Starfell Willow Moss and the Lost Day (Starfell #1) - Dominique Valente Page 0,10

slightly. But then the witch nodded. ‘I would. I had a flying carpet for a while – quite rare, you know. A three-seater, once belonging to a Tetan king, I believe, but that’s long gone now. Flew away right off the line, no doubt furious that it had been washed. Old carpets can be quite tetchy. Ordinarily I don’t do brooms. I’ve never found one I really liked – it’s such a stereotype, if you ask me, witches and brooms … Same with the hat. Never wear one if I can help it.’

Willow supposed that when she thought ‘witch’ a picture of a broomstick did float into her mind. Although, admittedly, the few witches she had met only owned a broom that did nothing more remarkable than sweep, but she had hoped that Moreg Vaine would be the exception. After all, she was Moreg Vaine.

‘I’ve always wanted to try a flying broom,’ admitted Willow, who’d long wished for one of her own, and couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed. If ever there was a time for a flying broom, surely saving the world was it.

Moreg looked at her, shrugged and said, ‘Well, I suppose time is of the essence, and we are going past Radditch in any case …’

Willow blinked. Radditch … Something tugged at the corner of her mind. Weren’t the people there known for something? Something to do with making things fly? A faint curl of hope expanded in her chest. Was the witch saying what she thought?

‘So, despite my misgivings, I think we’ll have to get some brooms, yes.’ Moreg didn’t look all that happy about it, though. ‘First thing in the morning.’

Willow let out a small whoop of glee, and did a little jig, which made Oswin huff inside the carpetbag. She schooled herself fast when Moreg blinked at her in surprise.

‘Um,’ said Willow, clearing her throat self-consciously. ‘Oh, okay, if you really think that’s best.’

Dusk was setting as, sometime later, Willow and Moreg entered a fragrant wood. They walked on until they came across a small clearing covered in purple clover, where Moreg told her they’d be stopping for the night. ‘We’ll make an early start to Radditch tomorrow.’

Despite the promise of acquiring flying broomsticks, Willow was grateful to rest for the night. Her feet were sore, and she was tired and hungry. She set her carpetbag down, and then did a double-take when she saw what Moreg was doing. Seemingly, from out of nowhere, the witch had whipped out a large cast-iron pot, which she placed over an odd violet-hued flame that was suspended in mid-air. ‘I hope you like nettle stew – it shouldn’t take too long.’

‘H-how did you do that?’ exclaimed Willow.

Moreg waved a palm distractedly while testing the stew with a wooden spoon, and muttering, ‘Needs salt, definitely.’ She patted the front of her cloak, reached inside, and withdrew a small ceramic pot from which she took a pinch of salt and sprinkled it into the pot. Then, seeing Willow’s bemused stare, she said quite nonchalantly, ‘Oh this? Been cooking all day.’

Willow blinked. What?

Moreg, however, looked unfazed. ‘Oh, how rude of me. Would you like a seat?’ She asked, proceeding to pull out a folded blue chair from within her cloak. She sprung it open and offered it to Willow, who took it rather bemusedly. She watched as Moreg took more things from within the cloak’s folds – including a small green table, and two knives, forks, plates and purple glasses. Moreg patted her cloak, rolled her eyes heavenward, and sighed deeply, ‘I must have left the good wine in my other cellar – looks like we’ll be roughing it. Just the rynflower cider for us. I suppose we’ll survive,’ she said, pulling out a small jug with a doubtful expression.

Willow stared. Her other cellar? How on Starfell did the witch manage to keep all of that in one cloak? And manage to walk? The obvious answer was of course magic. But that was a broad answer, and magic, as far as Willow knew, didn’t work the way people believed it should. Not any more, not since it was nearly ripped away a thousand years before during the war started by the Brothers of Wol, a religious order who tried to rid Starfell of magic because they believed – and, alas, still did to this day – that people born with magical abilities were unnatural, and that their bodies were possessed by evil. The battle resulted in what was known as