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

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 already 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,