Willow Moss and the Forgotten Tale

by Dominique Valente

  As she said her grandmother’s name, it felt as if the air were snatched from her lungs and she forgot how to breathe. It happened like that sometimes, the remembrance of her. Some days it was something as small as seeing a tiny green shoot in the ground that was exactly the colour of Granny’s hair that did it. Other times it was the scent of a stewed grumbling Gertrude – the dark purple fruit that the old woman had used to improve the flavour of her dodgier potions – that suddenly brought tears to Willow’s eyes. These little things would make her stop suddenly, like her legs were wading through churned butter, and she couldn’t move – not until her heart remembered how to beat again.

  She wondered if that would ever stop – if she would ever just think of Granny Flossy and not feel as if the world had somehow ended. When she’d found the missing Tuesday and discovered that she’d lost her, Willow felt as if she’d lost a piece of herself in the process too.

  She swallowed and willed herself not to cry. Not here. Not now. She’d been doing that a lot lately. She gritted her teeth. She had to be strong.

  ‘I’m really sorry to hear that, lass,’ said Holloway, his sea-green eye full of remorse. ‘It’s not me place to say, but I figure that might be what’s at the heart of it, and I’m afraid the only cure for that is time.’

  Willow bit her lip, trying to encourage the tears to retreat. Perhaps Holloway sensed this as he put on a bright voice and suggested they play a game of cards called Witchstyx.

  There were four sets of different cards: a witch’s hat, a broom, a cauldron and a raven.

  ‘They’re a terrible old stereotype … about witches,’ he said, his cheeks turning slightly red. ‘I mean, I know most witches don’t subscribe to the old ways any more.’ He cleared his throat.

  ‘Only cos they can’t, wot wiff what ’appened ter magic after the war,’ sniffed Oswin from the opposite chair. ‘Else this one woulds ’ave it all, ’cept mebbe the hat. That would look a bit weirds.’

  Willow shot him a look, but her mouth twitched as she tried not to laugh.

  Oswin was right that since the Long War a thousand years ago, when magic was almost completely destroyed, magicians were not as powerful as they’d used to be. The magic that had returned to Starfell centuries later wasn’t like the magic of old, which had gifted people with many abilities. It had learnt not to trust humans, and only gave small traces of itself. This was why most people who were lucky enough to have magic in their veins these days only had the one ability, like Willow.

  Oswin was right, though, that she’d always fancied the old traditions, particularly brooms. Though she wasn’t sure about ravens – that sounded dead creepy …

  ‘All ya have to do is match like with like and shout “Witchstyx” first. It’s fun. Ya win regardless, though, showing her a beautifully drawn card of a fearsome witch. ‘Umbellifer. Queen of the Undead.’

  Willow took the card and her eyes widened. The ghostly ruler was depicted as a skeletal figure. There were dark holes where her eyes should have been and on her head was a crown made of bones.

  ‘She’s ’orrid,’ said Oswin, looking at it and shivering. ‘The stories!’

  Willow agreed. They were dreadful. All good ghost stories began with the Queen of the Undead. Still, it didn’t stop them trying their best to get her card as they began to play.

  Later in the evening, after their fourth round of Witchstyx, Holloway sighed as he sat back in his armchair. He crossed his wooden leg over the other, then grimaced as he fiddled with it.

  ‘Is it hurting you?’

  ‘Some,’ he admitted. ‘’Tis not the same as the one I had made in Lael. Elves, ya know? They know how to make things that work. Fitted me skin like a glove, moved when I moved. This just chafes something rotten. Do ya mind?’ He looked at the leg and then at her.

  It took Willow a while to realise he was asking her if she would mind if he took the artificial leg off – and she realised that he’d been keeping it on this whole time, despite his discomfort, for her benefit. She felt terrible. ‘Oh, Holloway, please take it off – you don’t have to wear it for me! Is there anything I can do?’

  The wizard sighed in relief as he popped it off and gave the skin beneath it a rub. It looked red and painful. ‘Thanks. Not really, though, not unless ya can find me old one! Lost it to that darned sea serpent. Life of a sailor, always doing battle with something – be it sea or sea monster.’ He gave her a good-natured wink.

  Willow bit her lip. He did say that it was lost.

  Then, before she could even raise her hand to the sky to try and find it, a great cascade of water fell from above and something solid landed with a thunk on the floor.

  ‘WHAT IN WOL’S NAME? Is that mine?’ exclaimed Holloway, looking down at the wooden leg. It had a few bite marks, possibly from the run-in with the sea monster.

  Willow blinked in shock. How had she done that without even thinking?

  ‘Th-thank you,’ stammered the wizard as he took up the leg. Then he hopped to the kitchen, dodging the great puddle of water where the leg had landed, and started filling up a kettle with water. ‘I’ll just give it a quick rinse before I put it on. Who knows where on Starfell it’s been!’ he said.

  He washed the wooden leg tenderly with soap and water, then patted it dry. When he put it on, Willow could see the difference immediately. It fitted like a glove.

  He looked at her in amazement. ‘I know things aren’t going according to plan with yer magic, but I can say this for nothing. Despite what you’ve told me about yourself, yer magic is far from ordinary, and I’m grateful as.’

  Willow blushed to the roots of her hair at the compliment. But really, as she got up to fetch a mop to clear up the water, she was just relieved, considering the current state of her magic, that she hadn’t somehow made him or the boat disappear instead.

  When night-time rolled around, Willow set up a bed on the floor, using the mound of cushions from the armchairs, topped with a large patchwork blanket. Holloway had offered to give her his bunk, but it didn’t seem right to take the old wizard’s bed.

  As Oswin made himself comfortable at the foot of the makeshift bed and Willow plumped up one of the cushions, she couldn’t help wondering aloud, ‘But how did I make it happen? Finding his wooden leg, I mean. I didn’t even really try, and when I do it doesn’t seem to work.’

  ‘Mebbe that wos why it worked. Yew din’t try,’ said Oswin, rolling over to get more comfortable. ‘Yew jes did it.’

  Willow sat up fast, her heart thudding in her chest. Was the kobold right? She thought about her friend, Nolin Sometimes, and tried not to think, while she attempted to summon him from the clutches of his kidnappers.

  Then …

  ‘Rats!’ whined Oswin as the mound of cushions disappeared with a loud pop. Then he scowled at her, his fur turning bright orange. ‘DIN’T I JES SAY IT ’APPENS WHEN YEW DON’ TRYS?’

  ‘Sorry, yes, you did,’ said Willow. She was forced to share the blanket with Oswin, who glared at her in annoyance for five minutes straight before he finally turned to go to sleep, muttering something about cumberworlds.

  9

  Magic Ahoy!

  Morning came early on the bath-boat, with the sound of birds flying overhead and river weeds rustling as they cut through the water at a steady speed.

  Willow sat at the helm with a cup of pepper tea and watched the sky turn from pink to gold as the world went by, her ears steaming slightly from the hot drink. Her body ached from its uncomfortable night on the copper floor of the boat. Unfortunately, the cushions had only reappeared at dawn.

  Holloway stood by the wheel, his face turned towards the sky. ‘Can’t bottle that – been a long time since I felt the wind on me skin.’

  Willow grinned. ‘Where will you go now that you’ve got your freedom?’

  ‘Anywhere me heart takes me. That’s the beauty of it.’

  She nodded. That was. It made her think of poor Sometimes, captured and taken who knew where. Willow frown
ed. She just hoped that when she got to Wisperia there would be some clue as to where he was. She looked at her hands and sighed. If only her magic would just work.

  In the distance, she could hear the strange cries of a raven. She looked up, thinking of the group of birds that had forced her off course and into Pimpernell’s path, and saw there were some circling the boat. She breathed easier when they flew on overhead.

  Oswin’s grumbling stomach told her to think of more earthly pursuits, and she attempted to rustle up something for breakfast. She found a dented, dusty old tin of ven beans right at the back of one of Holloway’s mostly empty cupboards.

  ‘Beans for breakfast it is,’ she said with a slight grimace.

  It was past noon when Holloway took out a copper spyglass and looked not at the horizon, but up above, at the whale weathervane, which was currently pointing to M.

  ‘M?’ Willow asked, peering at it.

  ‘Magic,’ he said. ‘It’s a useful guide at times. I got it from the town of Library. Fascinating place, not like you’d imagine. It’s where they keep all the magical books in Starfell. I reckon if ya wanted to know any of Starfell’s secrets, particularly about magic, that’s the best place for it.’

  Willow’s eyes widened. That was where Moreg had got the StoryPass too. It sounded like an interesting place to visit.

  She looked up again at the weathervane and her brow furrowed. The ravens were back. They were circling overhead, and she remembered what Moreg had told her once.

  ‘A group of ravens are often called an “unkindness of ravens”, but I prefer the less well-known term, a conspiracy.’

  A conspiracy of ravens had always sounded like trouble, and Willow felt the hairs on her neck stand on end.

  ‘It’s strange for them to be out here,’ Holloway mused, raising his spyglass to have a closer look. But, as soon as he did, the ravens vanished in a flash. Willow blinked. Were they following her? But that was mad … wasn’t it?

  The air filled with mist as afternoon descended, and a single raven emerged from the gloom above, making a strange, almost warning cry. It was followed by several more, and she almost fell over.

  ‘Great Starfell!’ cried Holloway.

  The ravens seemed to be carrying something. As Willow squinted into the mist, she thought she saw something long and thin, and … were those white feathers at the end?

  Then, the next thing she knew, whatever the ravens were carrying landed with a soft thump on the deck in front of her. She looked up and saw that they were all departing, apart from one raven with glossy black feathers. One of its wings was strange, almost as if it were smudged, or made of dark blue smoke. It landed on the lip of the bath-boat and let out a hoarse caw, pointing its beak towards the floor.

  Willow looked down, then gasped. ‘Whisper.’

  ‘Why must we whisper?’ hissed Holloway, eyeing the raven, who was staring at them very solemnly.

  ‘It’s my broom – it’s called Whisper,’ she said, picking it up reverently. Then she looked in shock from it to the bird, except, suddenly, there wasn’t a bird there at all.

  There

  was

  a

  boy.

  10

  Sprig

  They stared at the boy in shock. He was scrawny, with dark eyes and hair. His clothes were old and tattered, yet it was his left arm that drew Willow’s eye. It looked like it was made of blue-black river sand, as the skin was pebbled and marked with concentric scores. As she stared, he made to cover it with a shirt that had been tied round his waist and she felt bad for staring.

  ‘You’re Willow?’ he asked.

  His voice was like the raven’s cry, low and oddly haunting.

  She nodded. ‘H-how did you know?’

  ‘Moreg.’

  Suddenly Willow remembered something. It was a morning she would never forget, when she’d left her cottage with Moreg to find the lost day. Ravens had circled above them then too, in the dark woods. Among them Willow had seen a strange one with a dark, smoky blue wing … and then the witch had raised a finger and seemingly made the bird disappear … This was him.

  Willow stared as she realised. ‘Moreg sent you?’

  ‘Yes. She told me to give you that,’ he said, pointing at the broomstick in her hands. ‘Said you’d need it.’

  Then he turned to leave, and a shudder went through his body, followed by a ripple and a flash. For a moment there was a trace of feathers, then his body shuddered again and he was back to being a boy.

  He sighed and sat down by the side of the boat. ‘Would you mind if I rested here a while? It’s been a long journey.’

  Willow shook her head. ‘Of course not.’

  She looked at Holloway for confirmation, who nodded and said, ‘Stay as long as ya need, son.’

  Willow went to fetch the boy a glass of water, which he accepted with gratitude, downing it in one. ‘Thanks,’ he gasped.

  What did it mean, Moreg asking this boy to bring her broom, Whisper? Where was the witch? Did she know about Nolin Sometimes? Why hadn’t she come herself?

  ‘Do you know where Moreg is?’ Willow asked. ‘Can you take me to her? I need her help. Our friend has been taken – it’s really important.’

  The boy looked up at her, his eyes glazed with fatigue. ‘She—’ His eyelids started to flicker. He was struggling to keep awake.

  Holloway said, ‘Poor lad looks tuckered out. C’mon, it can keep a little while. I’m sure he’ll tell ya everything when he’s rested.’ And he led the boy below deck to sleep.

  The boy slept well into the evening, while Willow paced outside the bedroom, waiting.

  ‘If the witch sent yew the broom, mebbe it means she’s working on getting the forgotten teller back too,’ said Oswin.

  Willow nodded. That was true. She bit her nail, wishing the boy would just wake up so she could ask him if that were true, if the witch had some kind of plan for rescuing Nolin Sometimes.

  ‘C’mon, lass. Nothing to be done right now – might as well have some dinner,’ added Holloway.

  The boy woke at last to the scent of fish frying in the small kitchen. The wizard had speared a ferntail, which was large enough to feed everyone comfortably.

  The boy ran a hand nervously through his dark, messy hair as he found them all sitting just outside the bedroom. Willow had been playing a round of Witchstyx with Oswin, trying to distract herself from her impatience, but when he reappeared she stood up so fast that she made her chair wobble.

  The boy didn’t notice. He just looked round and said, ‘This is some boat.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Holloway.

  ‘I’m Sprig,’ said the boy. ‘I didn’t introduce myself properly earlier, sorry.’

  ‘You were tired,’ said Holloway. There were still deep circles beneath the boy’s dark eyes.

  Barely containing her impatience, Willow tried to be polite. ‘This is Oswin, and Holloway,’ she said quickly, indicating the old wizard with his long grey hair and glass eye, who waved a spatula at Sprig in greeting.

  Sprig smiled. He seemed to find the sight of Oswin the most diverting, and couldn’t help staring. The kobold looked up from matching a cauldron card with one of Willow’s, his green fur turning ever so slightly orange at the edges, and said, ‘Wot?’

  ‘I’ve just never seen a ca—’ He broke off at Willow and Holloway’s violent head-shaking.

  Willow mouthed, ‘Don’t call him a cat!’

  The boy’s eyes widened, but he nodded and seemed to hide a grin as he said, ‘I just haven’t seen that game played in a while is all.’

  The kobold nodded, his fur going back to green.

  Willow cut to the chase. ‘Do you know where Moreg is? I need to speak to her urgently. My friend is missing and I think she might know something about it!’

  Sprig’s eyes widened. ‘Oh. I – um, no … She didn’t say anything about that to me. Besides, she’s gone – some Enchancil business. Be away for a while, I gather.’

 
; Willow felt her heart sink down to her toes. The Enchancil was the official body for magical people in Starfell, short for Enchanted Council.

  Sprig added, ‘All she told me was that you needed your broom – that it’d help you. She told me it was in a tower and paid me to bring it to you. I’m sorry – that’s all I know.’

  Willow’s brows knitted in thought as she considered his words. Not many people knew it, but Moreg Vaine, the most powerful witch in Starfell, was a seer. She saw visions of things before they happened. She must have known that Willow would need her broom, perhaps to find Sometimes … If the witch wasn’t coming, maybe it was because she’d seen Willow finding him? Was that it? She tried to draw courage from this.

  ‘Right. Well, in that case, I think I should head off to Wisperia straight away,’ she said, going over to get the carpetbag.

  But Holloway came forward and put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. ‘It’s late now. No point trying to fly in the dark – you’ll need a clear head to pass through Wisperia, trust me. Have an early start at first light.’

  Willow bit her lip. The old wizard’s words made sense, but she still had to fight the impulse to jump on Whisper and fly through the night.

  ‘You’re telling me,’ said the boy. ‘Wisperia is dangerous enough when you can see where you’re going.’

  Willow nodded and took her seat opposite Oswin again.

  ‘Anyway, food’s ready,’ said Holloway.

  Sprig sat on the edge of the kobold’s armchair and, when Holloway offered him a plate of food, he took it gratefully.

  Oswin looked up at the boy suspiciously. Generally, people liked to keep a bit clear of kobolds due to the rather persistent smell of boiled cabbage, but Sprig seemed to ignore this. Perhaps ravens didn’t smell that much better.

  ‘Could you always turn into a raven, or did it develop later?’ asked Holloway.

  ‘Um, since birth. I’m the only one in my family who can.’

  Willow shrugged. ‘My ability only came when I was about six.’