Willow Moss and the Forgotten Tale

by Dominique Valente

  Luckily, they both reappeared a few moments later. The lecture, however, went on for considerably longer.

  Willow now sat at the kitchen table while her mother paced up and down, shaking her head and muttering things like, ‘I just don’t know what’s to be done with you. I sent your father word that he should come home so that we can all deal with this together as a family. What if your sister had gone missing permanently? You don’t know how to control this – and, despite the risks to all of us, you’re still using your magic …’

  ‘But Mum,’ Willow interrupted, feeling a pang of guilt that her mother had asked her father to leave work early to ‘deal’ with her, ‘I had to use my magic! I’ve got to find Nolin Sometimes.’ She tried once again to explain. ‘He’s my friend, and he needs me. He sent me a letter—’

  ‘Which has conveniently vanished,’ said her mother. She made a ‘pfft’ noise, eyes narrowed.

  This was true unfortunately. A few things from the attic hadn’t reappeared, like Granny Flossy’s old purple hat, several tonics that her mother had been forcing her to drink, and the leaf-letter, so no one would believe a word Willow said.

  Her mother shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. ‘I’d like to believe you, Willow, truly … but trees do not move or speak! I don’t know what on Great Starfell made you think they could. Besides that – which is worrying enough – I’m not sure where you got this idea that you’ve met a forgotten teller …’

  ‘Mum, I have!’ she protested.

  ‘No, you haven’t, Willow! It’s not something one does. Oubliers are extremely rare, and most end up … well, dead because of their abilities, which land them in trouble.’

  Willow blinked. ‘I KNOW that! That’s why he needs me – it’s urgent!’

  Willow’s mother shook her head, her eyes wide with concern. ‘Oh, Willow, I think you’re really quite ill. It might be a fever or something that’s been causing all this trouble with your magic – and now these delusions …’

  But Willow wasn’t ill. She felt fine. She’d had all kinds of colds before and it had never caused her magic to act strangely. Her rogue magic came from something else … she knew it. In the back of her mind, Granny Flossy’s voice on a cold winter’s night whispered, ‘Folk that venture into the forest of Wisperia don’ always come back the same. I’ve heard stories of people who changed. Their hair turned to flame, their feet to hooves, their fingers to leaves … Forest-touched, they call it … They end up having to make a life there, away from everyone they know, as they’ve turned wild.’

  Willow swallowed. She’d been to Wisperia when she’d tried to get back the stolen day. The forest must have done something to her. She tried to push the thought that her hair might turn to flame or her feet to hooves out of her mind, with difficulty.

  The problem was getting anyone in her family to consider these risks because, when the lost Tuesday had been restored, so had the usual timeline. No one remembered when the day went missing at all, and they didn’t know what Willow had done or where she’d been … The only people who remembered were those, like her, who had been in the presence of the spell that had brought back the day.

  ‘Please, Mum, just listen to me – I think I know what’s happened. I’m going to tell you all about it, and afterwards you’ll see what needs to be done.’

  She asked them not to interrupt so that she could get through the whole story. To her surprise, they agreed. Mostly, she would find out later, because they’d been trying to gather just how far her fevered delusions went and how urgently they should send for help.

  ‘So you see,’ she said, when she finally finished explaining all that had happened a few weeks before, ‘I believe that something affected my magic in Wisperia. It scrambled it around or something. I think, under the circumstances, that the best thing to do is to send for Moreg. She’ll know what to do, and how to help me find Nolin Sometimes.’

  There was a long pause while her family stared at her in what Willow thought might be amazement at the fact she’d helped to save the world and kept quiet about it for so long, or perhaps even a little quiet pride at her courage in the face of such adversity … But it soon turned out to be something else entirely.

  Her oldest sister, Juniper, came forward, an odd look on her face as if a beloved pet had died. She felt Willow’s forehead and frowned. ‘It’s the stress, isn’t it?’ she said, looking at her mother, her mouth in a sad line. ‘Ever since Granny passed. She can’t face reality any more.’ Then for a second her serious demeanour slipped and she clamped a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, I’m sorry … I shouldn’t laugh as it’s really quite awful, but … “send for Moreg”!’

  This made Camille giggle, then whisper loudly, ‘She only used her first name too, like they were friends! Can you even imagine?’

  Willow closed her eyes in frustration. When she opened them, she saw that her mother’s face was serious and rather sad, and she began to explain things as if Willow were still quite little, or possibly a bit dim.

  ‘My dear,’ she said, patting Willow’s hand gently, ‘I don’t think Moreg Vaine, the, um … most powerful witch in Starfell, would concern herself with the problems of a twelve-year-old girl.’

  This elicited a few more sniggers from Camille and Juniper, but Raine turned and gave her other daughters A WARNING LOOK, and they stopped giggling immediately.

  ‘Sorry, Mum,’ said Juniper.

  Raine’s face was twisted with worry. ‘What really concerns me is this delusion of yours, Willow. The idea that somehow you and Moreg went off on some wild and impressive adventure together when Granny passed away. I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, but that just didn’t happen.’

  ‘WOT?’ blurted Oswin from beneath the table, where he was hiding by Willow’s feet, his fur turning a violent shade of orange. ‘I WOS THERE! She took me WIFF ’er in a BAG made o’ HAIR! ’Tis NOT made up and ’tis NOT about the ol’ Flossy Mistress, yew … yew … CARBUNCLED CUMBERWORLDS!’

  There was a long silence at this.

  Then Willow said, ‘Thanks, Oswin.’ She and the kobold shared a conciliatory look. Mostly about how little his outburst would actually help. Still, it was nice to have someone on her side for once.

  Willow’s mother pursed her lips in distaste, but gave no other sign that she’d heard Oswin. This was her standard approach to him.

  It wasn’t, however, for Camille. ‘Look, just because you’ve convinced your monster doesn’t mean it actually happened,’ she snorted dismissively. ‘He’s usually hiding away in a bag or under your bed. You could tell him almost anything had happened and he’d probably believe you.’

  Oswin shot out from under the table to glare at her. ‘WOT? Such LIES! Such undeservedable SLEWS against me fine koboldish character! A curse upon yeh … yeh harpy-hag – a CURSE!’

  ‘Control your monster!’ snapped Camille. ‘Or I’ll send him away!’

  Willow felt her temper go from simmer to boil, and she stood up fast. ‘You will NOT touch him. It IS NOT A DELUSION and I haven’t LOST TOUCH WITH REALITY. Oswin WAS there!’

  She took a deep, calming breath, which didn’t work, and tried again to get them to see reason. ‘It really happened, you just don’t remember it – but that’s only because you weren’t THERE! Because you didn’t want to help then EITHER!’

  Camille gave a derisive snort, flinging her midnight hair back. ‘Oh really, Willow … like we’d not help save the world!’

  Juniper made a huffing, dismissive sound too.

  Willow sighed. ‘Well, you didn’t because you wouldn’t believe me then either. But that’s not the point. The way you’re all reacting now doesn’t make sense because you’ve seen what happened. You SAW Moreg – she came here after Granny’s funeral. You saw her speak to me and bring me my broom, Whisper, which I only got because I was helping her! How else would I have it? And, before she came, you saw the DRAGONS, so you must know that I’m telling the truth. How else would I have known her,
or met a cloud dragon? How else would you explain that?’

  There was a long moment when no one spoke.

  Then, over the sound of Willow’s thundering heart, her mother let out a deep sigh. ‘Oh, Willow. You probably don’t know this, but Moreg was a family friend. I grew up with her sister, Molsa, you see. Moreg thought very highly of Granny Flossy. As you know, your grandmother was once the best potion-maker in all of Starfell, which is why Moreg came to pay her respects to all of us when she passed. I believe that she brought you your broom as a gift, to take your mind off Granny’s death. I mean, granted, Moreg is not generally known for, erm, spontaneous acts of kindness … but that’s what it was – a kind act to a child at a difficult time. I’m afraid that, with all the shock and upset, you’ve got a bit muddled and turned it into something else … some wild story about saving the world with her, as well as an imaginary friend needing your help, and trees that move and deliver letters … Oh, Wol.’

  She gave a short, humourless laugh. ‘Which is DEEPLY worrying for all of us, don’t you see? Because not only do you seem troubled, it’s dangerous to be around you as it’s affected your magic in a rather violent way. We have to get you help, and soon!’

  Willow stared at her mother through eyes that were misted by sudden angry tears. There was a lump in her throat, making it hard to speak. She’d never needed Granny Flossy more than she did in that moment. Granny would have made them see, made them hear, somehow. She would probably have known the truth about the trees – she knew things like that, things no one else did – and she would have gone outside to try talking to the oak, even if they all thought that was bonkers. She would have trusted Willow, or at least tried to. But Granny Flossy was gone, and there was nothing Willow could do.

  Her chin started to shake, and in a very small, choked voice she tried one last time to make them see that she was telling the truth. ‘B-b-but you heard what Feathering the dragon said, Mum. About how I helped him. Please can you just –’ she sniffed – ‘try to believe me?’

  Raine spoke to her in a soft, kind voice, which only made things worse. ‘I do believe that, of course I do – the big dragon said that you helped him find his egg. I mean, I think that’s a WONDERFUL thing to have done.’

  She shot Juniper and Camille a look and they both quickly nodded too. ‘We all do,’ continued her mother. ‘But, you see, it might have been the very excitement of meeting him and Moreg, mixed in with your grief, that caused things to get scrambled somehow … and made you think that you’d met before.’

  Willow’s mouth closed over a wordless scream, hot tears leaking from her eyes unchecked.

  They just wouldn’t believe her. Willow felt her hurt begin to grow as she considered the hard truth about her family. It wasn’t just that they didn’t believe her: they didn’t believe in her … and they never would. They couldn’t even imagine that it was possible for Willow to have done something even slightly remarkable, even with help. They would never see her as one of them.

  She felt winded, as if something hard and jagged had hit her in the chest. The blood rushed to her ears, and there was a ringing sound – later she would wonder if it was the sound of her own heart breaking – and suddenly there was a loud pop.

  She looked up to see that she had made everyone, except Oswin, vanish.

  Meanwhile, somewhere far away, a throne glinted like opals and diamonds in the shadows. Though, if you were to look closer, it seemed to be made of feathers and roots and darkness.

  The queen who sat upon it had shadowy eyes like a night devoid of stars. She steepled her fingers and asked her servant, ‘You know what you need to do?’

  The servant nodded, once. His gaze flicked towards the white-haired man on the floor whose eyes were pale and unseeing, though from his mumbling lips came a low moan.

  The queen shifted in her seat like moving ink, and her hair floated in the air above as if she were underwater. She made a motion with her fingers and a small, shadow-like bird flew towards the figure on the ground, and into his open mouth. No more sound escaped his lips.

  The servant watched in silence, then turned to leave.

  ‘Be careful,’ the queen warned. ‘Remember who you are up against. The witch sees all – you must play your game well if you are to succeed.’

  ‘I know what is at stake,’ said the servant.

  The queen said nothing. She simply lifted a finger. It was the colour of birch bark, silver and dry and stronger than steel. A mist appeared, and there was a flash of wings, and then nothing at all.

  3

  An Unlikely Accomplice

  In the silence between the thunderclaps of Willow’s own heartbeats, Oswin stared up at her in horror. ‘Oh NOOOOO! Oh, me ’orrid aunt! They’ll never believes yew now that yer magic has gon’ proper squifflesticks,’ he groaned, covering his large, lamp-like eyes with his paws as if he really didn’t want to watch what happened next.

  ‘You’re right,’ said Willow in a small, scared voice. She swallowed, and took a wary step back from where the table had been, knocking a chair over in her fright. ‘Oswin, I’m going to have to find Moreg myself. I think I should go now, quickly, before my father gets here or they come back. I just don’t think they’ll believe me … and, to be honest, right now they’re right about one thing. I-I’m a danger to be around. Y-you can stay if you want.’

  The kobold went from green to orange in a flash, his eyes shooting daggers at her. ‘WOT? Yew wants to leave me behind?’

  ‘No – but you might be safer here.’

  Oswin shot her a dark look and harrumphed. ‘Wiffout yew ’ere, that harpy-hag will gets rid of me faster than I could blink. I’ll take me chances wiff yew any day – ’sides,’ he said in a small voice, ‘yew mights needs me.’

  Willow gave him a small, grateful smile. It was true, Oswin could be useful … when he wanted to be. Mostly because he was often the one who remembered about food, but there was also the fact that his koboldish blood let him know whenever they were approaching dangerous magic. And yes, there was his rather useful ability to blow up when he was agitated enough – which had partly helped save the missing day. Not that he’d meant to do it. Still, it was handy.

  Together they quickly packed the hairy carpetbag and left the cottage. Willow stopped only to get her broom, Whisper, from the shed.

  At the garden gate, the oak tree harrumphed as she passed him. ‘Running away, are we?’

  There was a faint ‘Oh noooo, I forgot about ’IM,’ from within the bag.

  Willow turned to look at the tree in surprise, her face blotchy with tears. She’d been sure that he wouldn’t speak to her again. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. ‘Yes. I need to find my friend, and to do that I have to sort out my magic … and get away from here. I’m sorry about the letter, though – and for disturbing you.’

  The tree made a windy harrumphing sound. Then its knot eyes softened slightly as it took in the state of Willow’s tear-streaked face. ‘It sounded like you’d been punished enough.’

  ‘You heard all that?’ she asked, surprised.

  ‘Trees hear everything,’ he replied, then raised a root from the ground. ‘I reach well under the cottage … I know what’s going on, even when I sleep.’

  Willow didn’t know what to feel about that. This whole time they’d had an audience they had never known about. It was a bit creepy when she thought about it.

  ‘I know it really happened – the missing day,’ said the tree. ‘If that helps. I know you aren’t talking nonsense … well, no more than the rest of them anyway,’ he said, pointing a branch in the direction of the cottage. ‘I felt that something was wrong, that something had disappeared, causing strange effects, even as I slept. And, besides that, trees talk … We know what you helped to do.’

  Willow blinked. They did?

  There was a loud popping sound from the direction of the cottage, followed by several high-pitched screams. Willow’s heart started to race – her family must have reap
peared in the kitchen. At least this still allowed her a bit of a head start. Fighting mounting panic, she picked up the carpetbag with Oswin inside. ‘I’d better go – I can’t afford to waste time hoping that my family will believe me. My friend needs me.’

  The old oak tree considered her. ‘I was the youngest in my family before I moved here … An oak needs some space sometimes,’ he said, pointing to the dark woods ahead. ‘I remember how it was – no room to grow. I’ll hold them off while you leave.’

  ‘You will?’

  He nodded, making his leaves rustle. ‘Didn’t much care for that comment about trees to be honest. As if it was ridiculous somehow. Typical of humans to think only they can talk or move or think …’

  There was a harrumph of agreement from within the carpetbag at this. ‘Exacterly,’ mumbled Oswin.

  As the tree frowned at the bag in some confusion, Willow stared at him. ‘But how will you hold them off?’

  There was a windy sort of grunt. ‘I’ll think of something,’ he said, shuffling some acorns in a slightly menacing way that made Willow feel a moment of concern her family, and even guiltier than she already did for running away.

  Still, he was giving her the chance she needed. ‘Thank you,’ said Willow.

  The tree ignored her thanks as it clomped towards the cottage, muttering to himself, ‘Blooming had to choose a house full of witches, didn’t I? Couldn’t just keep my darn roots out of it …’

  Then, as the cottage door opened, despite his grumbling, the oak began pelting her family with acorns rather enthusiastically while they all screeched in shock. Seeing Willow, they shouted at her to come back.

  ‘Willow, don’t go!’ cried her mother, dodging an acorn. ‘Stop, you horrid tree!’ she snapped as another one bounced off her forehead. ‘Willow, I’ll get Amora Spell to come and look at you – we can do something about this! I believe you about the tree at least …’