Poppy’s next stop was Acorn, a village of only five houses, perched on the side of a hill which overlooked the deep woods. The people here lived from hunting on the outskirts of the Forest and from woodwork—“as fine as Acorn work” was a byword across the Domains for intricate and precise carving and marquetry.
At least their work wouldn’t suffer from having no fire, Poppy thought.
But the carpenters were appalled, and so were the hunters.
“How can we make glue?” one complained.
“I do poker work,” a woman said blankly. “Without fire, I can’t burn the designs…”
“I’m not shagging going into that wood without a fire,” a tough, nuggety little woman dressed in men’s clothes said. “Can’t scare off a wolverine without fire.”
“Or bear,” a man added.
They looked a lot alike, these villagers, as remote townspeople often did: slight, light brown hair, flat cheekbones. Only one stood out—a woman with hair as red as Ember’s and a small, pointed chin. She was nursing a young baby, so Poppy invited her to go to the fort. But the man beside her scowled.
“No wife of mine’s going to go live with soldiers!” he said, and there was a murmur of agreement. The woman herself looked undecided, but it wasn’t Poppy’s job to persuade people, only to give them the invitation.
“Straw boxes,” the oldest woman there suddenly said, in a thick northern accent. “If we c’n put t’food out in t’midday sun and get it mostly hot, we can put it into t’straw box and it’ll keep cookin’.”
“Fire!” a man said dubiously. “No woman here’s ever seen Him.”
Poppy noticed a woman at the back, with darker hair than the others, look away as he spoke. A Traveler pretending to be one of Acton’s people? she wondered. She’d heard of them, although it was rarer since the Resettlement. But one woman, of the old blood, might well feel safer still if others thought she was a blondie.
No business of hers, Poppy decided.
“I swear to you, it happened as I told you.”
“Can we, like, make sacrifices to Him?” a woman asked. “The local gods like young lambs and fawns. Maybe He would, too. Does He have an altar?”
“Good idea, May,” someone said. They turned expectantly to Poppy, and she felt burdened by the knowledge that they would be disappointed.
“He has never asked for sacrifices,” she said.
“Still, can’t hurt to try,” May mused. “If’n we ask the local gods maybe they’ll let us use their altar.”
“Fire might want more than an animal, if’n He’s so tough,” a man said thoughtfully. “The old gods, they liked human sacrifice, they say.”
Silence fell. The woman with the baby hugged it tighter, and stepped forward.
“I think I’ll come with you,” she said. “Go to the fort, like you said.” Her voice was high with nerves.
“No you won’t!” her husband said belligerently. He wasn’t very bright, Poppy thought. He didn’t seem to realize why she was leaving. He took hold of the woman’s arm roughly, and the baby started to cry.
Poppy looked at Larch. This was warlord’s business.
Larch seemed to realize that at the same time. She stepped forward, her hand on her sword hilt.
“My Lord Arvid will welcome your wife and my Lady Martine will care for her, be assured,” she said politely, but there was strength in her voice. She was taller than the man. He tried to stare her down.
“I don’t shagging believe any of this,” he said. “Fire! Just some enchanter playing tricks, I reckon.”
There was a murmur of agreement from the others.
“Some Traveler,” one of the older men said, with venom in his voice. There was still a lot of ill feeling toward Travelers among the older people, Poppy knew. It was so in Hidden Valley. The younger ones didn’t care, but the oldsters harbored grudges that went back decades. It had been a Traveler enchanter who had killed so many people before the Resettlement, and their relations and friends were slow to forget that. It might be so here, too.
Time to show the strong hand.
“Ash the Prowman has confirmed the existence of both Fire and Water,” she said. “It is not an enchanter.”
That caused an uproar, and the husband let go of his wife’s hand to stare at Poppy blankly.
“Ash is back?” he exclaimed. “Gods help us, things must be bad!”
“I’m going to the fort,” the mother said firmly, and this time he didn’t argue.
“Pack your things,” Larch told her. “Not too much. Do you have a horse?”
She laughed bitterly, rubbing her arm. “I used to, before I came here.” She glared at her husband and hoisted her baby higher in her arms, rocking him.
“You can use the pony,” he mumbled, looking at the ground, but her expression didn’t soften.
“Good,” she said. She turned on her heel and went to one of the cottages, followed by two of the other women, including the tough little hunter, who hesitated, and then spoke directly to Larch.
“Don’t you bother. I’ll take her straight to the fort,” she said. “Make sure my grandson is safe.” She glared at the man who must be her son. “If you’re lucky I might be able to convince her to come back!”
Best to ignore that.
“Our horses need a spell before we leave,” Larch said mildly, and a boy jumped forward to lead her to a stable. Poppy was left standing in front of the slightly smaller crowd, who inspected her with interest.
“Lady Martine’s granddaughter, eh?” a woman said avidly. “You’d be that white woman’s daughter, then, the unchancy one.”
She was used to this. They all were, all six of Elva’s children. Elva’s white hair and pale eyes had marked her out from birth.
“Yes,” she said. “My mother is the prophet.”
“What’s she say about all this, then?” the husband demanded.
“She says that Ember must go to Fire Mountain,” Poppy said, matter of fact. “She has given two of my brothers to help guard her on the way.”
They looked askance at her, but they let it be, walking away from her talking in twos and threes, leaving her standing there, feeling conspicuous and out of place. But she had done her job.