The Edge of Strange Hollow by Gabrielle Byrne (great book club books txt) 📗

Nula scrambled out onto the dock. Poppy looked back in time to see the Boatman and his boat tip straight up and sink behind her, stern first, into the Alcyon sea without a sound or even a ripple to show their passage.

Dog whined, and Poppy wet her lips. “It’s okay, Dog,” she said, patting Eta’s head. “This is the Holly Oak. Sacred ground. Nothing on this island can hurt us, right?”

Nula scoffed. “Whoever told you that must not be very creative.”

“But—”

“Where there’s a will there’s a way, isn’t that what you humans say?” Her ear flicked. “Honestly, for someone who breaks rules as a hobby, you’re a little…”

Poppy drew back. “A little what?”

Nula shrugged. “I’m just saying—you should always watch your back. Tell her I’m right, Mack.”

Mack’s face was thoughtful. “I’ve always heard the island is the safest place in the wood, but she has a point, Poppy. It doesn’t hurt to be careful.”

Nula nibbled one clawlike nail. “Unless we need to be reckless. Then it might.”

Poppy raised an eyebrow.

“Hurt to be careful, I mean,” Nula clarified.

Mack shook his head.

“You’re confusing, Nula,” Poppy said, her lips quirking.

“Don’t blame the messenger! It’s not me that’s confusing. It’s the world.” She looked around and lifted her blue hands to take it all in. “What now?”

Poppy looked up at the tree. It stretched into the sky as if it could pierce straight through, as if it were the center pole of the whole world, and everything revolved around it. She felt dizzy, staring up, and her pulse skipped a giddy beat that made it worse. She took a deep breath. “Now, we go see what the Oak knows about the Soul Jar.”

Mack and Nula followed Poppy as they made the slow climb up the slope, scrambling over boulders clutched in the grip of the Holly Oak’s roots.

“So,” Nula called over. “A pooka, a human, an elf, and a cerberus walk into a tree…”

Mack laughed. “It does sound like the start of a bad joke,” he admitted.

“Right?” Nula muttered. “I just hope we’re not the punch line.”

Mack laughed again, but Poppy didn’t. Her hands shook. She couldn’t make them stop. There was no telling if the Oak would welcome them or not—would welcome her, or not. She tipped her head back again to look up into its branches. What if the Oak sent her home? Could she do that? Poppy frowned. Well … there was only one way to find out.

She kept climbing.

CHAPTER SEVEN

They picked their way over the cobbles, stumbling over root and stone. Dog kept falling behind, and when Two let out a plaintive whine, Mack turned back to pick them up, slinging them over his shoulder.

Poppy was out of breath by the time the roots leveled out into a wide plateau. Rotted leaves and bark had turned into a thick layer of soil, and the ground from the top of the slope to the base of the tree bloomed with wildflowers and meadow grasses. Two large pavilions were staked out at the base of the tree. Beneath their shade, creatures milled around—waiting, Poppy supposed, to talk to the Holly Oak.

There were three werewolves, standing around chatting over small plates of raw meat. She also spotted several old women. One held a tentacular in her huge clawed hand. She gave Poppy a sharp-toothed grin as they passed by, forcing a shiver along her spine.

“Keep going,” Nula hissed as they moved past another old woman, dripping as though she’d just come out of a pond. The other creatures gave her patch of wet ground a wide berth—all except for a large flaming salamander, who lingered close, watching her with undisguised hatred in its black eyes.

Under the second pavilion a large winged serpent was curled up, sleeping. A species of wyvern, perhaps. Next to it, a small herd of boar-like creatures snuffled through piles of mushrooms. Poppy thought they were boar-like rather than actual boars, because though they were on all fours, they muttered among themselves, spraying bits of their food around. She spotted a Hyphae—one of the fungal folk—watching the boars from a shady corner. She slowed. He was tall, and his body was so thin he could slip through a crack if it weren’t for his bulbous head. He was completely white—except for his round pinkish eyes, and a thin line of pink around his neck—all of him covered in downy white fuzz.

Mack started to move toward the pavilion and Poppy grabbed his sleeve, forcing herself to keep walking. Mack gave her a startled look.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t interested in the pavilions. Any other time she would have rushed under either of the canopies to learn as much as she could. But now … she didn’t want to wait another moment to talk to the Holly Oak. She had already waited thirteen years. She wouldn’t wait another day. Besides, there was no telling what harm the Soul Jar could do. They needed to find it fast—especially if she wanted to get to it before her parents. It was practically an emergency!

She looked toward the trunk of the tree and glimpsed a shadow curling along the trunk. She slowed, squinting to see what cast it.

“Stairs,” Nula hissed in her ear, as if the pooka could read her mind. Like magic, once she knew what they were, Poppy could make them out. Spiraling around the trunk was a set of steps.

After that, she didn’t think. She ran.

Mack called out from behind her, and Brutus gave an offended bark, but she didn’t slow. This was the time for action. She was surprised to hear Nula running behind her—urging her forward. “Go,” the pooka said. “Before they try and stop us. Hurry.”

The stairs were wide enough for someone twice her size, but open, and there was no railing on the outside. She hesitated. It wasn’t that she was afraid of heights, exactly. She just wasn’t not afraid of heights. You can do it, she told herself. She didn’t want anyone stopping her,