Willow Moss and the Forgotten Tale

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Willow Moss and the Forgotten Tale Page 12

by Dominique Valente


  ‘W-w-whaat’s that?’ asked Essential, yawning and stretching before she stood up to look.

  Willow beamed. ‘It’s Holloway!’

  The Sudsfarer was making its way up the river in the dawn light. There was the sound of marsh birds and the sky was a pinky gold that glinted off the copper bath-boat.

  ‘That’s a boat?’ asked Essential, blinking as she pushed her glasses up on her nose. It was reflected in her large lenses.

  ‘Looks like a washtub!’ exclaimed Feathering, darting Willow a surprised look.

  Willow grinned. ‘Well, I think it was … once. Wait till you see the feet – they move!’

  ‘So we’re going to the most dangerous place in the world in a bathtub?’ Essential asked, snorting.

  ‘Um. Yes,’ said Willow, who couldn’t stop a nervous giggle from escaping too.

  Holloway, who had seen them through his copper spyglass, called out, ‘Ahoy there!’ And then, dropping anchor near the bank, he lowered a set of steps that they could use to climb aboard. Unavoidably, though, they had to wade through cold water to get there.

  ‘Holloway! Hello!’ Willow called, then climbed up, the carpetbag tucked beneath one arm. Holloway reached out to take the bag before pulling her into a large bear hug.

  ‘Hello to you too, lass! Came as soon as we got the call,’ he said, tapping the side of the boat with a gloved hand, his sea-green eye shining.

  ‘Thanks!’ she said.

  Essential and Sprig followed after her, and he greeted them.

  ‘This is Essential Jones,’ Willow said. ‘And over there is Feathering.’

  Holloway, who had been smiling all round, gasped. ‘Is that a dragon?’ Incredibly, he hadn’t noticed the large blue shape on the ground till then.

  ‘Cloud dragon,’ said Feathering from the bank. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

  Willow ran a hand through her hair as she explained the situation to Holloway. ‘I’m afraid, Holloway, that I need a rather large favour actually.’ She explained about the mimic plant, and how they would need to cross the Mists of Mitlaire and travel to Netherfell.

  ‘Great Starfell!’ he gasped, turning pale.

  ‘Um, maybe we could use your boat – um, if you could give me a few pointers on how to sail it? You don’t have to come … but I really do need to rescue my friend. His life depends on it. I’m sorry – it’s a huge thing to ask.’

  ‘Ah, lass, Sudsfarer will only sail for me. And look – the way I see it, being stuck in a tower for a year was huge. Helping the young witch who broke me out? That’s a small price to pay,’ he said. Then he paused. ‘Well … apart from—’

  ‘The fing about losing yer soul,’ supplied Oswin with a nod. ‘Apparentlies, the boy can helps wiff that.’

  Holloway looked from Oswin to Sprig, who nodded and explained about his ability and why it was important that he was on board as they went through the Mists.

  ‘Er, okay,’ said the wizard.

  Sprig nodded. ‘I’ll fly in front of the boat for now. Follow me, and wait for me as we enter the Mists, so I can land on the boat. The metal should help to conduct my magic to a wide area, but I’ll need to be on board.’

  Feathering waded into the river, then climbed aboard the bath-boat, making it sway wildly.

  ‘Great Starfell,’ said Holloway, staggering backwards. The boat seemed to groan slightly under the new weight as the dragon made himself a perch that was half on, half off the side of the boat.

  ‘I didn’t realise we’d be taking … um … you,’ said the wizard, looking at the enormous dragon occupying most of the boat.

  The dragon looked at Holloway and said, ‘My apologies for this frankly undignified moment, but unfortunately I have been told that I cannot fly across, and I’d very much like to go to ensure the safety of my friends.’ Then he looked down at the boat, which had sunk quite considerably in the water. ‘Unless,’ he sighed, looking at it doubtfully, ‘it won’t be able to carry me.’

  Holloway, it must be said, was the sort of sailor made of sterner stuff, because all at once he straightened and said, ‘Dragon, we’d be delighted to have ya on board.’ Then he muttered that a little firepower was not a bad thing, and something about strengthening the joints, as he took off a glove. He closed his eyes and touched the boat. ‘Buck up there, Sudsfarer! Think strong … Think of the stories we’ll be able to tell as a dragon barge!’ And the boat seemed to rise a little out of the water, the copper gleaming that bit brighter. Willow could even have sworn that it somehow grew a little bigger.

  Sprig watched them, then said, ‘Follow me.’ With that, he changed into a raven, flew up into the sky and beat his wings as he made his way towards the Mists.

  Holloway nodded, taking the wheel. ‘You heard him, Sudsfarer. All the way to …’ He hesitated, swallowed and whispered, ‘The Mists of Mitlaire.’

  And, despite the heavy weight of the dragon on board, the boat began to cut through the water in fast pursuit of the raven’s blue-tinged wings.

  20

  Netherfell

  They sailed all day, and it was several hours into the evening when they spotted the Mists.

  ‘Oh no, oh, me aunt Osbertrude, me eyeballs don’ works,’ breathed Oswin from within the hairy bag.

  The Mists were like a living, breathing thing that swirled across their faces in wet, finger-like tendrils, so cold they seemed to cut to the bone.

  There was a bump, and Essential screamed, but it was only Sprig landing on top of the weathervane.

  The further they went, the denser and thicker the Mists became, the air colder and cloudier. The stumpy bath-boat legs plodded slowly through the shallow stream like an animal wading in mud.

  ‘Steady there, boat, keep going,’ called Holloway as the Sudsfarer inched forward.

  ‘Doesn’t it ever clear?’ asked Willow, eyes straining against the endless white horizon.

  ‘No, it gets worse the deeper you go,’ whispered Sprig. ‘And, after nightfall, they come out.’

  ‘Oh no, oh, me greedy aunt,’ cried Oswin, and the bag at Willow’s feet began to shake.

  Willow gulped. They?

  ‘Hold the wheel here, lass,’ said Holloway. ‘I think I might still have a banshee wail down below. That’ll get this ol’ guy moving pronto.’

  ‘Banshee wail?’ asked Essential. ‘Aren’t they a bit … well, illegal?’

  The wizard reappeared moments later with a thick brass cylinder clasped firmly between his gloved hands. Whatever was inside seemed to rattle as if it were alive. Holloway fed the canister into a little chute underneath the patchwork sail and replied, ‘Frowned upon, more like, but necessary in the right circumstances. See, we sailors have to be creative when it comes to fighting the elements. Sometimes there’s just no wind to speak of and ya can find yourself in the deep without a paddle to yer name, if ya know what I mean. Well, anyroad, that’s why most of us have got one of these stashed away … Ya know, in case of emergencies.’

  He gave them a wink. ‘Ya might want to clamp yer hands firmly over yer ears, mind,’ he added. Then he pushed down hard on the cylinder, sending it speeding down into the chute. It sank for a moment, then whatever was inside shot up like a rocket with a bloodcurdling cry. The moment the sail caught the shriek, it gusted to life and the Sudsfarer began to glide so fast they were knocked off their feet, the terrifying scream ringing in their ears. The boat’s short, stumpy legs motored away like they were in a race, and even the Mists seemed to let them pass through more easily, clearing a path for them.

  ‘Amazing!’ cried Willow, gripping the edge of the boat.

  ‘Oh, me EARS!’ wailed Oswin.

  As they hurtled through the Mists, the air began to clear a little, and at last the boat entered a lake. The water was black, with almost no reflection, though every now and then they could see something with eyes and hands rising above the surface.

  The hairs on the back of Willow’s neck stood on end, and she and Essential clutched each other in fright.


  ‘Great Starfell!’ breathed Feathering.

  Suddenly Oswin’s panicked cries reached a deafening crescendo. ‘Oh no! OH, ME ’orrid aunt! Oh, ’tis the end I tells yeh, the end!’

  Essential’s eyes were huge in her face. ‘Is that – a waterfall?’

  Willow could also hear a noise in the distance. She paled. With horror, she realised it must be the long, slow drop all the way down to the dark underworld of Netherfell.

  They gasped. The boat tried to swim backwards, its little legs doing a frantic kind of doggy paddle, but it was futile – the current, combined with the remaining thrust of the banshee wail, was pulling them down.

  ‘BATTEN DOWN THE HATCHES!’ cried Holloway. And, at their blank stares, he hollered, ‘Hold tight!’

  They did as instructed and all began to scream as the Sudsfarer reached the edge, tipped forward … and dropped.

  Willow’s stomach seemed to dive into her chest, and she held on to the hairy carpetbag for dear life.

  ‘AAAAAAAAAAAGHHHHH!’

  They fell for what seemed an eternity and the blink of an eye, all at the same time.

  Then, suddenly, the boat hit something with a thud. It swayed dangerously before it righted itself.

  Willow and her friends all staggered unsteadily to their feet. Looking around, they found that they had landed in something like water, but not quite as solid – as if it were made not of liquid but of shadow.

  ‘We must be in Netherfell,’ breathed Essential.

  They all stared in horror and awe.

  In the landscape around them there was an absence of colour – or perhaps the faded memory of it. The air was misty and grey and everything around them seemed made of dark smoke or blue shadow.

  Willow swallowed as she stared. Up ahead, alongside the shadow river, was a large, creepy forest. It was packed with giant, twisted trees, and dominating it all was an enormous one the size of several farmhouses stacked together, rising high towards smoky, swirling blue fog. It reminded Willow a little of Wisperia, or at least a dark reverse side of Wisperia – an echo or a memory made of shadow.

  Instead of real bark and leaves, the forest seemed to have been made from the memory of what the trees once were. Though, at the same time, there was something almost alive about them. Undead, Willow realised with a shudder as the boat sailed past a clump of trees that seemed to bend and move. She could see decaying vines that slithered as they passed and smell the scent of rotten leaves.

  The boat came to a stop as they neared what looked like a small black beach, and Holloway dropped the copper-kettle anchor. ‘We’re here,’ he whispered. The wizard threw the small set of steps over the side, and Essential, Sprig and Willow climbed down.

  ‘H-how – how will we find her?’ asked Willow as they disembarked, looking ahead through the trees.

  ‘I should imagine she will find us,’ said Essential, who sounded terrified. ‘Or maybe she’ll send her undead subjects to bring us to her.’

  ‘Why – why do you say that?’ asked Willow with a gulp.

  Feathering hefted himself off the boat, which seemed to buoy itself more upright with a groan of relief, but the dragon looked grim. ‘Because it looks like they are already on their way.’

  Willow gasped, frozen to the spot, as shadowy wraith-like figures raced towards them. As they neared, Willow’s heart thundered in her chest. The creatures resembled monstrous women with long, vine-like hair and stick-like fingers that ended in pale, twisty fingernails. Their eyes were like pinpricks of hollow light.

  ‘Oh NOOOOOOO,’ whispered Oswin.

  Willow’s knees trembled as the wraiths reached them and she tried to back away.

  ‘No!’ shouted Holloway. He tried to come to their aid, but as he was rushing down from the boat he was dragged back by something large, tentacled and monstrous that emerged from the shadowy river.

  Willow watched helplessly as she was grabbed by the wraith-like women.

  ‘Holloway!’ she shouted.

  But, before she could do anything more, she and the others were being whisked towards the heart of the forest, towards a small clearing filled with shadowy plants, spikes and thistles.

  In the centre of the clearing was a throne made of what looked like diamonds and opals. Willow gulped, as there on the throne was the most terrifying yet hauntingly beautiful creature she had ever seen.

  She was dressed in a gown made of shadows and the roots of trees, with pale blossoms dotted throughout the long black hair that waved in the air above her head as though she were underwater. Very subtly, the figure shifted before their eyes like black ink. Her face was pale marble with deep, dark eyes that seemed as if they were quietly examining their very souls.

  ‘Welcome,’ she said in a voice that sounded like the rain before thunder. ‘We’ve been expecting you.’ Then she smiled, which was somehow even more terrifying.

  ‘We?’ asked Willow.

  Which was when she saw Moreg.

  ‘Willow!’ gasped Moreg Vaine as she was dragged forward by a wraith. ‘I didn’t want you to come here!’ She looked at Sprig. ‘You were supposed to keep her away.’

  Willow looked from Moreg to Umbellifer. What was going on?

  The Queen of the Undead stood up. ‘Never mind that for now,’ she said, conjuring what looked like a tiny bird made from shadows in her palms. It flew at once into Moreg’s mouth, and the witch thrashed her head from side to side, unable to speak.

  ‘What have you done to her?’ cried Willow, attempting to rush forward. But the wraith at her side held her back.

  The queen cocked her head, waving a set of long, thin fingers that looked like birch bark. ‘Nothing to worry about – she’s safe. She’s rather useful to me,’ she said, looking at the witch, who was still fighting against her restraints, trying wordlessly to help.

  There was a faint ‘Oh no,’ from the carpetbag at Willow’s feet.

  ‘Come forward, my child,’ commanded the queen.

  Willow blinked, confused, and took a step forward.

  The queen shook her head. ‘Not you, girl.’

  Willow turned to look in shock as Sprig stepped up. There was a gasp from Essential as a smaller throne appeared next to Umbellifer’s.

  The queen smiled her ghastly grin. ‘You have earned your seat at last, child.’

  21

  The Boy Made of Shadow and Feathers

  ‘I knew we shouldn’t have trusted you!’ Feathering growled. Smoke curled from the dragon’s mouth as he made to launch himself at Sprig.

  In an instant, the queen spread her hands and a great beast with wide antlers and gleaming red eyes rose up from the shadows. It charged at the dragon, and with a thunderous roar they began to fight.

  Willow watched with wide, fearful eyes, then turned to Sprig. Her heart felt like it was tearing apart.

  ‘Sprig – I don’t understand. What’s going on?’ It seemed like the queen was implying that Sprig was working for her, but that couldn’t be true … could it?

  He shook his head rapidly at Willow’s baffled expression, taking a step back away from the queen. ‘Willow – I – I can explain. It’s not how it looks …’ Sprig gazed back up at the queen, his dark eyes beseeching hers. ‘You don’t have to do this,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t have to be this way.’

  The queen steepled her long fingers. ‘But I do. Don’t turn back from your path now, child. You did well. You led her right to me.’

  Moreg managed somehow to free herself from the wraith holding her, and the queen frowned in annoyance, then curled her fingers so that ropes of ghostly weeds crawled out of the ground and restrained the witch more securely. Moreg began to thrash, her voice still silenced by the shadow bird, but she mouthed a wordless scream for Willow to run.

  The queen looked at the witch, her dark eyes glittering. ‘Ah, Moreg. She did all she could to prevent you from coming here. Even now she thinks she can change her fate. She’s strong, I’ll grant you that,’ admitted the queen. ‘But
that is sometimes a weakness, especially when you can’t imagine that someone would dare to cross you … She thought that Sprig was doing her bidding, diverting you away, using his raven friends to blow you off course so that you wouldn’t be able to come. He played his game carefully, slowly, to throw her off the scent – what with her ability to see things before they happen – but he was working for me all along.’

  Willow blinked, then looked up at Sprig, who couldn’t meet her eyes. Her heart plummeted to her toes.

  ‘You tricked us?’ she gasped. Anger and sadness washed over her, and she felt her fists clench at her side. She’d thought that Sprig had saved her from the Brothers of Wol out of kindness, but he’d only been trying to keep her alive so that he could bring her here to Umbellifer. This whole time, while her friend’s life hung in the balance, Sprig had known where he was and let them go on a wild goose chase across Starfell … well aware that they would eventually meet the same fate. He must have been laughing at her the entire time.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ whispered Sprig. Then, with a pained look in his eye, he changed into a raven and launched into the shadowy sky, vanishing from sight.

  Willow saw spots before her eyes as tears misted them, and a bloodcurdling scream lodged itself in the base of her throat at his betrayal. She thought of Essential, of Oswin and Feathering, of Holloway, her friends that she had advised to trust this boy … the boy Oswin and Feathering had tried to warn her about from the start. Were they all doomed now, trapped here with no escape, because of her? Anger, shame and pain all clashed together, and Willow was soon finding it hard to breathe.

  Amid her panic there was a loud popping sound, followed by a strange silence that should have been filled with the sounds of Oswin’s panicked wailing and Feathering’s roars.

  Willow opened her eyes, only to fall to her knees in horror. Oswin, Feathering and Essential had all disappeared. She’d made her friends vanish into thin air.

 

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