Starfell: Willow Moss and the Forgotten Tale
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‘So you see,’ she said, when she finally finished explaining all that had happened a few weeks before, ‘I believe that something affected my magic in Wisperia. It scrambled it around or something. I think, under the circumstances, that the best thing to do is to send for Moreg. She’ll know what to do, and how to help me find Nolin Sometimes.’
There was a long pause while her family stared at her in what Willow thought might be amazement at the fact she’d helped to save the world and kept quiet about it for so long, or perhaps even a little quiet pride at her courage in the face of such adversity … But it soon turned out to be something else entirely.
Her oldest sister, Juniper, came forward, an odd look on her face as if a beloved pet had died. She felt Willow’s forehead and frowned. ‘It’s the stress, isn’t it?’ she said, looking at her mother, her mouth in a sad line. ‘Ever since Granny passed. She can’t face reality any more.’ Then for a second her serious demeanour slipped and she clamped a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, I’m sorry … I shouldn’t laugh as it’s really quite awful, but … “send for Moreg”!’
This made Camille giggle, then whisper loudly, ‘She only used her first name too, like they were friends! Can you even imagine?’
Willow closed her eyes in frustration. When she opened them, she saw that her mother’s face was serious and rather sad, and she began to explain things as if Willow were still quite little, or possibly a bit dim.
‘My dear,’ she said, patting Willow’s hand gently, ‘I don’t think Moreg Vaine, the, um … most powerful witch in Starfell, would concern herself with the problems of a twelve-year-old girl.’
This elicited a few more sniggers from Camille and Juniper, but Raine turned and gave her other daughters A WARNING LOOK, and they stopped giggling immediately.
‘Sorry, Mum,’ said Juniper.
Raine’s face was twisted with worry. ‘What really concerns me is this delusion of yours, Willow. The idea that somehow you and Moreg went off on some wild and impressive adventure together when Granny passed away. I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, but that just didn’t happen.’
‘WOT?’ blurted Oswin from beneath the table, where he was hiding by Willow’s feet, his fur turning a violent shade of orange. ‘I WOS THERE! She took me WIFF ’er in a BAG made o’ HAIR! ’Tis NOT made up and ’tis NOT about the ol’ Flossy Mistress, yew … yew … CARBUNCLED CUMBERWORLDS!’
There was a long silence at this.
Then Willow said, ‘Thanks, Oswin.’ She and the kobold shared a conciliatory look. Mostly about how little his outburst would actually help. Still, it was nice to have someone on her side for once.
Willow’s mother pursed her lips in distaste, but gave no other sign that she’d heard Oswin. This was her standard approach to him.
It wasn’t, however, for Camille. ‘Look, just because you’ve convinced your monster doesn’t mean it actually happened,’ she snorted dismissively. ‘He’s usually hiding away in a bag or under your bed. You could tell him almost anything had happened and he’d probably believe you.’
Oswin shot out from under the table to glare at her. ‘WOT? Such LIES! Such undeservedable SLEWS against me fine koboldish character! A curse upon yeh … yeh harpy-hag – a CURSE!’
‘Control your monster!’ snapped Camille. ‘Or I’ll send him away!’
Willow felt her temper go from simmer to boil, and she stood up fast. ‘You will NOT touch him. It IS NOT A DELUSION and I haven’t LOST TOUCH WITH REALITY. Oswin WAS there!’
She took a deep, calming breath, which didn’t work, and tried again to get them to see reason. ‘It really happened, you just don’t remember it – but that’s only because you weren’t THERE! Because you didn’t want to help then EITHER!’
Camille gave a derisive snort, flinging her midnight hair back. ‘Oh really, Willow … like we’d not help save the world!’
Juniper made a huffing, dismissive sound too.
Willow sighed. ‘Well, you didn’t because you wouldn’t believe me then either. But that’s not the point. The way you’re all reacting now doesn’t make sense because you’ve seen what happened. You SAW Moreg – she came here after Granny’s funeral. You saw her speak to me and bring me my broom, Whisper, which I only got because I was helping her! How else would I have it? And, before she came, you saw the DRAGONS, so you must know that I’m telling the truth. How else would I have known her, or met a cloud dragon? How else would you explain that?’
There was a long moment when no one spoke.
Then, over the sound of Willow’s thundering heart, her mother let out a deep sigh. ‘Oh, Willow. You probably don’t know this, but Moreg was a family friend. I grew up with her sister, Molsa, you see. Moreg thought very highly of Granny Flossy. As you know, your grandmother was once the best potion-maker in all of Starfell, which is why Moreg came to pay her respects to all of us when she passed. I believe that she brought you your broom as a gift, to take your mind off Granny’s death. I mean, granted, Moreg is not generally known for, erm, spontaneous acts of kindness … but that’s what it was – a kind act to a child at a difficult time. I’m afraid that, with all the shock and upset, you’ve got a bit muddled and turned it into something else … some wild story about saving the world with her, as well as an imaginary friend needing your help, and trees that move and deliver letters … Oh, Wol.’
She gave a short, humourless laugh. ‘Which is DEEPLY worrying for all of us, don’t you see? Because not only do you seem troubled, it’s dangerous to be around you as it’s affected your magic in a rather violent way. We have to get you help, and soon!’
Willow stared at her mother through eyes that were misted by sudden angry tears. There was a lump in her throat, making it hard to speak. She’d never needed Granny Flossy more than she did in that moment. Granny would have made them see, made them hear, somehow. She would probably have known the truth about the trees – she knew things like that, things no one else did – and she would have gone outside to try talking to the oak, even if they all thought that was bonkers. She would have trusted Willow, or at least tried to. But Granny Flossy was gone, and there was nothing Willow could do.
Her chin started to shake, and in a very small, choked voice she tried one last time to make them see that she was telling the truth. ‘B-b-but you heard what Feathering the dragon said, Mum. About how I helped him. Please can you just –’ she sniffed – ‘try to believe me?’
Raine spoke to her in a soft, kind voice, which only made things worse. ‘I do believe that, of course I do – the big dragon said that you helped him find his egg. I mean, I think that’s a WONDERFUL thing to have done.’
She shot Juniper and Camille a look and they both quickly nodded too. ‘We all do,’ continued her mother. ‘But, you see, it might have been the very excitement of meeting him and Moreg, mixed in with your grief, that caused things to get scrambled somehow … and made you think that you’d met before.’
Willow’s mouth closed over a wordless scream, hot tears leaking from her eyes unchecked.
They just wouldn’t believe her. Willow felt her hurt begin to grow as she considered the hard truth about her family. It wasn’t just that they didn’t believe her: they didn’t believe in her … and they never would. They couldn’t even imagine that it was possible for Willow to have done something even slightly remarkable, even with help. They would never see her as one of them.
She felt winded, as if something hard and jagged had hit her in the chest. The blood rushed to her ears, and there was a ringing sound – later she would wonder if it was the sound of her own heart breaking – and suddenly there was a loud pop.
She looked up to see that she had made everyone, except Oswin, vanish.
Meanwhile, somewhere far away, a throne glinted like opals and diamonds in the shadows. Though, if you were to look closer, it seemed to be made of feathers and roots and darkness.
The queen who sat upon it had shadowy eyes like a night devoid of stars. She steepled her fingers and asked her servant, ‘You know what you need to do?’
The servant nodded, once. His gaze flicked towards the white-haired man on the floor whose eyes were pale and unseeing, though from his mumbling lips came a low moan.
The queen shifted in her seat like moving ink, and her hair floated in the air above as if she were underwater. She made a motion with her fingers and a small, shadow-like bird flew towards the figure on the ground, and into his open mouth. No more sound escaped his lips.
The servant watched in silence, then turned to leave.
‘Be careful,’ the queen warned. ‘Remember who you are up against. The witch sees all – you must play your game well if you are to succeed.’
‘I know what is at stake,’ said the servant.
The queen said nothing. She simply lifted a finger. It was the colour of birch bark, silver and dry and stronger than steel. A mist appeared, and there was a flash of wings, and then nothing at all.
3
An Unlikely Accomplice
In the silence between the thunderclaps of Willow’s own heartbeats, Oswin stared up at her in horror. ‘Oh NOOOOO! Oh, me ’orrid aunt! They’ll never believes yew now that yer magic has gon’ proper squifflesticks,’ he groaned, covering his large, lamp-like eyes with his paws as if he really didn’t want to watch what happened next.
‘You’re right,’ said Willow in a small, scared voice. She swallowed, and took a wary step back from where the table had been, knocking a chair over in her fright. ‘Oswin, I’m going to have to find Moreg myself. I think I should go now, quickly, before my father gets here or they come back. I just don’t think they’ll believe me … and, to be honest, right now they’re right about one thing. I-I’m a danger to be around. Y-you can stay if you want.’
The kobold went from green to orange in a flash, his eyes shooting daggers at her. ‘WOT? Yew wants to leave me behind?’
‘No – but you might be safer here.’
Oswin shot her a dark look and harrumphed. ‘Wiffout yew ’ere, that harpy-hag will gets rid of me faster than I could blink. I’ll take me chances wiff yew any day – ’sides,’ he said in a small voice, ‘yew mights needs me.’
Willow gave him a small, grateful smile. It was true, Oswin could be useful … when he wanted to be. Mostly because he was often the one who remembered about food, but there was also the fact that his koboldish blood let him know whenever they were approaching dangerous magic. And yes, there was his rather useful ability to blow up when he was agitated enough – which had partly helped save the missing day. Not that he’d meant to do it. Still, it was handy.
Together they quickly packed the hairy carpetbag and left the cottage. Willow stopped only to get her broom, Whisper, from the shed.
At the garden gate, the oak tree harrumphed as she passed him. ‘Running away, are we?’
There was a faint ‘Oh noooo, I forgot about ’IM,’ from within the bag.
Willow turned to look at the tree in surprise, her face blotchy with tears. She’d been sure that he wouldn’t speak to her again. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. ‘Yes. I need to find my friend, and to do that I have to sort out my magic … and get away from here. I’m sorry about the letter, though – and for disturbing you.’
The tree made a windy harrumphing sound. Then its knot eyes softened slightly as it took in the state of Willow’s tear-streaked face. ‘It sounded like you’d been punished enough.’
‘You heard all that?’ she asked, surprised.
‘Trees hear everything,’ he replied, then raised a root from the ground. ‘I reach well under the cottage … I know what’s going on, even when I sleep.’
Willow didn’t know what to feel about that. This whole time they’d had an audience they had never known about. It was a bit creepy when she thought about it.
‘I know it really happened – the missing day,’ said the tree. ‘If that helps. I know you aren’t talking nonsense … well, no more than the rest of them anyway,’ he said, pointing a branch in the direction of the cottage. ‘I felt that something was wrong, that something had disappeared, causing strange effects, even as I slept. And, besides that, trees talk … We know what you helped to do.’
Willow blinked. They did?
There was a loud popping sound from the direction of the cottage, followed by several high-pitched screams. Willow’s heart started to race – her family must have reappeared in the kitchen. At least this still allowed her a bit of a head start. Fighting mounting panic, she picked up the carpetbag with Oswin inside. ‘I’d better go – I can’t afford to waste time hoping that my family will believe me. My friend needs me.’
The old oak tree considered her. ‘I was the youngest in my family before I moved here … An oak needs some space sometimes,’ he said, pointing to the dark woods ahead. ‘I remember how it was – no room to grow. I’ll hold them off while you leave.’
‘You will?’
He nodded, making his leaves rustle. ‘Didn’t much care for that comment about trees to be honest. As if it was ridiculous somehow. Typical of humans to think only they can talk or move or think …’
There was a harrumph of agreement from within the carpetbag at this. ‘Exacterly,’ mumbled Oswin.
As the tree frowned at the bag in some confusion, Willow stared at him. ‘But how will you hold them off?’
There was a windy sort of grunt. ‘I’ll think of something,’ he said, shuffling some acorns in a slightly menacing way that made Willow feel a moment of concern her family, and even guiltier than she already did for running away.
Still, he was giving her the chance she needed. ‘Thank you,’ said Willow.
The tree ignored her thanks as it clomped towards the cottage, muttering to himself, ‘Blooming had to choose a house full of witches, didn’t I? Couldn’t just keep my darn roots out of it …’
Then, as the cottage door opened, despite his grumbling, the oak began pelting her family with acorns rather enthusiastically while they all screeched in shock. Seeing Willow, they shouted at her to come back.
‘Willow, don’t go!’ cried her mother, dodging an acorn. ‘Stop, you horrid tree!’ she snapped as another one bounced off her forehead. ‘Willow, I’ll get Amora Spell to come and look at you – we can do something about this! I believe you about the tree at least …’
But Willow shook her head. It was too late. Besides, Amora Spell, her grandmother’s swindling ex-partner, would definitely not help matters and time was running out. She needed to get to Moreg. It was possible that the witch knew where poor Nolin Sometimes was.
As Camille stepped forward, the tree picked her up and said, ‘Oh no you don’t, missus … I have half a mind to drag you off to the Mists of Mitlaire myself for threatening your sister with that. A person’s soul is no joking matter!’
Willow swallowed down her guilt. ‘I’m sorry, really … but I have to go!’
Then she mounted Whisper and set off towards Moreg’s house, her family’s screeches and Oswin’s loud, panicked cries of ‘Oh nooooooooo, not this flying sticks again!’ heavy in her ears.
Far away, in a strange place where time seemed to have stopped, Nolin Sometimes woke to darkness. It was the kind of dark where you can’t see your own hand in front of your face, where you aren’t sure where you begin and the shadows end, or if they end at all …
He swallowed as he sat up. There was a lump throbbing on his forehead.
The silence around him was unlike any he had ever known or grown used to in the forest of Wisperia, where there was always the sound of birds, the rustling of trees, the whisper of the wind … This was the absence of all that. It was nothing.
He called out to the nothing … which was when the fear started to build to a crescendo and the blood rushed in his ears, for no sound escaped his lips, even as he screamed …
4
Pimpernell, a ‘Hed’ Witch
As Willow flew up, past the dark woods and towards the warm glow of the midday sun peeking behind the trees, the hard knot twisting her stomach seemed to loosen slightly.
While she regretted having to leave her family behind in such a dramatic way, she felt a sense of purpose grab hold of her. It was the first time she’d felt anything like it since she’d found out about what had happened on that missing Tuesday – when she’d discovered that she’d lost Granny Flossy and the world had seemed to end.
Up through the trees, the wind in her hair, everything seemed to grow quiet, allowing her mind to sharpen, and she began to think.
And the main thing she thought was that she should have brought a map.
Willow reached into her pocket and took out her StoryPass, a magical device that resembled a compass and appeared to know things that she didn’t. It seemed to agree, as it was currently pointing to ‘One Might Have Suspected as Such’.
‘Do you think I should head east or west for Troll Country?’ she asked aloud. A green paw shot out of the bag, palm up, followed by a mumble about not exactly being able to see properly through a bag made of hair.
Also something about a cumberworld.
‘I suppose we’ll have to land and ask for directions,’ said Willow, pointing Whisper down towards a village on the edge of the woods.
But, as she began to descend, a flock of ravens helicoptered from the sky, making bloodcurdling cries that made her stomach take a dive. With a horrid thrill, Willow realised they were aiming straight for her, as if she were some rather large prey they’d quite like to gobble up.
‘What ON WOL?’ She screamed and twisted the broom till she veered away from the village below and almost flew straight into a clump of trees, earning herself several scrapes and scratches as she collided with a branch. She righted Whisper and tried to go back towards the village, but the ravens continued to circle her, making their odd cries.
In the hairy green carpetbag, she could hear high-pitched wails from Oswin. ‘Oh NOOOOO! Oh, me ’orrid aunt, I don’ wanna die as bird food!’
Heart pounding, Willow flew in the opposite direction through low branches, twigs smacking her in the face, until they crash-landed with a thud in a thick pile of leaves. Willow tumbled off Whisper, and the broomstick came to a halt a few feet away.
From her landing place, she looked up in immense relief to see the ravens soaring away, the air full of their eerie cries. With a shaking hand, she shaded a palm against her forehead, and noticed that one of the birds had a strange wing that appeared blue and made of something like smoke. She blinked, and it was gone.
Still breathing rather heavily, she dusted herself off, wincing as her grazed palms stung. Then she picked up the hairy green bag, which harrumphed. ‘WOT was that abouts?’
‘I don’t know,’ whispered Willow, who was having a hard time convincing her legs that they should move. She’d never known birds to behave that way. ‘I think it might be safer if we go by foot for a while.’ She fetched her broom, which was covered in mud and leaves, and put it over her shoulder with a frown.
It was late afternoon when she neared a clearing in the woods. She could see a hand-painted sign that read:
‘Hmmm, it doesn’t seem like these are the type of villagers who’d appreciate another witch on their doorstep,’ said Willow, looking at the pink graffiti that had been added by some daring soul to the bit about a witch in residence.
Oswin agreed. ‘Let’s SKEDADDLE!’
Willow turned to go back the way she’d come – only it was too late. There was a loud clanking sound from behind her that caused the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end.
‘Wot do we have here? Another witch, yeh say?’ hissed a voice that made her knees forget for a moment how to hold up her legs.
Willow turned, stumbled and swallowed. In that order. Her eyes widened, and stayed that way. She could well understand how this could be one witch too many. More than enough. She was like every rumour that you might have heard when it came to the word ‘witch’, every idea that set your skin to gooseflesh, every nightmare, all rolled into one. Though there wasn’t a wart on her chin or a tall black hat on her head, somehow, from deep within Willow’s chilled heart, she felt that the figure before her had all the allotted witchiness that could have been reserved for, say, a rash of witches. Or a botherment. Or, yes, a coven, if one wished to use the proper collective noun.
She was very tall, with long silver dreadlocks that fell down to her waist. She had skin the colour of dried almonds, and strange amber eyes, like wood snapping in a fire, which blazed into Willow’s, pinning her to the spot. There was a strange clanking sound when she walked, which was somehow unexplained by her long copper-and-silver-coloured robe, and she moved with the aid of a large opal-topped cane.
‘Ohnooonooooo, a curse upon yeh, Osbertrude! This is jes NOT turnin’ outs ter be a good day to be a kobold,’ cried Oswin, who zipped himself more securely into the carpetbag and began to shake in fear. Invoking the curse of his aunt always meant serious danger was coming.
The witch’s wood-fire eyes seemed to glow, and she spoke slowly, in a spooky yet lyrical voice that caused gooseflesh to rise all over Willow’s body. ‘Wot yeh doin’ down here in these woods, child?’
Willow tried to explain, while also attempting to mentally persuade her knees to stop knocking. ‘I-I need to get to Troll Country. I-I was going to look for a map, or ask for directions.’
The witch narrowed her eyes. ‘Troll Country, yeh say, hmmm? That be MIGHTY interestin’. And just wot do yeh want with Moreg Vaine, child?’
Willow blinked. ‘H-how did you know that?’ There were not many people who knew that the most fearsome witch in all of Starfell chose to live in a secret castle within a valley in Troll Country …