Untitled Starfell #2 (Starfell #2) - Dominique Valente Page 0,25

in amusement. He looked over Willow’s shoulder, checking to see they were alone. Then he pressed something into her hands. It was the harmonica, which gave a soft hoot. Willow stared at it in surprise.

‘I want ya to have this. It’s old magic. It was once a part of the boat – a bit of extra metal I had left over when I made it. But the two are linked, like it’s part of the same body, with one heart, if ya know what I mean?’ Willow didn’t, so he explained further. ‘If ya blow on it, the boat will know, and if ya need me then I’ll come.’

She blinked. ‘You’d do that?’

He clamped a hand on her shoulder, making her knees buckle slightly. ‘Course I will, lass.’

She grinned. There was a sound from behind, and she turned to find Sprig standing there. ‘Thanks for bringing me Whisper.’

‘Maybe we’ll see each other again,’ said Sprig.

‘That would be nice,’ she replied, her ears reddening slightly. Then she climbed on to the broomstick, placing the carpetbag at the end, and launched herself up into the air.

The sounds of Oswin’s panicked cries of, ‘Oh nOoo, NOT this blooming feathered flying sticks again!’ grew in volume as they made their way towards the burgundy dawn sky.

11

Oh, Brother

As Willow flew, she saw a raven circle overhead. It gave a haunting cry, as if it were saying a last goodbye, and then it was gone, faster than she could blink.

Holloway had given her a rough map so that she could find her way to Wisperia. She squinted at the tiny scrawled diagram with the wizard’s rather illegible writing, and the broom jerked around wildly, making Oswin’s cries get even louder – if that were possible.

‘Oh NOOOO!’

‘Sorry, Os,’ she said, quickly shoving the map back into her pocket and steadying the broom. They were heading the right way at least.

They flew for over an hour until there was a sudden rumble of thunder, followed by the light tickle of rain that soon turned into a heavy downpour. Willow huddled against the broomstick. The wind was icy and blowing hard, and water dripped down her nose, making it increasingly difficult to see.

When the water started creeping down her neck, making her shiver uncontrollably, she shook her head. ‘I’m g-g-going t-t-o have to l-l-and.’

‘Proberbelly,’ was Oswin’s reply from within the dry carpetbag.

Teeth chattering, Willow pointed her broomstick down towards a town near the winding river.

She landed just outside the town walls under an increasingly heavy downpour of rain, her hair clinging to her face in long, wet hanks. She climbed off Whisper with some difficulty, her hands frozen and claw-like from their grip.

‘We’ll t-t-try and find somewhere warm and d-dry,’ she said with a shiver as she hunched against the rain.

In her hands, the carpetbag began to shake, and there was the familiar sound of Oswin’s panicked wailings. ‘Oh nooooo! Oh, me greedy aunt! Oh, Osbertrude, why’d yew ’ave ter curse us kobolds?’

Willow could understand his distress, as up ahead a band of men in familiar long brown-and-gold robes began to race towards her. The Brothers of Wol.

Willow’s heart stuttered in her chest. She hadn’t had a run-in with the Brothers since she had infiltrated their fortress, Wolkana, to get back the missing day.

One of them pointed and shouted, ‘Witch! Attempting to enter a Forbidden area! Seize her!’

Willow didn’t have time to think. She jumped back on Whisper and hurtled away, dodging an arrow that missed her by inches.

She swallowed, barely able to see in the stinging rain. Forbidden areas were enforced by the Brothers. Parts of Starfell were off limits to magical people, as part of the treaty that was meant to keep the peace between magical and non-magical folk. However, it only seemed to be making things worse.

Another arrow shot past her, grazing her cheek. ‘Oh no!’ cried Oswin.

Willow gulped as more and more arrows rained down on her. She couldn’t see properly in the gloom, and she was forced to veer to the left as a tree branch nearly whacked her over the head. At that moment, a strange, haunting cry pierced the gloom. She cried out as a raven with a smoky blue-black wing flew in front of her.

There was a low gasp from within the bag. ‘OH NO, OH NOOOOOOOOO … OH, ME GREEDY AUNT, A CURSE UPON YEH! I’M GONNA DIE AND ME LAST MEAL WILL ’AVE BEEN ’ORRID FRIED FISH! ’TIS NOT HOW A KOBOLD DESERVES TER GO!’

Willow’s heart thundered in her