Starfell: Willow Moss & the Lost Day

by Dominique Valente

  “But can it work if we’re inside the locked house?”

  There was a snort from within the bag.

  “I’m not sure,” said Essential, eyeing the bag a bit warily, Then she looked through the hole while Willow tested the door. Nothing changed; it was still locked. She handed the stone to Willow, who looked through the hole herself, then, while holding it, tried the door.

  Nothing.

  “’Ag stones don’ work inside a charm,” came Oswin’s exasperated voice from the hairy bag. “Everyone knows that.”

  Essential was looking at the bag in some shock.

  “Oh,” said Willow. She sighed. “Now what are we going to do?”

  “Well,” drawled Oswin, peeking out of the bag now that she’d stopped ignoring him. “If you’d asks me, which you din’t, I would ’ave said that yew could jes’ climb out o’ the chimonemuney there. I don’t fink the charm reaches that far,” he said, a now-orange paw pointing to the chimney.

  Willow and Essential shared a look. They tested it, finding that Oswin was right; it wasn’t charmed shut. “Ah, yes. That’s probably the best idea,” said Essential, turning slightly pink.

  “Thanks, Oswin,” said Willow.

  Five minutes later, with the help of a ladder and some hefting and pulling, Willow and Essential—and Oswin—made it up the chimney and onto the roof, from which they jumped onto the soft grass below, the bag landing with a bit of a thump, which caused Oswin to swear in High Dwarf.

  “This is Oswin, by the way,” said Willow, introducing him to Essential as he muttered darkly about missing his under-bed cave and wondering what he was doing in a bag made of hair, agreeing to come on some crazy adventure.

  “Why are you inside that bag anyway?” interrupted Essential, who was curious about him.

  He stopped grumbling. “Because I am a kobold, and the monster from under the bed . . . at least I used to be. Now I’m the monster in the bag, which jes’ don’ have quite the same rings to it,” he said with a sigh, as he ventured half a head out of the zipped bag to peer at her.

  Essential brightened. “A kobold, wow—I hear they can blow things up.”

  “Only when we is really, really cross,” said Oswin, who seemed to have warmed to Essential. He hadn’t turned completely orange, at least.

  “Happens a lot,” whispered Willow. Then she said more loudly, “Right. We need to find Nolin Sometimes—he was taken to the guards’ tent.”

  Essential nodded. “I know it. Come on,” she said, and they raced through the dark woods, looking over their shoulders in case anyone was keeping an eye out for them—particularly Willow’s sisters. After a while they entered the edge of the clearing and they could see the many colored tents of the fair and the rows of string lights suspended above them. They darted behind tents, crouching down low, and Essential said, “It’s the big red-and-white one, there.” She pointed to the end of the clearing. As they neared, they could hear raised voices coming from within the tent.

  “WHO TOLD YOU THAT?”

  “No one told me,” said Nolin Sometimes in a small, tired voice.

  “SOMEONE’S PUT YOU UP TO THIS, HAVEN’T THEY? WAS IT BILL?”

  “Look, I can understand that you’re upset about your, er . . . most likely former business partner now, but, um, can you keep it down? I have a bit of a headache, you see. Also . . . incidentally, it was Bill, though he never told me exactly . . . but I mean, how could you not have seen that he painted those chicken eggs gold?”

  “WOT YOU MEAN! HOW’D YER KNOW IT THEN? HUH, ’SPLAIN THAT?”

  “SO YOU ADMIT IT THEN, BILL! YOU LYING CROOK!”

  Willow and Essential entered the tent to see two very angry guards glaring at each other.

  “Um, hello?” said Willow.

  They looked up but continued arguing.

  Willow ran up to Sometimes, who sagged in relief when he saw her. “Who is this?” he asked as she untied his hands.

  “Never mind, I’ll explain later,” she said, tugging him along.

  But he stopped, his eyes going white, then back to blue in a blink, and he muttered, his voice high and girly, “Freddy Slimespoon has eyes like drops of dew on a toad-filled grass. With a smile like the blissful morning sunshine ballooning through a crack of window and bouncing against the starry walls of my heart. . . .”

  Essential stared from him to Willow, utterly mortified. “Um,” she squeaked, “how does he know about that?” Her eyes were huge. “I was very young, well, younger, um, when I wrote that poem. . . . I don’t know how you found it. . . .”

  Willow rolled her eyes. They didn’t have time for this. “C’mon,” she said, but it was too late—they’d been spotted.

  The two guards cried out, “Stop! Wait there just a minute!”

  “Essential!” cried Willow. “Freeze them!”

  She whirled around and froze the guards midstride.

  “Run!” yelled Essential. The freeze wore off almost instantly, but it gave them just enough time to dash into the crowd. Nolin Sometimes had his hands over his ears and was going “Lalalalalalalala.”

  “What are you doing?” asked Willow.

  “What?” he bellowed, his hair wild and crackling with electricity, his blue eyes enormous.

  “What are you doing?” she repeated.

  “Blocking them out—so I don’t have to hear their memories.”

  But it was too late; as soon as he’d focused on Willow, his eyes went all glassy and white, and the next second he was keeling over backward.

  “Oh no! Not again!” cried Willow.

  “What’s happened?” asked Essential.

  Willow explained. “He’s an oublier—a forgotten teller—he has what he calls ‘visions,’ which let him see the past but make him pass out . . . and with all the people here, well, it’s a bit too much for him, I think.”

  Willow spied a very small tent that looked like it was still being erected. It sagged in the middle and one of the poles was on its side.

  She jerked her head toward it. “Quick, check that there’s no one inside, and we can drag him in there,” said Willow.

  “Empty,” Essential said, and they dragged Sometimes by his feet inside.

  Once they had set him down, Willow looked around. There was just one folding table, with a few glass bottles and vials that shimmered with strange liquid. In the corner was a large rusty wheelbarrow overflowing with goods that still needed to be unpacked.

  Willow’s eyes widened. “Those look like potions,” she whispered, her eyes falling on the wheelbarrow, which looked horribly familiar. Her stomach filled with dread. “Oh no. I think we’re in Amora Spell’s tent. We met her in Ditchwater. Didn’t go well. Just my luck we bump into her here!”

  “That old hag?” said Essential, eyeing the bottles in some surprise. “I heard she was a bit of a fraud.”

  “Me too. My grandmother was good at potions and said Amora hadn’t a drop of real magic, but these, well, they look like the real thing, actually. . . .” Willow’s eyes were drawn to the vials.

  “That’s because they are,” said a voice that was on the verge of a good cackle.

  Willow and Essential whirled around.

  “Well, dearie, we meet again,” said the hag, taking a bottle off the table and leering at them, then stepping forward menacingly. Her dark eyes snapped fire.

  Nolin Sometimes’s white misty eyes fluttered open and he sat up and said, “Florence Moss.”

  Willow frowned. That was her grandmother’s name.

  The hag looked at him, then at Willow. “This again? What about that crazy old coot?”

  “You stole these from her, before you caused the accident in the mountains of Nach,” Sometimes blurted out.

  The hag’s brows shot up. “What did you say? You accuse me? I’ve never stolen anything in me life. . . . Flossy Mossy stole from me!”

  Oswin’s orange head shot out of the bag. His orb-like eyes blazed with anger. “Lies,” he hissed.

 
Amora scoffed. “She was terrible at potions, always has been—that’s why she went mad. . . . She was such a failure.”

  “She was never a failure!” shouted Willow.

  The ends of Oswin’s fur started to smoke. Oswin really hated it when people lied, and he could detect lies better than most—part of his monstery kobold heritage.

  Willow looked from Amora to Oswin and Sometimes, realization dawning. “You made it look like an accident, didn’t you? You were jealous of her. . . .”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said the hag, taking a step backward quickly. Her hands grabbed a bottle, which she threw at them.

  Willow and Sometimes ducked, but nothing happened.

  “I’d move quickly,” said Essential, who’d frozen the bottle and its liquid. They jumped as the bottle came crashing down, narrowly missing them but hitting Amora straight in the chest. She fell over, completely stunned, knocking over an entire shelf full of bottles in the process. There were puffs of pink and green and yellow fog that smelled of salt and lavender and cooking sherry—some of Granny Flossy’s favorite things.

  When the smoke cleared, Sometimes checked that the hag was still breathing. “She’s been knocked out—hit by her own stolen potion.”

  Willow hesitated. Part of her wanted to stay and wait for Amora to wake up so that she could get a confession out of her and clear her granny’s name. But Sometimes put a hand on her shoulder.

  “We’ve got to keep moving. I’m sorry.”

  She closed her eyes, breathing deeply, and then nodded. Sometimes was right. But if she ever got her hands on Amora Spell again . . . well, she didn’t know what she’d do.

  Her granny had never been the same after the accident. But Willow’s father had told her that she hadn’t always been like that. There had been a time when she was one of the best potion makers in all of Starfell, when she was respected, even a bit feared. It was she, after all, who’d invented “potion throws”—potions that didn’t need to be swallowed but could be thrown at people to produce the result you wanted. Granny said it saved a lot of time compared to trying to trick people into drinking things. But after her accident many of the potions she brewed didn’t go quite according to plan. Now that Willow knew the truth, she thought it wasn’t fair that Granny Flossy had been blamed for that accident. And it certainly wasn’t fair that her career had ended because of someone’s jealousy and spite.

  Willow looked around Amora Spell’s shelves now. There were only three bottles left, and she was loath to leave them behind. “These belonged to my grandmother; we should take them, and they might help—” She drew a breath. “Granny Flossy wouldn’t want her to have them anyway.” For a moment the purple hat swam before her eyes, and she felt the fear that she’d pushed down in a corner of her heart, black-tinged and pointed, the fear that something might have happened to her. Willow swallowed. Where was Granny Flossy?

  Shaking the fear from her heart, Willow opened her bag and handed the potions labeled “Forget,” “Wait,” and “Sleep” to Oswin, who put them next to the dragon egg, giving her hand a sympathetic pat with his green paw. Sometimes a real friend knows what to say without speaking a word. Her eyes smarted, but she drew courage from him.

  15

  Wait and Forget

  WILLOW’S MOTHER WAS putting away the cards and placing the crystal ball back in its velvet-lined box when Willow, Essential, and Sometimes entered the RV. Willow was determined, this time, to convince her mother they needed her help. But when Raine looked up, she sighed, her emerald-green eyes incredulous.

  “Oh, not again!”

  The sentiment was echoed by Willow’s sisters, who entered hot on their heels.

  Camille snorted. “Ooh, you’re going to be in so much trouble!”

  “Yes. Big trouble,” said Raine. “How did you—” She stopped then, seeing Essential, and shook her head. “So that’s how you got out? Essential, I’m shocked at you. Rubix entrusted you to look after my wayward daughter and yet here you are. I suppose she fed you the same sorry tale, and you believe it?”

  “I—I’m sorry, but yes, I do,” stammered Essential, pushing up her glasses on her button nose.

  Willow gave her a grateful look, then sighed. “Look, Mum, I’m sorry, but you are wasting time and we need your help—”

  Her mother spluttered in shock. “I don’t know what has come over you, Willow. When we get home, your father and I will—”

  But they didn’t get to find out what Raine Moss planned to do as Nolin Sometimes interrupted. “Where does Moreg Vaine live?”

  Raine’s eyes snapped to Sometimes, and then did a triple blink, as if this was the first time she’d noticed he was there.

  But before her mother could demand that he explain himself, Sometimes keeled over with a loud crash.

  “What on Great Starfell?”

  “He’s all right. He’s a forgotten teller—he can see the past, and that sometimes makes him faint—”

  “I do not faint.”

  They all turned to look at Sometimes, but his eyes were still cloudy. “Parsnip Lane, Troll Country,” he murmured.

  “What?” said Willow with a frown.

  Sometimes turned his misty eyes on her mother. “So you dye it? Really?”

  “What?” said Raine, lifting a bejeweled hand to pat at her hair nervously.

  “Light brown is a perfectly acceptable hair color. . . .”

  Raine’s eyes bulged. Her mouth flapped open. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. . . .”

  Camille let out a squeak. “You dye your hair, Mum?”

  Sometimes sat up, then cocked his head to the side with a small grin. “So, this is Camille, eh?”

  The humor died on Camille’s lips and her green eyes flared. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He shook his head. “Oh, nothing, but it’s handy having your sort of skill around when people want to hear from their dead relatives, isn’t it? I mean, all you have to do is lift the rock outside with your mind and bang it against the door to make people believe that their dead have come knocking . . . quite a clever trick.”

  Camille had gone a little pale. “W-what?” she gasped, and then looked at her mother. “How does he know that?”

  Her mother turned to Willow, her expression a little embarrassed. “It’s not what you think. . . .” Then she glared at Sometimes.

  Willow blinked. Her mother was a fraud?

  While her mother and her sister were shouting, Sometimes looked up at Raine. “Parsnip Lane, in Troll Country . . . ,” he repeated. “I’m right?”

  Raine’s face blanched. “How did you know that?”

  “What?” asked Willow, thoroughly confused.

  “It’s where Moreg’s house is.”

  Willow and Essential shared a look. Troll Country?

  Raine’s eyes grew dark, her brow furrowed. “I will not support this madness any longer. I’m taking you home right now. . . .”

  Essential leaned toward Willow and whispered, “The potions, use the potions.”

  Then she raised her hands to freeze Willow’s family. Willow opened the bag, took the bottles labeled “Wait” and “Forget,” and threw them at the ground by her mother’s and sisters’ frozen feet.

  From outside came a loud crash that blew a cloud of dust into the RV, making them stagger. Willow could hear blood-curdling screams and what sounded like a stampede from people running helter-skelter through the market.

  “What is that?” she asked.

  Sometimes peered outside, then grinned. “Feathering.”

  Willow followed, seeing that the giant blue dragon was indeed roaming the grass just outside the string of tents, where he was peering inside and calling their names. “Sorry to disturb. . . . Don’t wish to make a fuss. I’m just looking for my friends. You see, they’ve taken a bit of a long time and we really do need to press on. . . . No need to scream. I am a cloud dragon, you know. . . .”

  “Feathering, we’re he
re!” shouted Willow. “Won’t be a moment.”

  Willow turned back to look at her family, who were oddly calm, due to the potions that had made them wait and forget. She swallowed. “I’m sorry—um, please wait until we’ve left on the dragon, and then forget that I was ever here—or that you saw any of us tonight,” she said. She felt a deep pang of regret seeing them all affected by the concoctions like that—but she couldn’t go back home, not now that they were so close to finding Moreg. And Moreg was relying on Willow; she couldn’t let her down.

  “Maybe I should have waited for you in the valley,” said Feathering, giving her a repentant look as a terrified couple ran past, screaming bloody murder.

  Willow grinned. “Your timing was excellent,” she said. “We’ve just found out where Moreg’s house is—it’s in Troll Country.”

  “Troll Country?” said Feathering, looking taken aback. “Oh no.”

  “What?”

  “Well, they smell awful.”

  Nolin Sometimes climbed aboard the dragon. “They’re also rather deadly with a club,” he said.

  “Well, hopefully we can just get in and out as quickly as possible,” said Willow, climbing on after Sometimes and clutching her carpetbag containing Oswin.

  “Come on,” said Willow to Essential, who was staring up at the dragon with enormous magnified eyes. Willow could see her swallow. “Oh yes, sorry, you haven’t yet met. This is Feathering,” Willow told Essential. “Feathering, this is Essential Jones—she helped us escape.”

  Essential stood frozen, her mouth open slightly as she took in Feathering’s enormous size. There was a blub-blub sound from her lips.

  “Come on, he won’t bite,” said Willow, holding out a hand and helping Essential climb onto the dragon’s sleek feathery back.

  “Not something your size anyway,” agreed the dragon, taking a running leap and then launching himself off into the air. “More of a gulp really.”

  Essential gasped.

  Willow shook her head. “Now, Feathering, it’s comments like that that make humans afraid of dragons.”

  There was the sound of tinkly wind-chime chuckling as he beat his wings and took off into the starry sky.