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 …
‘Pimpernell always knows, child … and wot she don’ know she finds out soon enough.’
Willow frowned, and the witch explained. ‘That’s me name. Blu-Scarly Pimpernell, ter be precise, though most call me by the latter. I’m a hedge witch round these parts.’
‘Oh noooooo!A hed witch?’ muttered Oswin from the bag, which begin to shake even more. ‘A brain scrambler? Let’s SKEDADDLE!’
The witch rolled her amber eyes at the bag. ‘A hedge witch, kobold. Not head. I’m a healer – use things that grow in these here hedges ter make people better in me healing tower in the woods, don’ yeh know.’
<
br /> Willow’s mouth fell open in surprise.
The witch turned to give the village a dark look. ‘Them there don’ quite know wot they been missin’ all this time, as I got a knack fer colds and such-like. I don’ just fix magical people’s maladies … well, not by choice anyway.’
Willow frowned. Pimpernell … She’d heard that name before, hadn’t she? Hadn’t Granny said something about her? She racked her brain but nothing came to mind.
Pimpernell looked at Willow and said, ‘So tell me ’bout it, child. Wot’s been eatin’ yeh?’
Willow bit her lip, wondering if she could trust the witch, and decided perhaps not.
‘Um. Nothing. I’m absolutely, completely fine. I just need to find Moreg. I need her help with … something.’
The witch’s strange, fiery eyes raked over her. ‘Fine, yeh say?’ She shook her head. ‘I don’ buy it, child. Yeh don’ look well, if yeh don’ mind me sayin’ so – peaky-like. Somethin’ wrong with yer magic if yeh asks me …’
Willow blinked. ‘H-how did you know that?’ she gasped.
‘Pimpernell can always tell. ’Sides, I can help yeh with that, child – no need ter bother the witch … She’s away, last I heard, so yeh’d be wasting a journey anyway. ’Sides, I been missin’ me spectacles for ages, so yeh can repay me by findin’ them once I’ve helped yeh. Is that a deal?’
Willow nodded. That sounded fair.
It was only much later, when it was too late, that she realised she’d never told the witch what her power was …
5
The Wizard Beyond the Wall
At first, as Willow followed the witch into the heart of the Howling Woods, she thought that maybe visiting a healing tower before she tried saving Nolin Sometimes wasn’t the worst idea in the world …
Though there was a tiny part of her that looked at the tall, fearsome witch and her imposing tower, which was covered in moons and stars and gold glitter, and thought … was all this really necessary? Wasn’t it just the sort of thing that made people without a magical ability a bit suspicious of those who had one?
Still, it wasn’t exactly an opinion she dared venture out loud.
‘Come on in, child,’ said the witch, leading Willow into a bright and airy room on the first floor of the tower. It was filled with rows of steel beds and sleeping patients who were quietly snoring.
Willow’s eye fell on the witch’s foot as she walked in front, her steps making that clink-clank-clink sound as she moved. Willow caught a glimpse of something that seemed to glint, like metal.
Pimpernell saw her looking and twitched her dress back over her foot. ‘This way,’ she said, and the witch made Willow sit on a low stool while she took down a large bottle of tonic from a heaving cabinet full of all sorts of dried herbs, potions and cures.
On a long wooden table nearby there was a pestle and mortar and several odd things in jars. Some of them gave Willow the creeps, like one that seemed to be full of eyeballs that were regarding her rather intently. Willow swallowed nervously. From the hairy green bag there was a faint ‘Oh no.’
The witch handed her a steaming goblet, which smelt a bit like feet. ‘This be one of me best blends – sorts out most problems pronto-like.’
Willow took a sip and shuddered rather violently – which was when things went wrong rather fast.
As soon as the tonic touched her tongue, the bottle and spoon vanished with a loud pop. The witch looked at her suspiciously, and suddenly more and more items in the tower began to disappear. The witch started to wail in fear as beds, mugs, carpets and plates all began to vanish.
‘Wot yeh doin’, child! Stop it!’ she cried, but Willow couldn’t. The table went. Then the cabinet. People started to wake up, falling to the floor and screaming as the beds beneath them disappeared. It was pandemonium in seconds.
The witch blinked at her, then seemed to nod. ‘’Tis a bad case yeh got here … Extreme measures will need ter be taken! But I’m gonna help. We’ll get this tempest outta yeh, one way or another, child! I’ll have ter get yeh outta here pronto, though. Ter the top with yeh – there’s nothin’ much up there so it won’ matter if yeh make it disappear.’
With that, Pimpernell picked Willow up as if she weighed nothing and whisked her up the stairs, making a clinkclankclinkclankclink sound as she ran. The witch shoved Willow and her hairy carpetbag into a room at the very top of the tower and quickly locked the door.
‘’Tis fer yer own good, child!’
‘Oh no! Oh NOOOOO, oh, me ’orrid aunt!’ cried Oswin, from where the bag had landed on the cold wooden floor.
‘Oh nooooooooooooo,’ was pretty much how Willow summed up their current predicament as well.
As the heavy attic door was bolted behind her, Willow was just working up to a full, panic-heavy scream of her own when a smoky, gravelly sort of voice interrupted.
‘Psst, girl.’
Willow turned round in surprise, but couldn’t make out where the voice was coming from. She squinted into the gloom.
‘Over here,’ said the voice.
Willow looked. But all she saw in the small room were dusty wooden floorboards, on top of which sat a small iron bed with peeling green paint, a chair, a small table stacked with old newspapers and, in the corner, an old green stove covered in cobwebs. Propped up next to this was a poker shrouded in dust.
There was no one there.
Her glance flicked upward, towards the rafters, where there were some rather large spiderwebs. She swallowed nervously. ‘Um?’ she whispered.
‘On yer left,’ said the voice.
The hairy carpetbag began to shake. ‘Oh nooooooooo, me greedy aunt! Wot new eel is this?’
Willow’s breath caught in her throat. What new eel indeed? Had she somehow been locked up inside a dangerous witch’s tower with a ghost?
‘Lass, yer other left, here,’ said the voice, sounding slightly exasperated.
To the slight relief of her knocking knees, she saw a gnarly finger waving at her from a small hole in the wall opposite. At least it wasn’t a ghost, though the lone finger wasn’t exactly comforting either.
Willow hesitated, then came forward slowly. Kneeling down on the attic floor and putting her hair behind one ear, she peered through the hole. She could just make out a sea-green eye and, when the figure turned, a heavily lined and weathered face framed by long, straggly grey hair. She felt her heart rate return almost to normal. It was just an old man. A wizard, she realised, if he was here.
‘Whatcha in for?’ he said, his blue-green eye wide.
‘Oh. Well, you see, my magic has gone a bit weird—’
The sea-green eye narrowed. ‘How weird?’
‘Um. Very? It’s sort of scrambled, I think. Usually, I find things that are lost, but lately … well, erm, it’s almost as if I’m making them vanish as well.’
The face turned and she saw the wizard head-on. He was even older than she’d first thought, with one eye made of glass, but his expression was curious, and his other eye was clear and full of life. ‘Well, are ya?’
‘Yes. I – I suppose I am,’ said Willow, who, even now, after everything that had happened, was finding it hard to admit that she had been the cause of the missing things. ‘But NOT on purpose.’
‘Ah, that’s the problem, see. If it were on purpose, ya wouldn’t be stuck up here,’ the wizard said with a humourless snort.
Willow couldn’t deny the logic of that. ‘Pimpernell said she’d help …’ This now seemed a bit doubtful. ‘When I met her in the woods, I thought she seemed, well …’
‘Helpful?’ supplied the old wizard with a hollow sort of laugh, as if he knew an unwelcome secret she did not.
‘Yes.’ Willow frowned as she recounted the tale to the wizard. ‘She made it seem like she could help me, but I think she started panicking when I made half of her tower disappear.’
To be fair, Willow thought, panicking did make a bit of sense …
‘The witch means well,’ ackno
wledged the wizard. ‘The problem is that she can take trying to help to extremes. Especially if she thinks you’re dangerous.’
Willow swallowed. Locking someone up did seem extreme, especially considering the only reason things started to disappear was because Pimpernell kept trying to force Willow to drink that dreadful-smelling tonic.
Suddenly she remembered what Granny Flossy had said, and what her brain had been trying to remember. ‘She’s one of the best healers around, but ’tis hard living on yer own. Especially when you don’ feel accepted by the people around you – a body needs company, and outsiders, to make ’em see wrong from right. It’s not good to only take yer own counsel, and Pimpernell has only been listening to herself fer years …’
Willow stared at the eye in the hole. ‘Do you think she’ll let me out?’
‘Oh. I dunno,’ said the old man, rubbing his chin in thought. ‘Hard to say for sure, but once she’s figured you’re a danger it’ll be hard to persuade her differently.’
‘Oh,’ said Willow, her heart sinking fast.
‘Me name’s Holloway, by the way.’
‘Willow.’
‘Who’s that with ya?’ Holloway asked. ‘Thought I heard someone else.’
‘That’s Oswin. He’s a kobold,’ said Willow, pointing to the hairy green bag behind her.
‘A kobold!’ he gasped, his sea-green eye brightening. ‘Well now, ya don’t see that every day.’ There was silence and Holloway admitted, ‘Not that I can see him now, as he seems to be in a bag, but ya know what I mean.’
There was a low mumble from Oswin about ‘peoples forgetting that not seeing kobolds is the whole points of being the monster from under the bed’ – or monster in the bag as he was more recently known – and then something about cumberworlds.
Willow shrugged at Holloway’s confused look. She was too distracted by the thought of getting out to explain.
Willow Moss and the Forgotten Tale Page 3