“Come out and face justice!” the governor’s voice rose. “Come out and face us, monsters! We all saw them! You can’t pretend anymore! We saw your elf spying in town—and your shape changer! We saw the creatures you’re hiding in there!” His voice dropped. “Send them out … turn them over … and we’ll leave you in peace.”
Her mother pushed to the door, fury contorting her features. “These monsters are better people than any of you! You don’t deserve—”
“Burn it down!” the governor cried, drowning out her words.
The sound of glass smashing against the front of the house was followed by the rushing heat of flame.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“No!” Poppy screamed.
The house caught fire at once, the hall filling with orange light.
Another smash, and fire burst into the living room.
“Out the back,” Jute said. “Quickly.”
They raced out the back door, into the small meadow that was the only buffer between Poppy’s house and the wood. A flaming bottle flew end over end, spilling fire and smashing above them against Poppy’s tower bedroom.
Poppy stared at the flames, her heart in her throat.
“What should we do?” Mack called.
“They’re back here,” a voice called, and suddenly there were people everywhere, swarming toward them.
Poppy cried out.
Nula dropped into a crouch and let out a roar that stopped their pursuers in their tracks. Her parents began firing their net guns.
Several men and women headed for Mack. Poppy aimed her net gun at one man and fired, knocking him to the ground. She hurried toward him, but caught sight of Jute and stopped. He was by the house, grabbing handfuls of dirt and throwing it at the flames as if there were the slightest chance he could put them out.
A shout spun her around. More people surrounded Mack, and Poppy broke into a run. She aimed her net gun again and was about to fire it, when from the corner of her eye she saw the governor stride around the side of the house—saw the moment when he spotted Jute. She lurched to a stop, her feet rooting to the ground. Who should she help first? Which way should she go? Mack had thrown two of the men off, but more were coming.
She looked back at Jute. He didn’t see the governor at all. “Jute!” Poppy cried. “Jute! Look out!” She raced toward him, but the governor was too quick. He stabbed the end of his torch toward Jute. The hob screamed.
Suddenly her father was there, lunging at the governor and hauling him backward. The governor slashed at him with a knife, freeing himself and opening a cut on her father’s arm.
Everything around Poppy slowed. Jute had fallen back to his knees, still trying to throw dirt on the fire, his burned arm clutched to his chest.
Mack had gotten loose and stood with Poppy’s mother, throwing the small bottles of stonebrew at the attacking men, but it only slowed them a little. They were driving Mack and her mother back toward the edge of the wood.
Her father, blood running down his arm, rolled on the ground with the governor, neither able to get the upper hand.
Poppy stood, frozen. She didn’t know which way to turn. Everyone she loved was in danger.
More people came around the sides of the house. A big woman’s black eyes glittered at her as she closed in.
To her right, Nula was surrounded by torches, her fierce tiger eyes reflecting their light.
They were losing.
They were losing.
Strange Hollow wouldn’t listen—and they wouldn’t remember.
There was a crash as part of her home’s roof caved in and the flames licked higher. The whole house was burning now.
“Look out!” Mack yelled from behind her somewhere.
The ground began to shake.
For a second, Poppy thought it was just her imagination, but then, around her, people lost their footing, stumbling. Some dropped their torches as they looked at one another, trying to get their balance and figure out what was happening.
From under the flaming husk of Poppy’s house, glittering black trees rose from the ground. The fires sizzled and hissed, and began to go out.
Jute stood, watching with a horrified expression as a thorn tree pushed its way out of the ground.
One after another the thorn trees rushed toward the sky.
“Home and wood must rise together,” Poppy mouthed the words as a black tree rose a few feet in front of her, blocking her view of Jute and the dawn-lit sky.
As the sunlight reached out to sparkle over its black bark, one whip lashed out and tore a gash across her cheek. Poppy lifted her fingers to touch it.
They came away covered in blood. Blood. She flashed to a memory of Nula at the Grimwood’s edge with her knife in her hand. “Blood for blood,” the pooka had said. “It’s the only way in the Grimwood.”
The promise of Prudence Barebone had been made with blood—just like blood wards were. Maledictions too, she realized, thinking of the Faery Queen. Maledictions could be undone … or changed, with blood. Maybe they are all just different kinds of promises, Poppy thought. Blood can make a promise in the Grimwood. And maybe blood can break a promise too—remake it.
Poppy gave herself one moment—one moment to reconsider. But she knew what she had to do. If the people wouldn’t listen, then maybe the Holly Oak would. Isn’t the house hers? Aren’t the thorn trees?
Time quickened again as she took a breath and threw herself forward into the thorn tree, gripping its trunk. She had to get the Holly Oak’s attention—had to call her somehow.
“Poppy, no!” Mack cried from far behind her, and she turned her head in time to see the desperate look of terror that crossed her best friend’s face as she rode the tree upward.
She screamed. She couldn’t help it. Whips wrapped each leg. One threaded itself around her waist and tightened, piercing her abdomen. Blood ran down her arms and legs. She tried to steel herself for what she still had to do.
Below her the ground was chaos. Her loved ones fought against capture, while every soul, cursing and crying, scattered out of reach of the thorn trees. They were everywhere now, filling in the half-crumbled house until the flames were nothing but hissing embers. Whips flew through the air, crashing into the ground and one another as they reached to try to snatch people. A few brave souls had knives in their hands and slashed at the whips.
“Stop!” she called down. “Stop fighting!”
Below, she could see Mack struggling to make his way to the tree.
And then—there were children everywhere.
They ran into the crowd to hang on to their parents’ arms, some crying, others yelling.
Poppy stilled, listening through the sharp agony of the thorns. “Listen to her,” she heard one kid yell, and thought she recognized Peter’s voice.
“Stop fighting! They’re nice! They’re good!” another voice called.
Some of the kids were yanking on the adults’ torch arms, while others skipped the arms and jumped onto their backs.
Torches and weapons fell as parents desperately tried to get the situation under control.
Poppy caught sight of Mags, just as the girl looked up and saw her. The girl’s warm brown face turned the color of ash.
Across the distance, Poppy met her eyes and forced herself to shout, “I have to make a new promise! They have to listen!”
There was a pause. Then Mags pulled a whistle from her pocket and blew it so loud that even Poppy’s ears rang. Silence fell. Mags pointed up at Poppy, and the other children took her cue like soldiers, pointing up at the girl in the thorn tree, pleading with their parents to wait … to listen.
Poppy’s father caught sight of her and yelled her name. She tried to smile down at him reassuringly as her mother slowly sank to her knees, staring up.
“Listen to me,” she called. “Please! That’s all I ask.”
“You’re well and truly caught, girl.” Governor Gale pushed his way forward as Nula let out a low snarl. “Look
s like you’ll have to talk fast.” His lip curled. “I don’t know how you won over our children, but if you—”
“We made our own choices,” Mags insisted.
“Put down your torches,” Poppy called. “Put down your knives. My friends … my family won’t hurt you. I promise you. If what I say doesn’t persuade you, they’ll leave the Hollow. They’ll go quietly.”
Nula roared, and Poppy shot her a look.
“Poppy,” Mack cried, his voice breaking. “What are you doing?”
“What has to be done, Mack.”
“One wrong move from anyone,” the governor hissed, “and we’ll feed you all to the thorn trees.”
Poppy’s throat had gone dry. She cried out as one of the whips tightened again. “A few minutes—that’s all I ask. I need to tell you about Prudence Barebone.”
And she did.
She mustered all her strength and spoke loudly. She left no room for confusion and told them everything she knew about Prudence’s promise. Some of the older people in the crowd conferred with one another—a few nodding. An old man tugged the governor down to whisper in his ear.
The governor sneered. “Suppose we believe you about this promise,” he called up. “Suppose we believe that the fate of the Hollows is tied in some way to the fate of the Grimwood. How do we know this isn’t all your doing? Why shouldn’t we cleanse this place and destroy the wood forever?”
“You can see for yourself what it would mean to the Hollows! You set fires—the forest makes thorn trees.” Her body was beginning to feel heavy. She forced words past her lips. “Prudence wanted to have long life and was willing to pay for it … and now you pay the same with maledictions. The woods has to defend itself, but the Holly Oak is still keeping her promise … and if you destroy the Grimwood, you’ll destroy the Hollows too.” A wave of dizziness rolled over her. “Tooth for tooth. Blood or bone.”
Alarmed expressions followed this pronouncement. The old man began to tug on the governor’s arm again. The governor shook him off.
Poppy narrowed her eyes at him. He wasn’t interested in what was best for the Hollows—not now, maybe not ever. He was too full of fear, and anger.
She had to strike now, while she still had the strength. “Holly Oak,” she cried. “Holly Oak, I want to make a new promise!”
Everything stilled. Her father’s voice echoed in her head. “Nothing more powerful than blood in the Grimwood.”
“Holly Oak!” Poppy cried. “I know you’re rooted in the Grimwood deep, but you told us that the thorn trees were a part of you—here to protect and defend the wood. I know you can sense me. I hope you can hear me.”
Her head lolled as she tried to stay conscious.
“Poppy, hang on,” Mack cried, lurching toward the tree.
Nula appeared at his side, and took his arm, pulling him back. She whispered in his ear, tipping her chin toward the wood. Mack looked past her in the same direction and stood a little taller. He wiped his arm across his eyes and nodded.
“Knowledge is the enemy of fear,” Poppy called down, fighting against the heaviness of her limbs. “I’m offering a new promise and all the people of the Hollows have to do is make their pledge.”
She took an agonizing breath. She could feel the drips of her blood as they fell from the tips of her fingers.
Poppy lifted her voice. “I offer peace! I offer a new peace between the Hollows and the woods. The woods gives us fertile soil, and clean water, and strong harvests, but from this day forward, we will no longer buy extra years with the lives of our loved ones. There will be no more need for maledictions—no more cost to be paid. We say goodbye to Prudence’s greed and fear.” The world began to spin, but Poppy forced the words through her lips.
“Humans in the Hollows will live their normal lives. We will take from the forest only what we need … we will respect your home, as you will respect ours. And … attacks without cause will not be permitted. All living beings will keep this promise, or be forced to go—forced to take their chances in the fog. The Holly Oak—the being whose magic built this place will be our judge.”
The governor went pale. Around him the crowd had fallen silent. Faces turned to him as something heavy scrambled onto Poppy’s shoulders.
She grunted, but her eyes had drifted shut. She couldn’t see what it was.
She peeled them open again. Mags was below, just outside the reach of the thorn trees, holding up a tiny knife. “I’ll keep the promise,” she shouted, and before her parents could stop her she’d touched the tip of the knife to her hand, and pressed it to the earth.
The other children gathered around her, following her lead, and soon the adults too were dropping to their knees.
Something nudged Poppy’s shoulder again. She turned her head. A weasel with golden eyes was biting through the whips, loosening her binds. “Nula?” Poppy breathed. The weasel nudged her with its cold, wet nose. Poppy tried to smile, but everything was heavy.
“Poppy!” Mack’s voice called from somewhere below as her eyes drifted shut again. “Hold on! Help is coming.”
The rest came in hazy flashes.
There was a scrabbling of limbs.
A sense of falling, then of floating.
Poppy opened her eyes to find herself in the grasp of a picker. It carried her gently against its abdomen, down the tree to join its herd where they waited at the bottom.
The other pickers parted as it made its way across the meadow with Poppy. From the picker’s embrace, Poppy caught the gleam of golden light against the crushed meadow grasses as the sun crested the hillside. She saw townsfolk watching, some kneeling to join their pledges to the new promise, pressing their hands—their lifeblood—to the soil.
The picker let her down, slowly backing away to join its herd. Then Poppy’s family was around her. Her mother pulled her into her lap, rocking her. “You’re all right,” she said. “You’re all right.”
Mack and Nula pressed close, each holding one of Poppy’s hands.
The herd of pickers crept back into the wood, and with their departure, the last of the fear and loathing seemed to leave the humans of Strange Hollow. People trickled off to their own homes, their arms around their children.
Mack leaned over, staring into Poppy’s face, his copper-brown eyes sharp. “Don’t ever do that again,” he said.
Poppy coughed a laugh. “No problem,” she managed to say.
She stared past him to where the thorn trees loomed over the ruins of her home. The scent of smoke hung thick, making her eyes burn and water.
Mack held her hand tighter as her eyes began to drift shut. She fought them open long enough to see her parents shifting to join more of the people of the Hollows as they knelt to make their promise.
CHAPTER THIRTY
It took Poppy two days to wake up, but when she did, there was an entire pot of mac and cheese and an enormous cup of hot chocolate waiting. Memories flooded her system as she ate, studying the bright, round room to figure out where she was.
Her home had burned. She remembered that well enough, and tears pricked at the back of her eyes. But this room was made of roots too. She could see the coils in the walls and across the floor. A branch held the lamp over her bed.
She shifted and spotted Mack, asleep in a chair across the room. There was no sign of Nula.
The door creaked open, and Jute poked his head in, his quail-egg eyes blinking in the bright sunlight. He glanced at Mack and back at her. “How are you feeling, child?” he whispered, coming to perch on a small three-legged stool by her bedside.
Poppy considered. “All right, I think. It’s … hard to tell, actually.”
He smiled. “I’m not surprised. We took forty-nine thorns out of your body, sweetling.” His bushy brows furrowed. “What possessed you to do such a thing?”
Poppy picked up Jute’s hand and held his warm palm to her cheek. She closed her eyes and inhaled his green smoky scent. “It was all I could think of to do,” she said.
He stroked her hair. “Well. You’re alive. And everything has changed.”
Poppy’s eyes flew open. “Really? Tell me!” She paused. “And where are we?”
Jute looked around the room. “We’re home. South of the new thorn tree grove, farther down the meadow. Still at the edge of Strange Hollow.”
“But—”
“The Holly Oak. It was built by the time we left the ashes of the old one. It’s smaller.” He dropped his hands back in his lap with a wink. “But you still have the tower.”
“And the Hollow?”
“Has been remarkably quiet.” His nose wrinkled. “But I must tell you, there has been the most perplexing number of children banging on the door and demanding to see you.”
Poppy laughed.
“They’re quite persistent. I imagine they’ll be back before long.”
“Where are Mom and Dad?”
“Ah.” Jute’s smile widened. “They’ve gone to the Holly Oak. She requested that they come and tell her the story of the battle, and of your sacrifice. And—” He held up a finger to keep her from interrupting. “Your parents both said you should join them there when you’re feeling well enough.” His eyes grew sappy. “They said they hope you’ll tell them your story … and that you’ll let them help you with your next project.” He held out his hand for her empty mug. “More?”
Poppy’s throat worked as she struggled to find words. At last she just nodded, and Jute gave her a knowing look and took the mug from her hand.
As the door closed behind him, Mack stirred. He did a double take when he saw she was awake and sitting up.
He shot to his feet, swaying slightly. His tight copper-brown curls lay flat on one side where he had slept on them. “Poppy!” he croaked. “You’re awake! You’re okay? How are you?”
She gave a tight laugh and held up her bandaged arms. “Well. I’ve been better … but aside from feeling like a pincushion, I think I’ll live.”
Mack moved to the stool. His face was drawn, as serious as she had ever seen him. “When I saw you up there … Pop.” His voice caught. “I thought for sure … you were…”
The Edge of Strange Hollow Page 25