Starfell: Willow Moss & the Lost Day

by Dominique Valente

As the troll shook her, the hairy carpetbag opened and some of the contents came crashing down, including the last of Granny Flossy’s potions: “Sleep.” Oswin shot out a green shaggy paw to save it, then threw it at Dimsrat, who keeled over, releasing Willow as she did, and erupted into loud snores.

  There were several gasps from the trolls. They were clearly terrified of magic.

  Willow whispered her thanks to Oswin, then picked up the bag. The trolls stepped back. She frowned. They didn’t know that was her last potion. She took courage from that.

  “Verushka,” she said again. This time no one protested that she dared to speak her name. The illusion of magic had given her respect, and she relied upon that now, as she needed them to hear her out.

  “We know you probably did defeat Calamity, of course; look at you—how could it be otherwise?”

  The air was full of loud catcalls and the sounds of fists bumping into each other and clubs scraping along the ground.

  “And yet . . . ,” whispered Willow, and every single one of them stopped.

  “Yet,” she continued, filling the silence, “there she stands with not even a scratch. How is that possible?”

  “BECAUSE WE NEVER FOUGHT. SHE’D BE DEAD OTHERWISE!” thundered Verushka, pounding her chest with a boulder-like fist.

  Willow shrugged. “Can you be sure of that? Can they?”

  Verushka roared. “ENOUGH OF THIS—I’M GOING TO SQUASH YOU MYSELF. I DON’T CARE WHAT MAGIC YOU HAVE!”

  “You could—but that won’t change the fact that you will never know if you really did defeat her. But I know how we can find out.”

  The troll chief looked at Willow, narrowing her eyes. “You know what happened?”

  She shook her head. “No, but—”

  There were shouts all around. “Finish her! Squelch! Squelch!”

  “But I know why none of us knows what happened!” shouted Willow.

  “What do you mean?” asked Verushka, who’d finally stopped hollering.

  “Last Tuesday has gone missing—and with it, all of our memories of what happened on that day, including what happened between you and Calamity on the battlefield. The day was taken away using a spell.”

  “Magic! I knew it was magic!” cried Verushka.

  Many of the other trolls nodded as well. One of them seized Calamity. “It was you! You who do things like the humans!”

  “She had nothing to do with it. It was a spell that was used by a Brother of Wol.”

  “The little humans who wear brown sheets and have tried to create laws that forbid us from coming near them?” asked the troll chief.

  Willow nodded. She was grateful that the Brothers’ interfering reputation had even reached Troll Country.

  “The witch who lives in the valley has asked for my help to find the spell and to restore the missing day.”

  “Your help—why yours?”

  “Because that’s what I do—I find things that are lost.”

  “And if you find this spell, then we will all remember what happened? If we fought or that I won?” asked Verushka.

  Willow nodded.

  There were mutterings all around. Trolls didn’t feel fear . . . except when it came to magic. Magic wasn’t something you could beat down with brute strength; it couldn’t be put in a cage or told to feel inferior because of its size—and for trolls, that was something they couldn’t understand.

  The troll chief looked like she was trying to make up her mind. Even Verushka hesitated.

  “I’ll go,” said Calamity. “I will go with them and help them to bring back the day.”

  There were gasps.

  “Mama Chief, I know I’m not your idea of what a troll should be. And if we do remember what happened, I’m fairly sure it will be that I was defeated. But I can do this—I can help,” she said, swallowing nervously.

  There were a few relieved-looking trolls. None of them were all that interested in being close to magic. The troll chief nodded. “Very well.”

  “But,” said Willow, thinking fast, “if she succeeds, if we all succeed in restoring last Tuesday and our memories, I think Calamity deserves a new deal. There will be no cages in her future. . . . She can just be accepted for who she is.”

  Calamity’s mother was silent for a very long time, and then she said, “Very well.”

  Willow added quickly, “And, um, I think you should unlock her father as well.”

  “Ooh, don’ push it,” whispered Oswin from inside the bag.

  “He’ll come out when he admits that he should have asked for directions to the troll gathering twelve moons ago.”

  “Never,” said Calamity’s father.

  The troll chief shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  Then she took off a long leather necklace, from which hung an odd-shaped bone whistle.

  “I’m putting my trust in Calamity—but if you need us, just blow on this.”

  Which is how, to Willow’s complete shock and amazement, she found herself in possession of a whistle that would summon an entire troll army.

  18

  The Witch’s House

  “HOW ON EARTH are we going to fit a troll and a dragon through that?” asked Nolin Sometimes, pointing up ahead at a tiny ramshackle stone hut that was nestled deep in the valley.

  “I have no idea,” said Willow, eyes widening as they approached it. The house was minuscule, with just one window and a weather-beaten door.

  “It’s hard to imagine Moreg Vaine living here,” said Essential with a puzzled frown.

  Willow couldn’t help but agree. She thought of the witch’s statement about her “other cellar,” which had made her think that Moreg’s home was rather large, not the tiny hut they stood in front of now.

  Willow tried opening the front door, but it was locked.

  Sometimes tried the window, but that wouldn’t budge either.

  “We may need to break it,” concluded Essential.

  There was a faint shaking from the bag, and she could hear Oswin’s wails of “Oh no! Oh, me greedy aunt! Osbertrude!” growing louder. She frowned; she couldn’t imagine what nearby magic was getting him this worked up.

  Willow picked up a rock and threw it at the window, but it barely made a scratch, and even when Calamity tried putting her sizable fist through the glass and then tried kicking the door down with one of her boulder-like feet, nothing happened.

  Willow took out the StoryPass, which was whirring around as if in confusion. “Oswin’s onto something; I think this has been charmed somehow.”

  Essential’s eyes widened, and she fished out the hag stone and peered through its hole. “Yes, oh my goodness, you’ll never believe it!” she exclaimed.

  “What is it?” asked Willow.

  Essential handed her the stone so that Willow could see for herself.

  She peered through the small hole in the stone and gasped. It wasn’t a hut at all!

  It was a small golden castle with marble turrets and spires winking high in the sky. Instead of the half-broken doorway they were standing in front of, she saw enormous polished doors that were over fifteen feet high—high enough for even the tallest troll to walk through.

  Willow passed the stone around for Sometimes, Feathering, Calamity, and Oswin to see—even the kobold was impressed before he zipped himself back inside the bag for safety.

  Holding the stone, Willow tried the door, which swung open at once with a deafening clatter. Oswin was right—the hag stone worked when you were outside the charm!

  “Come on,” she said, walking through a long passageway.

  On the walls were paintings of curious objects and plants. Nolin Sometimes paused before one of a jam jar with a odd purple flower shaped a bit like a house and frowned. “Oooh, I didn’t know she was into magical botany. . . . I suppose it is Moreg. . . .”

  In the corners of the passage were statues, or what looked at first like statues, except that they seemed to be sleeping. . . .

  “Oh!” exclaimed Essential, ey
eing them warily. “These are enchanted stone figures! Rubix’s specialty—it’s best we get away from them. . . . I had to fight one when I was little. Rubix thought it was good practice. . . .”

  “And was it?” asked Willow.

  “For getting some impressive bruises—very.”

  They shared a grin.

  There was a small passageway to the left that led to a set of stone stairs. Willow stopped. “Maybe we should go this way. . . .”

  They all nodded. As curious as Willow was to see the rest of the castle, they needed to get to the kitchen. “Come on—we need to find the pantry to get to Moreg.”

  The others followed her down the stairs, which led to a basement kitchen. They raced inside, passing a massive wooden table and an old forest-green range. Through a separate door to the side they found the enormous pantry. “Here,” Willow said as they entered.

  It was filled with dozens of shelves, and on either side were steps that Willow guessed must lead to a set of cellars. “It’ll be one of these,” said Willow, guessing aloud. “Our first night away, while we were camping, she said she’d left something in her other cellar . . . which means the portal must only work on one side,” she concluded.

  They were about to turn and look at the other cellar when she saw something she recognized.

  “Hang on,” said Willow, seeing a folding chair, along with an iron pot, a table, and two broomsticks—including Whisper! “It must be around here somewhere,” she said. She placed her hands against the wall, feeling all along the surface. It had to be here—it had to! Then suddenly her fingers pressed straight through the stone, until she was touching something soft and silken—like the lining inside a cloak. “It’s here!”

  She shot her friends a nervous look and said, “I’ll go first.”

  Sometimes looked a little green himself. “We’ll be right behind you,” he reassured her.

  Willow took a deep breath, picked up the bag with Oswin inside, and then pushed her way through the fabric.

  She found herself tumbling down until she landed in a heap on a stone floor in a dark and dusty room, Oswin protesting loudly.

  “Keep it down,” Willow hissed, rubbing her head. She glanced up and saw that the cloak had been hanging from a hook above her.

  But where was Moreg?

  Willow stood up, just as Sometimes fell through the cloak, followed closely by Essential, who landed on top of him, her glasses askew. “Ouch!” they both muttered.

  Disentangling himself, Sometimes crossed the room and made a funny noise. Soon Willow and Essential could see why. On the floor, one of the Brothers was sprawled on his back, a purplish lump on his forehead.

  “Knocked out,” confirmed Sometimes, his eyes going glassy and rolling back as the memory washed over him. A moment later, while his eyes were clouded and white, he continued. “He’s a prison guard. They locked Moreg up here in this dungeon, and she waited until he came inside; then she hit him over the head with a pot from her pantry and stole his keys. The last thing the guard saw before he passed out was that she left her cloak on the peg. She must have done that so that we’d be able to find her,” he said, just as a giant troll foot was making its way out of the cloak’s folds.

  “Rather clever,” came a voice from behind them, accompanied by a smattering of mocking applause.

  “Oh no,” moaned Oswin.

  Willow spun around to find that several Brothers of Wol, including the High Master, were making their way into the room.

  “Oh dear,” said Sometimes, falling over into a dead faint.

  19

  Magic in Wolkana

  A GROUP OF priests crowded into the cell, and a pimple-faced Brother, who looked vaguely familiar, stepped forward. “Burn it,” he commanded.

  “What?” asked the High Master with a puzzled frown, as one of the Brothers seized a candle that was standing in a sconce on the wall and flung it at the cloak. It set alight instantly.

  “Stop!” shouted Willow.

  Essential raised her hands, and they watched as the flames paused for almost a full second—long enough for them to see the massive troll foot disappear back inside, followed by Feathering’s golden eyes, which had been peering at them from within the folds of the cloak.

  Willow sagged in relief, glad that Calamity and Feathering had retreated to safety before the cloak went up in flames. But relief was replaced with despair as she watched their only means of escape go up in smoke.

  “We can’t have you using that again,” said the Brother, seeming to sense her thoughts.

  Looking at him properly, Willow recognized him as the one who’d run away from her and Moreg to fetch the High Master in Beady Hill.

  “See here, missy,” said the High Master now, his black pebble-like eyes wide. “I’m not sure what your business is. If you think that you’ve come to kidnap our . . .” He looked around, his face going slack in surprise when he saw the guard on the floor. “What on Great Starfell?! What’s happened? Where is Moreg Vaine? What have you done with her?” he demanded of Willow. The High Master’s eyes trailed to the charred remains of the cloak. “Did she escape? Did you see what happened?”

  The young Brother came forward and placed a hand on the High Master’s shoulder. “There’s nothing to worry about; it’s all been taken care of—the witch has been moved. . . .”

  “Moved?” said the High Master, blinking. Willow could see the confusion in his small, dark eyes. “What is going on here? What is this?” he asked.

  “Nothing for you to worry about,” soothed the Brother, patting the High Master’s shoulder. “Easily explained. . . .”

  The High Master blinked, his eye falling on Sometimes, who was still lying passed out on the floor alongside the knocked-out guard. “But why was she moved? Why wasn’t I told?”

  Nolin Sometimes’s eyes were large and glassy, and a weak whisper escaped his lips: “The boy . . . the boy used the spell for his second attempt to seize the post of High Master.”

  “What?” gasped the High Master. “What did he just say?”

  “The boy used the spell for his second attempt to seize the post of High Master,” Sometimes repeated before his eyes closed and he fell back into his dead faint.

  The High Master bent down and tried to wake up Sometimes, but he was out for the count. “Ludicrous—why would someone say such a thing? . . . I am the High Master. No one would try such a thing. I think this man might be unwell.”

  The younger pimple-faced Brother nodded. “Yes, that must be it. Quite unwell. I think perhaps you should take him to the infirmary, and then we can deal with these, er, children when you return.”

  Two Brothers stepped forward to pick up Nolin Sometimes, and the High Master waved them on. “Yes, maybe that’s best, Silas,” he said, turning to go with them.

  Willow tensed. Silas? The words from the memory flower reverberated inside her skull. The boy named Silas cast the spell hidden within a fortress.

  She gasped, then looked at Sometimes, who was still unconscious.

  “Wait,” said Willow, her mind working fast. “He’s a forgotten teller—one who sees the past—and he saw that a boy—Silas—used a spell that stole last Tuesday, a spell that could end up destroying the world if we don’t fix it. You have to help us, please.”

  The High Master scoffed. “What nonsense. Silas seize power? Magic here, in Wolkana? We have tried for centuries to rid Starfell of this filth, this evil from the world. We would never allow it here . . . never.”

  It was just a second, but Willow saw the anger on the young Brother Silas’s face. “No, that’s true. You wouldn’t,” he sneered.

  The High Master looked at him with a frown.

  From Nolin Sometimes’s prone form came a mutter: “The Lost Spells of Starfell were kept out of sight for a thousand years in a gilded box, hidden in the fortress, until the boy named Silas found them and sought to use them for himself. . . .”

  The High Master turned ashen. He seemed to stagger slight
ly. His mouth fell open and he looked at Silas, blinking. “I—it can’t be true? What they are saying . . . you wouldn’t have . . . you couldn’t have found them, and actually used them?” His hand was on his heart. Willow could tell that he was finding it hard to breathe.

  Silas scowled. He looked at Willow and Nolin Sometimes, who had passed out again, with something close to a mix of frustration and amusement. “You just had to bring a forgotten teller along.”

  Willow frowned. “What?”

  He sighed. “I had hoped for a bit more time . . . or at least preferable surroundings,” he said, eyeing the dungeon in some distaste. A few of the other Brothers shared a knowing sort of smile with him.

  Willow felt something inside her turn cold as he continued.

  Silas looked at the High Master, his mouth turning up into a thin, humorless smile. “There is no need for this pretense anymore, High Master. I fear the secret is out, don’t you? The truth always comes out in the end . . . no matter what lengths one goes to.” He reached inside his robes and withdrew a small box.

  The High Master’s face blanched as he saw what was in Silas’s hands. “W-what secret? Silas, think of what you are saying . . . and who you are speaking to,” he said, shooting a meaningful look at Willow and her friends, his eyes then straying back to the box. “You don’t want them to leave here with the wrong impression. We can’t have them thinking that magic would ever be permitted in Wolkana—”

  “ENOUGH!” thundered Silas. He didn’t look nearly as frightened or as young as he had when they’d seen him in Beady Hill. In fact, he didn’t even look all that young anymore. His pimples were gone, and his face was lean and hard, like the expression in his eyes.

  Willow blinked. It was as if he’d used magic until now to make himself appear less powerful. But how could that be?

  His voice was cold. “LIES. All of them, and I grow weary of each one. Seize him,” he ordered, and three of the Brothers stepped forward to take the High Master away.

  “Silas? What is this—a rebellion?” His voice cracked. “So it’s all true—what they said? Silas, my boy, my child, why?”