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

crescent had a gleam sharp as any knife’s. The three of them stared at the stairs curling all the way up the Holly Oak. Nula nudged her, which Poppy took to mean that the pooka was ready for another dash up the stairs, if such was deemed necessary. She wasn’t sure how it had happened, or when exactly, but the pooka had become someone Poppy could count on … someone she did count on—a friend. Poppy smiled at her. For just a second, with Mack standing nearby too, she had the sense that with the three of them together they might be able to fix things.

The sense of comfort was fleeting—gone as soon as they passed by the pavilions, which were quiet and empty. Poppy wondered if the creatures of the wood sensed something ominous in the air the way she did—a heavy foreboding that shifted like fog. Maybe the folk were all just busy with other things, but maybe they were hunkered down in their dens and nests and villages, waiting for the feeling to pass. She wondered where Jute was, and if he was okay.

Even without running, Poppy was out of breath by the time they reached the double doors to the Holly Oak’s chamber. She knocked, and as they waited for the doors to open, Poppy took a moment to really look around. Huge lanterns hung to either side of the doors and cast a warm glow over the wide platform, which wrapped around most of the tree. Twisted limbs grew up into a thick banister along the edge. From there, Poppy could see out over the dark shapes of the whole forest. It stretched for miles in every direction—a sea of dark treetops. Pools of shadow marked the thorn groves.

She could just make out the line of the Grimwood to the north where it broke against the edge of Strange Hollow like a wave, and to the east where it met Dark Hollow, and west to Golden Hollow. To the south, where Trader’s Hollow marked the only passage through the fog, she could only see the dark rustling of the trees. Here and there, moonlight danced like sparks on the Veena river as it wound its way through the wood. There was no telling where it started, but it ended at the Alcyon. Beyond it all—past the edges of the Grimwood and past the Hollows, the fog rose, glowing softly, blocking her view of everything beyond except the sky.

A shiver ran down her back as she recalled what the Holly Oak had said about the fog—that it was a being with a will of its own. It protected the magic of the Grimwood from the outside world, holding the wood and the Hollows together, for better or for worse.

The double doors were closed this time—and interesting. She hadn’t noticed—the images carved into the warm wood of each of the panels. One panel was carved with the likeness of the Holly Oak leaning from her trunk. In front of her on the second panel, stood a small, thin woman. They reached out to each other as if they were about to shake hands, but the woman had a knife in her other hand. All manner of creatures stood around the Holly Oak, and behind the woman, a gathering of people.

“Ready?” Mack asked.

Poppy gave a stiff nod, but continued to stand still in front of the doors. The image looked familiar.

“Poppy?”

With a jolt she realized it was the same picture in the book Nula had taken. It was a picture of the promise of Prudence Barebone. A shiver ran down her back as she raised a fist to knock again, but this time, before her hand could connect, the doors swung open on their own.

The Holly Oak was waiting—and she didn’t look happy. She leaned from the tree at the end of the long chamber, her brown fingers gripping the bark as though she would pull herself out of the trunk altogether.

Poppy was glad Mack and Nula were at her back. They made her brave.

The Holly Oak made a rustling sound. “Where is my book?”

Poppy’s heart shot into her throat.

“Book?” Nula squeaked.

“My book—the one I gave you. I know you opened it. I know you read it.”

Nula laughed a triumphant “Ha!” She turned to Poppy. “See! I told you! I told you the book glittered at me! The Holly Oak wanted me to take it!”

“What?” Mack said, looking from Poppy to Nula and back again. “You—she took that? You took that … from the Holly Oak?!”

Nula looked smug. “No. She gave it to me.”

Despite herself, Poppy couldn’t help asking the first question that popped into her head. “How did you know we read it?”

“I know … because I can speak of it.”

“The geis is lifted,” Mack muttered under his breath. “She couldn’t tell us about it, but now that we figured it out ourselves…”

“She can,” Poppy finished. “So, she really did want Nula to take that book. Oh, that’s clever.”

“Promises,” intoned the tree in words that rang against the soft walls of the chamber. “Promises are made of stone.”

Poppy nudged Mack. “I didn’t get a chance to tell either of you—what with Dog, and the spiders and everything—I, uh … Remember that conversation I had with the witch?”

Nula shook her head. “You mean the old lady you imagined after we almost got eaten by kelpies? That witch?”

Poppy narrowed her eyes at Nula, but nodded. “I didn’t imagine it … but yeah, her.”

“The Grimwood has way too many witches if you ask me.” Mack grimaced. “They’re unpredictable—slippery as eels in butter.”

Poppy hurried on. “Well … she told me a story.”

Mack had stiffened at her side. “What story?”

Poppy’s eyes returned to the Oak. She was swaying a little, almost like she was dancing … or in pain.

“Let me see that book, Nula.”

The Oak rustled, but her stern expression didn’t change as Nula fished the strange little book out of her pocket, and handed it over.

The inklings were beginning to dissipate back into their blobs, but they still