The Hawkweed Prophecy (30 page)

“I'll be seeing you,” she told them, and she meant it. She knew they wouldn't be far behind.

There was only Ember left, and Poppy couldn't leave her forever wondering. Ember deserved to know all of it—where she came from, who she was. But Ember was in the camp and Poppy dare
not get too close in case Raven sensed her there. She longed to see her friend's face, to hug her close and try to tell her everything she meant to her. She wanted to share all she knew and explain how they were twins of a sort, how their fates had collided at birth and it was their destiny to meet that autumn day in the dell.

And then Poppy thought to leave word for Ember there, in their meeting place. It wasn't nearly close to being enough, but it was something. So Poppy sat on the curb, and under the white light of the street lamp, she began to write.

It was the second letter she'd had to compose that day, and this one, though longer, came far more easily. The first had been torture, her mind stretched on the rack to its breaking point, never to be mended. She had stopped at the churchyard on her way back home that evening and left that letter by Minx's grave. She couldn't let herself think about Leo reading it, but somewhere, deep inside of her, she sensed he had. She couldn't think about Leo at all. Soon she would be far, far away. It wouldn't stop her thoughts from trying to travel to him, but it would stop her from ever having to see him again.

That she couldn't endure.

But there he was. Lying on the sofa in the dell, sprawled across it like he was sleeping. It hurt so much to look at him, just as Poppy knew it would. Her heart was beating its objection against her ribs and her stomach ached in protest. Time seemed to slow to a heavy pace. Poppy wanted to yank her eyes away but they were locked upon him. She noted impassively that Leo's legs were
hanging over the side of the sofa. The angles of them—they didn't look right. Then sluggishly she realized. He was hurt.

Poppy's reaction to this came slowly too, bit by bit, in degrees. First, she looked around for Ember but the dell was empty. Next, it occurred to Poppy to leave, to pretend she'd never seen him. But she remained motionless, just standing there helplessly. Then Poppy remembered the last time they were there. The memory was hazy, sepia, like it happened a lifetime ago. Leo was tall and strong and smiling.
Leo
, thought Poppy.

Her legs began to move and everything sped up and, before she knew it, she was by his side and the tears were falling as she looked at his face, so cruelly damaged. He moaned when she touched his brow. He was barely conscious, barely breathing, but still he hurt. Poppy wanted to hold him and kiss him, the old urges rising up within her, but she stemmed them quickly with a snap and put herself to work. She had only a few of her remedies on her, but she used them all, tending only to the worst of the welts and cuts. He needed proper care. His ribs and collarbone were broken. His flesh was so badly bruised that she worried for his liver and kidneys. He needed a hospital; he needed a doctor.

Now Poppy was panicking. Her thoughts came rushing into her mind like a hysterical mob, clamoring for her attention. She tried to impose order, to prioritize. She needed help.

Ember. She could bring supplies. She must get Ember.

Ember was sitting alone on the caravan steps when the fox approached her. They eyed each other warily. The fox seemed loathe
to get too close. It sniffed the air, then seemed to cringe at her scent. Reluctantly it took one step further. Ember leaned back, worried it would bite. Then the fox held up a paw and she saw it. Tied to its leg was a bit of paper. Ember reached out a trembling hand and untied the string from the fox's fur. As soon as the paper was free of it, the fox turned and sprinted away, vanishing into the darkness.

She unrolled the paper. It was just a strip, ripped from a larger page. On it, only a few brief words in a familiar hand. Three simple instructions, but acting on them could change a lifetime.

Come to the dell. Come now. Bring supplies.

Ember didn't hesitate, not for one second. She rushed to the storeroom and tried to recall her lessons and remember which ingredients were which. Her mind was a swirling, frenzied fog. The names on the bottles were all familiar, but not their purpose. Picking up an old sack from the corner of the room, Ember swept the contents of the shelves into it. The containers clinked and chimed as she swung the sack over her shoulder, but Ember knew the camp was too preoccupied with Sorrel to notice.

She tried not to think of Sorrel lying there. It had been terrifying to watch her cousin in such pain and to see her mighty Aunt Raven powerless to save her. But the four of them facing the crisis together, gathering around in support at such a time of need, there was also something good in that. It had felt to Ember like family should, like a moment to be cherished. None of the other sisters had dared disturb them, not even Kyra or any of Sorrel's clique. Instead, they all waited quietly outside for any news.

Ember had been right by Sorrel's side, though, part of the inner sanctum, until her aunt had so harshly discharged her. When she had run from the room and sat on the steps, the sisters huddled there had shaken their heads and whispered to one another.

“Go,” Ember had cried sharply before the tears fell. “My aunt wants you gone.”

The gathering had glanced at each other, but then, miraculously, they had followed Ember's orders. Even Kyra, her face blotched with crying, hadn't argued. Like a herd, they had moved as one back to their caravans. The doors had shut like a clatter of hooves and Ember was alone. The finality of it all felt paralyzing. As Sorrel's eyes had closed, so had Ember's future here. She had never before realized her place within the camp was so tightly wound with that of her cousin. The connecting thread had snapped. Everything had changed and nothing would be the same.

Ember's mind struggled to comprehend it all. She had looked into the darkness and it had felt like oblivion. She had hoped for a sign, something meant just for her, that she would understand. And then, as if on cue, the fox had appeared, its shock of orange fur so vivid in the gloom. Fearful, Ember had wished she could summon it away. But it had trod closer. It had to be an omen, Ember had thought, but what did it mean? The fox had lifted up its paw in answer . . .

“Ember?” It was her mother's voice, so Ember stopped and turned. If it had been anyone else, she would have made a run for it. She rested the sack on the ground for a moment. Charlock's wide-set, amber eyes caught it. She surveyed her daughter, waiting for an explanation. But Ember had experienced her mother's
silences too many times before and she bit her lip to stop herself from talking. The seconds ticked by, and Ember, so desperate to be on her way, found it harder and harder to resist the temptation to speak. Finally, though, it was Charlock who yielded first.

“You're leaving,” she said without accusation.

“I have to,” Ember replied, keeping her voice hushed and low.

“It is not safe. Look at your cousin,” Charlock remonstrated.

Never before had Ember defied her mother, but now it was different. She had to do what she thought was right, not what she was told. So she pressed her shoulders back and tilted her chin upward, standing up for herself in body and voice.

“The Eastern clan got who they wanted,” she said firmly. “They have no interest in the likes of me, you said so yourself.”

Charlock blinked, but from that tiny reaction Ember felt her mother's surprise. “If you leave, you can't come back.”

“I know.”

“Where will you go? What will you do?”

Ember trampled down the doubts that sprouted from her mother's questions. “You have taught me well,” she said in a voice that didn't waver. “I will find my way.”

Ember caught a glimpse of respect in her mother's eyes, but then they hardened for one last attempt.

“I could make you stay.”

“You could.” Ember didn't say anymore, but she knew her mother would comprehend the rest—that staying would be a kind of death, that she didn't belong, she never did, that Raven would not protect her anymore, and the camp could no longer be her home.

Charlock stepped toward her and Ember stiffened. But Charlock pulled her close and enveloped her in a hug, holding her like she never wanted to let her go. In her mother's arms Ember felt the love. In her kisses she felt the sorrow. Then, as suddenly as it began, it was over and Charlock was walking away. She never looked back. She never said good-bye.

Ember poured the contents of the sack onto the frozen ground. The tin and glass glinted in the moonlight. Poppy's hands rifled through the remedies, seeking out those she needed.

“Will he live?” Ember asked.

She didn't want to speak of Sorrel now when Poppy seemed so focused, but seeing Leo was like reliving the night's events over again. The same shock, the hope, the dread. Poppy held up a tiny vial, trying to catch the light and read the label.

Ember leaned forward. “Capsaicin.” It was written in Sorrel's hand and Ember's heart contracted in her chest.

Poppy put the vial with the rest she had collected. “Are you all right?” she asked. Ember nodded, not wanting to lie out loud. “Can you stay with him all day?” Ember nodded her head again. “Your mother won't miss you?”

Ember looked away at that, scared Poppy would see her sadness. “I can be here.”

Poppy started pouring, mixing, grinding the different ingredients. Her hands worked so swiftly, like they'd been doing this for years. Ember regarded her friend. She looked so much older
and wearier, so different from the bold, rebellious girl she had met right here in this spot.

“Won't you stay too? Do you have school?” Ember asked.

Poppy shook her head. She glanced up briefly but then looked away again, seeming to withdraw even further. “I'm not going to be living here anymore.” She announced this momentous news unemotionally, as though it held little importance.

“You're leaving?” Ember reiterated, trying to stir the notion into her mind and make it stick.

“It's not my choice,” Poppy replied.

Ember started to cry; she couldn't help it. The tears fell for Sorrel, for Leo, for her mother, and mostly for Poppy. Then she pounced on an idea. How simple. How perfect.

“I could come with you. We could leave together. Just as we always wanted. Like swallows, remember?”

The mask from Poppy's face fell, revealing a countenance full of heartache and suffering.

“Oh, Poppy,” Ember sobbed. “What has happened to us?”

From her pocket Poppy pulled out a letter. She lay it on the arm of the sofa. “Read it when I'm gone,” she said. “It explains everything.” Before Ember could object, Poppy picked up a jar and put it into Ember's hand. “He'll need these. Three drops, morning, noon, and night.” Then she placed a paste in Ember's other hand. “This is for his bruises. Every hour.” She looked over to Leo, so pale and ailing. “One of us has to stay with him. You cannot leave his side.”