The stonecaster saw what I told you, and you can make up your own mind about why she’s not here to tell you herself,” Poppy said, loud and certain, to the people of Timbertop.
“Jelica doesn’t leave that cabin,” an old woman said. “You want her, you go to her.”
There were mumblings of discontent and uncertainty.
Poppy stilled her face with an effort. No use telling these people what had happened to Jelica. It had been her own choice, but would they believe that? Her job was simply to get them and others like them to the mine in Salt.
At least she didn’t feel too young for the job. Watching Jelica surrender to Him had aged her in a moment.
“You can stay here and die, or you can come to Salt and live. That’s the choice, and it’s the only one you’ve got,” she said. They are afraid, she thought. I must remember that they are as afraid as I am. Larch stood at her shoulder, silent but strong. “The gods speak to my mother, you all know that.” They nodded, muttered a few words to each other, looked back at her. She took a deep breath. Time to claim her inheritance. She’d never said the words aloud before, not even to her mam. The whisperings in her head had been so slight, so soft, that she had even wondered if they were real.
“They speak to me, too.”
The villagers exclaimed at that. Half of them cheered up, and the other half looked sour. But they listened.
“We must go to Salt.”
“We?” the Village Voice asked. “You’re going, too?”
“I need to collect the people from the other villages. But then, yes, I will be there.”
For some reason, this decided them and the group broke up to pack. Larch smiled at her puzzled face.
“Why should they trust someone unless that person is risking the same thing they are?” she asked.
“We’re all at risk, no matter where we are,” Poppy said.
“But they will have a darling of the gods to protect them.”
That was more terrifying than anything else she could have said.