Starfell Willow Moss and the Lost Day (Starfell #1) - Dominique Valente Page 0,16

one who seemed resolutely unimpressed was Oswin, who had found his voice now that they were far away from the Mementons. ‘Go on a journey, she said,’ he muttered darkly. ‘Save the world, she said,’ he harrumphed. ‘She din’t say nuffink about flying on no blooming brooms.’

On the edge of a forest, not very far away, a boy sat by the campfire planning his vengeance against the people who had tried to thwart him. His face was shrouded beneath his hood, his eyes dark as they stared at the flames. His fingers touched the box he had once been imprisoned for possessing.

He was anxious to have it be done with now. To stop with the pretence once and for all.

An old man clamped a hand on his shoulders. ‘We will find them, son,’ he said. ‘And what a glorious triumph it will be.’

‘Yes, Father,’ said the boy, quickly stowing the box out of sight.

The man smiled indulgently, then turned back to the others. He longed to return to the fortress, to his comfortable bed … but the rumours that had reached them – that the witch would finally be breaking the law and might be seized were too good to miss. He picked up his flagon and joined the others in prayer.

He didn’t see the way the boy’s mouth twisted when he’d left. Or the look of revulsion that had marred his features at his father’s touch. He hadn’t seen how the boy’s heart had turned to stone. If he had, he may have suspected what lay inside that dark heart, and how it vowed that the triumph would be his alone …

6

The (Newly) Forbidden City of Beady Hill

One of Willow’s happiest memories was when one of Granny Flossy’s potion experiments went wrong and she ended up making chocolate instead. Willow thought that had been pretty near perfect happiness, until now. Flying Whisper past winding silvery lakes, and through the seemingly endless expanse of cloudless sky, all she could do was smile.

She was partly frozen, her hair had turned into one large knotty helmet that had bird droppings in it from a pigeon who’d used her as target practice, and Oswin hadn’t taken a break from moaning, but she was utterly, blissfully happy.

Well, until a volley of flaming arrows streaked past her broom, almost causing her to fall in her fright. She screamed and clung on to Whisper.

‘They’re just warning arrows. Looks like the king’s army has claimed the air space here … We’ll have to land before the city’s walls,’ said Moreg, racing up to her side. ‘They won’t let us pass over. Better to go on foot, then we can fly on after we’ve found any clues to the forgotten teller’s whereabouts.’

Heart stuttering in fear, Willow followed after Moreg, trying to keep clear of the orange flames that erupted from the Business’s engines.

Willow’s heart was still in her throat. Up on the ramparts she could see the archers with their flaming arrows.

They made way for the outer wall of the city, landing away from prying eyes. ‘They’re a bit sticky when it comes to magic around here,’ explained Moreg, ‘and being on a broomstick will just anger them further. Best to just blend in for now.’

Willow nodded. Though her heart was still racing.

‘I’ll pop the brooms into my pantry for safekeeping – it’ll be better not to advertise who we are to the army.’

Willow agreed, though she kept a hold of the hairy carpetbag with Oswin inside.

As they headed towards the city’s walls there was a distinctive high-pitched panicking noise coming from the bag, which was slightly alarming. ‘Oh no! Oh, me greedy aunt! Osbertrude, why’d yew curse us kobolds?’

In Willow’s experience Oswin only got this panicked when he detected powerful magic approaching and was feeling particularly afraid. Incidentally this happened every time her sister Camille was about to enter their bedroom.

But before she had a chance to worry about why he was reacting this way Moreg said ‘Bother’ in a resigned sort of way as a tall, skinny boy dressed in a long brown robe with three golden arrows emblazoned across the chest rounded the town wall and gaped at them in apparent surprise. He had very straight, almost straw-like blond hair, which looked like it had been thatched to his head, and his pale face was generously peppered with pimples. He made the sign of Wol by holding both hands together and pointing his second and last fingers up. Then, before they could stop him, he