Willow had heard that some people – like Nolin Sometimes’s family – seemed to pass down their abilities to their children, but it wasn’t usual. It only happened with some forms of powerful magic.
‘It was random in mine too,’ she said. ‘We’ve all got different abilities, some more powerful than others.’ She didn’t admit that hers was the least powerful of them all.
‘She finds lost things,’ added Holloway.
Willow shrugged. ‘It’s useful.’
‘I’d say,’ said Holloway, tapping his leg. ‘Been missing this for at least two years now, and just like that – poof – she made it appear!’
She smiled at Holloway, glad at least that she had made the old wizard happy.
For a long time she’d wondered if there was only so much magic to go around, so that by the time her mother had had her last child only the scraps were left. But Willow kept that thought to herself. The truth was it was a useful skill. She was realising that now more than ever, when she couldn’t access it like she used to. Truth be told, she missed her powers. It felt like a part of her was gone, and it made her feel odd.
‘What do you do?’ said Sprig to the wizard, who explained about his acquired ability – turning things to copper – and his old one, which hadn’t been that much fun – his clouded eye.
Sprig grinned. ‘So that’s how this happened,’ he said, looking around at the copper bath-boat. ‘It’s a nice talent. Sorry it came at such a high price.’
‘That’s life, son,’ said the wizard. ‘We all pay a price, one way or another. Choosing to make it worth the price – that’s what makes the difference.’
The boy nodded. ‘Maybe you’re right.’
Willow spent a restless night worrying about Nolin Sometimes and Moreg Vaine. The witch had to have had a reason for sending her Whisper. Willow wished that she’d just sent her a message instead. Did Moreg know who had taken Sometimes? Couldn’t she have given her some idea of what to do?
In the morning, there were deep shadows beneath Willow’s eyes as she prepared to leave.
The old wizard pulled her to one side and gave her a bear hug. ‘I’m going to miss you, young Willow, and you too, Oswin,’ he said, reaching down to pat the kobold’s head, which was currently poking out of the hairy carpetbag.
There was the sound of soft purring, followed by the sound of a throat being cleared. Oswin muttered, ‘Fanks,’ and shot back inside the bag.
The wizard’s lips twitched in amusement. He looked over Willow’s shoulder, checking to see they were alone. Then he pressed something into her hands. It was the harmonica, which gave a soft hoot. Willow stared at it in surprise.
‘I want ya to have this. It’s old magic. It was once a part of the boat – a bit of extra metal I had left over when I made it. But the two are linked, like it’s part of the same body, with one heart, if ya know what I mean?’ Willow didn’t, so he explained further. ‘If ya blow on it, the boat will know, and if ya need me then I’ll come.’
She blinked. ‘You’d do that?’
He clamped a hand on her shoulder, making her knees buckle slightly. ‘Course I will, lass.’
She grinned. There was a sound from behind, and she turned to find Sprig standing there. ‘Thanks for bringing me Whisper.’
‘Maybe we’ll see each other again,’ said Sprig.
‘That would be nice,’ she replied, her ears reddening slightly. Then she climbed on to the broomstick, placing the carpetbag at the end, and launched herself up into the air.
The sounds of Oswin’s panicked cries of, ‘Oh nOoo, NOT this blooming feathered flying sticks again!’ grew in volume as they made their way towards the burgundy dawn sky.
11
Oh, Brother
As Willow flew, she saw a raven circle overhead. It gave a haunting cry, as if it were saying a last goodbye, and then it was gone, faster than she could blink.
Holloway had given her a rough map so that she could find her way to Wisperia. She squinted at the tiny scrawled diagram with the wizard’s rather illegible writing, and the broom jerked around wildly, making Oswin’s cries get even louder – if that were possible.
‘Oh NOOOO!’
‘Sorry, Os,’ she said, quickly shoving the map back into her pocket and steadying the broom. They were heading the right way at least.
They flew for over an hour until there was a sudden rumble of thunder, followed by the light tickle of rain that soon turned into a heavy downpour. Willow huddled against the broomstick. The wind was icy and blowing hard, and water dripped down her nose, making it increasingly difficult to see.
When the water started creeping down her neck, making her shiver uncontrollably, she shook her head. ‘I’m g-g-going t-t-o have to l-l-and.’
‘Proberbelly,’ was Oswin’s reply from within the dry carpetbag.
Teeth chattering, Willow pointed her broomstick down towards a town near the winding river.
She landed just outside the town walls under an increasingly heavy downpour of rain, her hair clinging to her face in long, wet hanks. She climbed off Whisper with some difficulty, her hands frozen and claw-like from their grip.
‘We’ll t-t-try and find somewhere warm and d-dry,’ she said with a shiver as she hunched against the rain.
In her hands, the carpetbag began to shake, and there was the familiar sound of Oswin’s panicked wailings. ‘Oh nooooo! Oh, me greedy aunt! Oh, Osbertrude, why’d yew ’ave ter curse us kobolds?’
Willow could understand his distress, as up ahead a band of men in familiar long brown-and-gold robes began to race towards her. The Brothers of Wol.
Willow’s heart stuttered in her chest. She hadn’t had a run-in with the Brothers since she had infiltrated their fortress, Wolkana, to get back the missing day.
One of them pointed and shouted, ‘Witch! Attempting to enter a Forbidden area! Seize her!’
Willow didn’t have time to think. She jumped back on Whisper and hurtled away, dodging an arrow that missed her by inches.
She swallowed, barely able to see in the stinging rain. Forbidden areas were enforced by the Brothers. Parts of Starfell were off limits to magical people, as part of the treaty that was meant to keep the peace between magical and non-magical folk. However, it only seemed to be making things worse.
Another arrow shot past her, grazing her cheek. ‘Oh no!’ cried Oswin.
Willow gulped as more and more arrows rained down on her. She couldn’t see properly in the gloom, and she was forced to veer to the left as a tree branch nearly whacked her over the head. At that moment, a strange, haunting cry pierced the gloom. She cried out as a raven with a smoky blue-black wing flew in front of her.
There was a low gasp from within the bag. ‘OH NO, OH NOOOOOOOOO … OH, ME GREEDY AUNT, A CURSE UPON YEH! I’M GONNA DIE AND ME LAST MEAL WILL ’AVE BEEN ’ORRID FRIED FISH! ’TIS NOT HOW A KOBOLD DESERVES TER GO!’
Willow’s heart thundered in her ears as Sprig chased her to the right, just in time to avoid an arrow that had been heading straight for her.
‘Sprig!’ she shouted as she watched the raven swoop down. Had he been hit?
She pointed her broom to follow him, her heart in her throat.
The wind was a mighty beast, and before she knew it they had crash-landed into a large, muddy patch, the carpetbag rolling off with a thud. She jumped up to find Sprig, but she couldn’t see anything much in the gloom. ‘Dear Wol! Sprig? Are you all right? Please, please be all right!’
She heard a rustling noise and the sound of a low moan. Then, ‘I’m okay. It only grazed me. Just winded.’
Willow felt her knees give out.
There was a huff from within the carpetbag. ‘I’s fine too, fanks fer asking.’
The boy gave a chuckle and Willow couldn’t help grinning despite everything.
The kobold peered out of the carpetbag as the rain eased. ‘Did you follow us?’ he demanded, his lamp-like eyes narrowing.
Sprig turned to look at Oswin and his face coloured slightl
y. ‘Um, yes … I thought, I dunno, maybe I could help. I felt like I should have offered on the boat. I mean …’ He cleared his throat, then glanced up at Willow. ‘It’s not every day someone says they’re heading to Wisperia. I just felt – I don’t know – responsible somehow.’
Willow shook her head. ‘Why? I was always going to go. You bringing me Whisper just makes it a bit easier.’
He looked at her with his solemn black eyes. ‘Nothing about Wisperia is easy. Besides, I felt bad that the witch left you to go after your friend alone.’
Despite how cold Willow was, she felt something warm creep inside her. ‘Thank you.’
He gave her a small, shy smile.
Oswin crossed his arms, muttering darkly to himself that it seemed a bit odd that he wanted to come …
Willow decided to ignore him as she picked up the carpetbag. ‘Will you be all right to fly?’ she asked Sprig.
In answer, his body shuddered and he transformed back into a raven, flying to perch on the back of her broom.
Willow peered up at the sky and saw the gloom was clearing, and there was no further sign of arrows.
As the sun rose higher, they flew up towards its warmth. She managed to dry out somewhat as they made their way past winding rivers, and the floating Cloud Mountains, towards the most dangerous and beautiful forest Willow had ever known.
Wisperia.
12
The Iris Inside the Jar
Wisperia was even more magnificent than Willow remembered. Impossibly vast, the multicoloured forest stretched for miles, as far as the eye could see.
Perhaps it was seeing it from her broomstick, and therefore going more slowly than she had been when she first saw the forest from the back of Feathering, but Willow felt like she could take in more this time than she had in between the rapid wingbeats of the dragon.
There were strange birds with translucent wings that appeared to have been created out of bright turquoise and cerise watercolour ink. There were wind monkeys with white fur and orange spots down their backs, and purple deer with blue tails. Trees grew in every colour imaginable, with electric leaves of pink and blue and purple.
In the canopy, dotted here and there,Willow spotted small communities that wound round the vast trees.
‘Oh, me ’ORRID aunt, where’s me stove?’ whispered Oswin, peering out at the scene, his eyes creeping above the top of the hairy bag in absolute horror.
Her eyes widened as she saw elves with blue skin, bows and arrows on their backs as they hunted among the trees. There were wood sprites, who looked like they were made of green smoke, dashing up the colourful bark. Their laughter was loud as they gathered fruit and nuts in heavy woven baskets, which they transported up the network of trees so fast it was impossible to see how they did it.
There were people going about their day, making tools, preparing food and walking or flying as they chatted in groups – though they weren’t like any people Willow had ever seen before. They were the ones she’d been told about, with leaves for fingers or flames for hair, hooves for feet … and WINGS. They were the ones who’d been transformed by the wild magic of the forest.
‘I never saw them when I was here before,’ she breathed, eyes wide as they flew over one of the treetop villages. She stared down at the treehouses, which were shaped like vast teardrops, intricately made from electric-coloured vines. Some were brightest pink while others were vivid blue or green or brilliant white. They dangled from the branches like strange, beautiful birdcages.
‘The last time I was here, we flew high, way above the canopy, towards the Great Wisperia Tree. I never saw this,’ she exhaled.
The broomstick shuddered and dipped as Sprig turned back into a boy. Willow twisted round to look at him as he said, ‘It’s here, closer to the ground, that you see what Wisperia is really like.’
‘Have you spent time here?’ she asked in surprise.
‘Some,’ he acknowledged. ‘Mostly as a raven. The magic doesn’t really affect me much when I’m in bird form – can’t speak as a bird either,’ he added, explaining the reason he had transformed back into a boy. ‘They’re really interesting, the people here. They don’t talk like us; they communicate like birds, in song. It’s their own language, though only the forest-touched can understand it.’
Willow’s eyes widened at this. As they flew, they passed a group of what looked like children perching on top of a branch. They all had different-coloured leaves for hair and arms, from turquoise to bright pink, gold and flame-orange. As she stared, they jumped off the branch, their leaf-like arms acting as wings. Keeping pace with Willow’s broom, they turned and spiralled, each attempting to outdo the other as they performed beautiful aerial displays, which Willow realised were for their benefit. There was a sound almost like laughter as she clapped at their colourful display, then they turned and headed back, something like birdsong sounding sweetly in the air.
‘What was that about?’ breathed Willow in wonder.
Sprig shrugged. ‘I think they’re just as curious about you as you are about them. Not many regular folk come to Wisperia, see. The young ones haven’t learnt to be fearful of outsiders yet.’
Sprig’s words made her frown slightly, despite her delight at the youngsters’ antics. She supposed not everyone who came to Wisperia was kind to those they deemed different to them.
As the afternoon wore on, they flew towards the heart of the enormous, colourful forest, where a giant pale tree the colour of blue sea glass dominated the landscape. It was the Great Wisperia Tree, where, up at the very top, Nolin Sometimes’s house perched on stilts, swaying gently in the wind.
There were rocks suspended in the air that made a ladder up to the house, and everywhere there were strange plants in teapots, some with fur or hair or eyes.
Willow made for the porch, and left Whisper outside propped up against the railing.
It felt strange to be here without Sometimes to welcome them. She noticed that without him the rocks and lanterns that usually lit up outside his stilt house weren’t illuminated, and couldn’t help feeling his absence more than ever.
She opened the door to the sound of snoring. There was a faint ‘Oh, OSBERTRUDE, oh, me ’orrid aunt, I forgot about ’im!’ from the carpetbag.
The snoring stopped as their footsteps sounded at the entrance. From the cluttered wooden desk near the door there was a loud humming sound.
‘The furlarms,’ Willow remembered, coming forward to touch one of the funny, hairy creatures. It stopped humming at her touch, only to look at her balefully.
Abruptly, something heavy and large hit the floor, and Willow turned to find that Harold, a large brown dog with lots of wrinkly skin and a long, lolling tongue, had jumped off the bed by the window. He yelped excitedly to see them, and Willow bent down to give the dog a scratch and a cuddle, to Oswin’s harrumph of annoyance.
‘Sorry, Harold, it’s just us,’ she said as the dog moved on quickly from them to the door. He stared out hopefully for Sometimes’s return, then howled softly when he realised he wasn’t coming.
Willow’s heart sank. She felt terrible for him. ‘That’s why we’re here. We’re going to try and get him back.’
‘I don’t think he understands that,’ said Sprig, looking at the dog, then grinning at her.
Willow nodded, but couldn’t bring herself to return his smile. It was all too sad being here without Sometimes. ‘I’ll check around in here,’ she said, and Sprig suggested he look outside for any signs of who had taken Sometimes.
Willow started with the small kitchen in the corner, filled with yellow cupboards and hundreds of teapots, looking for signs of a struggle, hoping that there would be some clue left behind.
The only thing she could find was the back door open, slamming against the wind. On the mat, there was a faint scuffmark, and a plant that looked like it had been crushed, perhaps from Sometimes’s hasty departure. She knelt down to pick it up and a tiny plant frond seemed to lift itself towards her b
efore it stopped moving.
Willow bit her lip. The plants Nolin Sometimes collected always seemed somehow more alive, more unusual. She took it to the kitchen and let it stand in a small saucer of water, hoping that would revive it – though she doubted it sadly. Sometimes would know what to do for it.
Her chest felt heavy as she carried on searching through the rest of the treehouse. Whenever she felt this way, like there was no hope left, she saw Granny Flossy’s face. She closed her eyes and shook the image away, a tear forming at the corner of her eye. What if she didn’t find Sometimes? Would she lose him too?
A noise made her turn. Sprig had returned. ‘I couldn’t see anything outside in the garden – no telltale signs. I think they must have caught him while he was running away.’
Willow nodded. That’s what she thought too, her heart sinking as if a lead weight had pushed it down to her toes. She turned away to dab at her eyes surreptitiously. She walked back towards the large, cluttered desk near the front door, where the furlarms were sitting quietly. It was strewn with an array of plants in jam jars, dried leaves, botanical sketches and feathers. Night was beginning to fall, and it was growing ever darker in the treehouse.
Where was he? Who had wanted to take him and why?
She picked up notebooks and feathers, unable to speak past the lump forming in her throat.
Suddenly there was a loud pop, and Oswin cried, ‘Oi, wot ’appened to the sofa?’
Willow blinked, her heart starting to race. Had she made it disappear?
Oswin’s head peeped out of the bag, and his fur went from orange to green as he saw her face fall. He lifted his paws out as if to stop her as she began to breathe heavily. ‘Oh no,’ he whispered.
Sprig found a box of matches and some candles in the kitchen and brought them over, not noticing her distress as he muttered, ‘These should give us some light. I was thinking we could rustle up something for dinner, then first thing tomorrow we’ll have a look at the trail. I have his scent now.’ He lifted up one of Nolin Sometimes’s discarded jumpers. ‘This should help.’
Willow Moss and the Forgotten Tale Page 7