Starfell Willow Moss and the Lost Day (Starfell #1) - Dominique Valente Page 0,9

do to her when he realised that she wasn’t with her mother and sisters at the travelling fair. There was no point in thinking about it.

Borrowed trouble. That’s what her dad called it. He always said that the god Wol provided enough daily things to worry about and there was no use borrowing tomorrow’s troubles as well. Though Willow doubted he’d appreciate her using his own logic against him.

Green hairy bag in hand, she whispered a warning to Oswin to keep quiet or she’d hand him over to Moreg Vaine for her ginger pickling, and with slightly trembling knees she closed the cottage door.

‘Ready?’ asked Moreg, who eyed the bag with some surprise, though she didn’t comment.

Willow definitely didn’t feel ready.

4

The Portal Pantry

As Willow followed the witch down the lane, leaving the cottage behind, there was a small part of her that wished one of her sisters – preferably Camille – would walk past just then. She thought how nice it would be to tell her that the most revered witch in all of Starfell needed her help.

But of course they passed no one. They walked along the winding dirt road that led away from Grinfog and its rolling fields and orchards. It forked left towards the shadowy woods that loomed on the horizon – woods that Willow had always been encouraged to stay out of.

‘This way,’ said Moreg, and Willow bit her lip nervously before she followed. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Wheezy, the Jensens’ retired show horse, standing forlornly in his field down in the valley with his purple wool blanket on his flanks. She supposed dismally, her knees trembling, that of course the witch would go through the dark woods rather than through the main roads that led out of Grinfog. From the slightly shaking carpetbag in her hands she could tell that Oswin was thinking the same thing.

As she turned to follow the witch into the woods a raven circled above their heads, making a strange, haunting cry. In the distance more ravens appeared. Willow couldn’t hide a shudder, but Moreg looked up and smiled as if they were all old friends. Catching sight of Willow’s face, the witch said, ‘You know, a group of ravens are often called an “unkindness of ravens”, but I prefer the less well-known term, a conspiracy.’

Willow frowned, her eyes following the birds as they circled. A conspiracy didn’t sound much better. As she stared she saw one particular bird edge closer to Moreg; it looked different to the others, as if one of its wings was made of ink or smoke. Before Willow could comment, Moreg held up one long slim finger, and the bird vanished with a rapid beat of its black wings. Willow swallowed, eyeing Moreg warily. Had she made the bird disappear with a simple lift of a finger?

‘Come on,’ said Moreg almost nonchalantly. ‘We’ll stop a bit later for the night.’

As Willow followed the witch she thought about some of the other rumours she’d heard about Moreg over the years – like that she kept ravens, and that they carried her beneath Starfell into Netherfell so that she could dance with the dead. She darted a glance at Moreg and thought about asking if any of that was true, but then, catching sight of the witch’s face, she changed her mind just as fast.

There was so much, though, that she did want to know. Like … did the witch really live in the Mists of Mitlaire – the fog that drove most people insane? Did she have several magical abilities as some had said? Or was that just a rumour, like the one Oswin had told her about the witch pickling children in ginger … which she still hoped was untrue.

They had been walking for nearly a mile through deep, dark woods, the air smelling of pine and moss and the cold and damp inching along Willow’s toes, when Moreg slowed down. ‘We’ll be heading to the city of Beady Hill in the morning,’ she said. ‘It was the last known address of the forgotten teller we need, but it’s some distance away – so we’ll need a bit of help getting there.’

Willow wondered if she meant that they needed to catch a coach. But she had hoped that just maybe her adventure with Moreg would involve a bit of broom flying … so she dared to ask, ‘Um, you … erm, don’t want to fly?’

Moreg stared at her and Willow felt her cheeks burn