Read Online The Poison Eaters and Other Stories by Holly Black - Free Book Online
Authors: Holly Black
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lips. She breathed smoke from her nose. “What do you want me to tell you?"
"Anything. Everything. Something that might help."
"They're fickle as cats and twice as cruel. You know the tales. They'll steal your heart if you let them and if you don't, they'll curse you for your good sense. They're night things—spirits—and don't care for the day. They don't like gold, either. It reminds them of the sun."
"I know all that,” Tomasa said. “Tell me something I don't know."
Rosa shook her head. “I'm no mananambal —I only know the stories. His love will fade; he will forget your sister and she will get well again."
Tomasa pressed her lips into a thin line. “What if she doesn't?"
"It has only been two days. Be patient. Not even a cold would go away in that time."
* * * *
Two days turned into three and then four. Their mother had changed her flight and was due home that Tuesday, but there was still no word from their father. By Sunday, Tomasa found that she couldn't wait anymore. She went to the shed and got a machete. She put her gold Santa Maria pendant on a chain and fastened it around her neck. Steeling herself, she walked to the tamarind tree, although her legs felt like lead and her stomach churned.
In the day, the tree looked frighteningly normal. Leafy green, sun-dappled, and buzzing with flies.
She hefted the machete. “Make Eva well."
The leaves rustled with the wind, but no elf appeared.
She swung the knife at the trunk of the tree. It stuck in the wood, knocking off a piece of bark, but her hand slid forward on the blade and the sharp steel slit open her palm. She let go of the machete and watched the shallow cut well with blood.
"You'll have to do better than that,” she said, wiping her hand against her jeans. She worked the blade free from the trunk and hefted it to swing again.
But somehow her grip must have been loose, because the machete tumbled from her hands before she could complete the arc. It flew off into the brush by the stream.
Tomasa stomped off in the direction of where it had fallen, but she found no trace of it in the thick weeds. “Fine,” she shouted at the tree. “Fine!"
"Aren't you afraid of me?” a voice said, and Eva whirled around. The elf was standing in the grass with the machete in his hand.
She found herself speechless again. If anything the daylight rendered him more alien looking. His eyes glittered and his hair seemed to move with a subtle wind as though he was underwater.
He took a step toward her, his feet keeping to the shadows. “I've heard it's very bad luck to cut down an enkanto's tree."
Tomasa thought of the gold pendant around her neck and stepped into a patch of sunlight. “Good thing for me that it's only a little chipped, then."
He snorted and for a moment he looked like he was going to smile. “What if I told you that whatever you do to the tree, you do to the spirit?"
"You look fine,” she said, edging back to the bridge. He did. She was the one who was bleeding.
"You're either brave or stupid.” He turned the blade in his hand and held it out to her, hilt first. She would have to step closer to him, into the shadows, to take it.
"Well, I'd pick stupid,” she said. “But not that stupid.” She walked quickly over the bridge, leaving him still holding the machete.
Her heart beat like a drum in her chest as she made her way home.
* * * *
That night, lying in bed, Tomasa heard distant music. When she turned toward the window, a full moon looked down on her. Quickly, she dressed in the dark, careful to clasp her gold chain around her neck. Holding her shoes in one hand, she crept down the stairs, bare feet making only a soft slap on the wood.
She would find a mananambal to remove the enkanto's curse. She would go to the night market herself.
The graveyard was at the edge of town, where the electrical lines stopped running. The moonlight illuminated the distant rice fields where kerosene lamps flickered in Nipa huts. Cicadas
"Anything. Everything. Something that might help."
"They're fickle as cats and twice as cruel. You know the tales. They'll steal your heart if you let them and if you don't, they'll curse you for your good sense. They're night things—spirits—and don't care for the day. They don't like gold, either. It reminds them of the sun."
"I know all that,” Tomasa said. “Tell me something I don't know."
Rosa shook her head. “I'm no mananambal —I only know the stories. His love will fade; he will forget your sister and she will get well again."
Tomasa pressed her lips into a thin line. “What if she doesn't?"
"It has only been two days. Be patient. Not even a cold would go away in that time."
* * * *
Two days turned into three and then four. Their mother had changed her flight and was due home that Tuesday, but there was still no word from their father. By Sunday, Tomasa found that she couldn't wait anymore. She went to the shed and got a machete. She put her gold Santa Maria pendant on a chain and fastened it around her neck. Steeling herself, she walked to the tamarind tree, although her legs felt like lead and her stomach churned.
In the day, the tree looked frighteningly normal. Leafy green, sun-dappled, and buzzing with flies.
She hefted the machete. “Make Eva well."
The leaves rustled with the wind, but no elf appeared.
She swung the knife at the trunk of the tree. It stuck in the wood, knocking off a piece of bark, but her hand slid forward on the blade and the sharp steel slit open her palm. She let go of the machete and watched the shallow cut well with blood.
"You'll have to do better than that,” she said, wiping her hand against her jeans. She worked the blade free from the trunk and hefted it to swing again.
But somehow her grip must have been loose, because the machete tumbled from her hands before she could complete the arc. It flew off into the brush by the stream.
Tomasa stomped off in the direction of where it had fallen, but she found no trace of it in the thick weeds. “Fine,” she shouted at the tree. “Fine!"
"Aren't you afraid of me?” a voice said, and Eva whirled around. The elf was standing in the grass with the machete in his hand.
She found herself speechless again. If anything the daylight rendered him more alien looking. His eyes glittered and his hair seemed to move with a subtle wind as though he was underwater.
He took a step toward her, his feet keeping to the shadows. “I've heard it's very bad luck to cut down an enkanto's tree."
Tomasa thought of the gold pendant around her neck and stepped into a patch of sunlight. “Good thing for me that it's only a little chipped, then."
He snorted and for a moment he looked like he was going to smile. “What if I told you that whatever you do to the tree, you do to the spirit?"
"You look fine,” she said, edging back to the bridge. He did. She was the one who was bleeding.
"You're either brave or stupid.” He turned the blade in his hand and held it out to her, hilt first. She would have to step closer to him, into the shadows, to take it.
"Well, I'd pick stupid,” she said. “But not that stupid.” She walked quickly over the bridge, leaving him still holding the machete.
Her heart beat like a drum in her chest as she made her way home.
* * * *
That night, lying in bed, Tomasa heard distant music. When she turned toward the window, a full moon looked down on her. Quickly, she dressed in the dark, careful to clasp her gold chain around her neck. Holding her shoes in one hand, she crept down the stairs, bare feet making only a soft slap on the wood.
She would find a mananambal to remove the enkanto's curse. She would go to the night market herself.
The graveyard was at the edge of town, where the electrical lines stopped running. The moonlight illuminated the distant rice fields where kerosene lamps flickered in Nipa huts. Cicadas
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