Poppy and Marigold

The moon was full, but it didn’t matter. Under the thick, twisted foliage of the trees, the path ahead still lay in darkness. A small caravan of five wove quickly through the woods, doing their best to remain silent. At first glance, they could have been poor travelers, looking for a place to camp for the night. But upon closer inspection, one might notice the bulges beneath their clothes, shaped like smuggled weapons, and the military-grade boots on their feet.

The most interesting thing they might’ve been stopped for, however, was the large makeshift box which four of them carried between them like a litter. Tonight, they could not afford to get caught, for what was inside would be inexcusable.

Beneath the thin curtain lay a crimson-haired woman, fast asleep. Though there was no light to define her face now, it was clear in everyone’s memory that she looked the only thing of true value among them; a jewel come to life.

Twisting and turning through the black forest, they came at length to a miniature clearing. Stopping under a particularly large tree, whose leaves blocked its top from view even in the daytime, one of the five whistled a code, and a fenced platform was lowered. Once everyone was aboard, it lifted them all back into the sky.

Popola’s eyes fluttered open and immediately, her heart began to pound. A cloth was draped over her. Light whispered through its thin layer as—forcing herself to stay calm—she lifted it cautiously away from her face, unsure of what was on the other side.

She lay in a room that was empty and utterly unfamiliar. Wooden planks made up every wall, and the space was brightly lit with sunshine streaming in between their cracks. She hopped up with a start, mind racing to remember how she got there but coming up with nothing. The last thing she could recall was being cornered by soldiers outside a warehouse. A loud explosion had startled them, strange gas filled the air, and she took the chance to grab a loose metal rod. Before she could attack, the soldiers dropped before her eyes and the whole world went black. It must’ve been the gas that knocked her out. She had to get out of there.

Her clothes were the same ones she wore yesterday, and she was still just as filthy, so that was a plus. Whoever was outside that door was bound to be dangerous, but there was nothing in the room that could be used as a weapon. She needed a hostage. She attempted to peer out of one of the cracks. She could just make out a wooden bridge—though what it crossed over, she wasn’t sure—and a wooden passage just outside. Why was everything made of wood?

The only thing of curiosity left on her was a metal shirt button, but it might be just enough to make someone think she escaped. She pushed it under a small crack beneath the door and waited.

30 minutes passed. Then an hour. She thought she could make out distant noises, but no one came by. No voices or footsteps. She was about to kick down the door when she heard someone approach. A single person (hopefully an armed guard), walked steadily toward her room. She thought he might pass by when the sound came to a sudden halt. A shadow passed briefly under the door as the person bent to pick up her button. Positioned against the inside of the wall, she took a breath. As predicted, the door swung open, and she pounced.

He yelled.

In one swift movement, she had him in a choke hold, his own dagger pointed at his neck. She cursed that there was no gun, and in a few seconds, she was surrounded by armed men. Every weapon was aimed at her.

“I’ll kill him!” she screamed. “I swear he’ll go down with me!”

She couldn’t count on soldiers caring enough about one man to let her go, but taking in her surroundings, they didn’t quite look like soldiers. This confused her. Sure, they had weapons and some pieces of protective gear, but they weren’t as uniform as she was used to. A moment passed, and to her surprise, they all lowered their weapons. Not looking a gift horse in the mouth, she continued to take charge.

“That’s right. Anyone who tries to stop me from leaving will ensure this one’s demise.” She thought she came off confident, but she was beginning to panic. Her surroundings were truly setting in, and she realized that she was not in a passageway at all. She was standing on one of many wood platforms that were completely outdoors. What was more, all she could see in any direction were amazingly thick, curved branches and leaves.

They were in the trees.

A man with shoulder-length, curly brown hair stepped out of the crowd, hands harmlessly in the air.

“It’s alright. We’re refugees, just like you. What’s your name?”

“Stay back, you lying traitor. How do I know I can trust you?”

Though truly impressed by her fire, at this he looked slightly amused. “My men rescued you from those soldiers. Did you expect to be a prisoner in a wooden room? The door was always unlocked.” He gestured behind her. Her grey eyes changed from a vicious she-wolf to slightly sheepish she-wolf. He found himself mesmerized by her shiny red curls and pearl-like complexion. “I’m Alex.” He offered, “And you are?”

He waited, expectantly.

“Popola.”

“Popola.” He repeated. “You look like a Poppy. Like the flower.”

“It’s not, it’s—”

“Popola!” a black skinned boy, who couldn’t have been 20, stumbled excitedly out of the crowd.

“Kolo?” Popola said in disbelief, “What are you doing here?”

“After you helped me escape from my home, I found Alex. Instead of getting to another country, I decided to join him in his fight against the coup!”

Popola glanced between Kolo and Alex. Alex stared back.

“It’s so good to see you!” Kolo exclaimed. Gently, Popola let her hostage go. As soon as he stumbled away, Kolo rushed to give her a big hug.

“Well,” said Alex, “I guess that settles that. Party for our guest tonight everyone.” He turned and walked away.

As it was, there was far more to be settled. That night, the red carpet was rolled out for Popola. No fancy dishes, but they had great food, good wine and a fire, hid among the treetops.

At the end of Alex’s toast to her, another man stood up. To Popola’s surprise, she recognized him. He was the first of 30 people to tell everyone a tale of how she saved him and his loved ones from the war, and she knew every one of the speakers by name. One had been trapped under the rubble of the warzone; one had almost been molested by soldiers; one had tried to steal food lest he starved but had gotten caught. With every account, it was clearer to Alex that she was not only beautiful, but a great fighter with a warm heart, and his admiration for her only mounted.

Popola’s understanding of the situation of these refugees riveted her, and in turn, she became their biggest inspiration. Over the next few months, she earned a leadership role among the group that rivaled Alex’s. But he didn’t mind. She made several runs with the group, saving lives of innocent citizens and gathering information about the coup leader until one day, she found out she was pregnant with Alex’s child. The marriage had been quick, and nothing made them happier than the news of a baby.

“All we need now is more supplies, Poppy.” Alex assured her. “By the time you have our baby, we’ll be ready to strike, and you’ll be with us.” He kissed her.

As the war raged on, however, the coup seemed to get stronger, cleverer. A game of cat and mouse played between the two sides that lasted 2 years. In the first nine months, Popola gave birth to a beautiful little girl with blonde hair. They named her Mary, and she was the light of their life. Every time Alex got home from a run, he would go to see his little girl and she would coo with delight.

“Hello, my little Marigold.” He’d say, and her smile would widen.

At the end of 2 years, Popola was once again ready for action.

“We’ve needed you, Poppy.” Alex said, fondly. And it was true. With their strongest fighter back in the game, they could finally launch their attack with success.

When night fell, a mass of refugees waited in the woods across the moat. Popola, part of the small party that penetrated the coup's fortress first, hadn’t realized just how many warriors they had on their side. It gave her hope. She led her small band through the supply entrance to get to the main gate. Together, they knocked out every soldier along the perimeter without alerting the heart of the fortress. The main gates opened, and the resistance flooded in. Chaos errupted from that small fortress that the small island it was on had never seen before and would never see after.

The coup had its own private underground army. Wave by wave, the resistance knocked them out with a vengence, until, amidst the explosions and bloodshed, Alex, Popola, and Finn (Alex's best friend and right hand man) scored their way into the leader's chamber and sacrificed him to the war he'd started.

At the death of their leader, the private army scattered in retreat, and with a ferocious, the refugees celebrated their victory!

The war was over!

When they got back to the treehouse, they expected everyone to be on the ground, celebrating their newfound freedom. Instead, it was deadly silent.

“Where is everyone?” Popola asked.

“Dunno, Poppy.” Alex said, now weary. “Stay alert.”

“I’ll go up.” Offered Finn.

“Not alone.” Popola said, “Everyone,” she turned to the warriors who had all stopped as their leaders had, “to the ropes. On my mark, be quick about it. We need to ambush them first.”

The ropes were a secret way of climbing the tree. When she reached the top, Alex and Finn not far behind her, she was surprised to find Santiago and Honor standing on the wood path, conversing with deeply concerning expressions.

“Honor. Santiago. What happened?” Popola asked, now extremely confused. They turned to look at her, and her stomach sank.

“Alex. Popola.” Said Honor gently, “Two soldiers found their way here just after the news of your victory. We caught them, but not before…before…”

Suddenly, Popola couldn’t breathe. Alex’s face was frozen in horror. “Where’s Mary?” Popola asked.

“Popola,” Honor tried gently.

“Where’s Mary?!” her voice rose in panic.

“In the infirmary, but—”

Popola took off running. “Popola, wait! Don’t—” Honor called after her. She didn’t hear him. She tore across the balconies, jumping over gaps as shortcuts with strength she didn’t know she had. A crowd surrounded the infirmary door, but she shoved through them, shouting her daughter’s name. The little girl lay on the white bed, her skin a ghastly blue, and giant gash in her head, seemingly from the butt of a gun. Wailing, Popola scooped the still, small body up in her arms and let out earsplitting scream after scream after scream.

Alex appeared in the doorway behind her. At the sight that greeted him, his face turned deadly.

“Where are they?” he growled.

“In the empty storehouse.” Honor answered.

Popola’s cries quieted into desperate sobs but in the next minute, everyone could hear the agonizing screams of both soldiers from across the complex, differentiated from the screams of anguish that came from Alex. No one saw the buckets of tears that rolled down his face because all he could do afterwards was sit on the ground and weep.

The next evening, a pyre was built, and the well-worn couple watched as their daughter’s body was burned. They found comfort only in each other’s arms.

That night, Popola had a dream of floating down an endless sea on a giant poppy flower. Every star was reflected in the water like a map of the sky, and she could lean over and pluck them, and they would turn into little marigolds.