop her.

  “This is a fine beast. From whence do they hail?”

  Poppy drew back. “Uhh … They hail from here. From the Grimwood.”

  Brynne rested one hand on Brutus’s head. Eta let out a whine.

  “They do not.
Their heritage is in another place—as it is for all in this place you call the Grimwood. Do you know their heritage or do you not?”

  “Dog was born in the Grimwood.”

  Brynne rose. “It matters not. You will be honored to gift them to us.”

  Poppy crossed her arms. “No. I will not be honored. I will never part with them.”

  Brynne drew herself to her full height, glowering down at Poppy.

  “I will be honored to hear your song.”

  Brynne’s eyes flashed. “You wish to hear our battle song?”

  The Valkyries behind her seemed almost to rustle, like reeds on a riverbank.

  “I do.”

  “The song we sing to call out the souls of our chosen. The song we sing as we head into battle, to declare to all those about to spill blood that their lives are ours to cull—and ours to judge? That is the song you wish to hear?”

  Poppy’s mouth had gone dry.

  From inside her pocket, Nula pushed up the small blue bottle, and Poppy took it, twisting the cork in her fingers. With her other hand, she reached out and pushed Mack backward two steps, to bring them closer to the bird. Maybe they could jump on and—

  Brynne lifted her hand and with a cry, the bird lifted off without them, shooting straight up into the blue sky, rising higher and higher.

  There was a sucking sound—as if someone had taken a huge inhale and pulled all the air from around them. Brynne and the other Valkyries opened their mouths, and there was a bright, loud ringing sound.

  Poppy didn’t wait to figure out what was happening. She yanked open the bottle and pointed it at the Valkyrie general.

  There was a pop and a whoosh. The air was back again. Poppy replaced the cork and shoved the bottle deep into the front pocket of her jeans. She had done it—she had captured the Valkyries’ song.

  Everything was still for a moment. She could see Brynne’s face fully now—and all the others’ as well, like she hadn’t been able to before. It was as though the sun had disappeared behind a cloud, though there wasn’t a single one in the sky.