‘No, it gets worse the deeper you go,’ whispered Sprig. ‘And, after nightfall, they come out.’
‘Oh no, oh, me greedy aunt,’ cried Oswin, and the bag at Willow’s feet began to shake.
Willow gulped. They?
‘Hold the wheel here, lass,’ said Holloway. ‘I think I might still have a banshee wail down below. That’ll get this ol’ guy moving pronto.’
‘Banshee wail?’ asked Essential. ‘Aren’t they a bit … well, illegal?’
The wizard reappeared moments later with a thick brass cylinder clasped firmly between his gloved hands. Whatever was inside seemed to rattle as if it were alive. Holloway fed the canister into a little chute underneath the patchwork sail and replied, ‘Frowned upon, more like, but necessary in the right circumstances. See, we sailors have to be creative when it comes to fighting the elements. Sometimes there’s just no wind to speak of and ya can find yourself in the deep without a paddle to yer name, if ya know what I mean. Well, anyroad, that’s why most of us have got one of these stashed away … Ya know, in case of emergencies.’
He gave them a wink. ‘Ya might want to clamp yer hands firmly over yer ears, mind,’ he added. Then he pushed down hard on the cylinder, sending it speeding down into the chute. It sank for a moment, then whatever was inside shot up like a rocket with a bloodcurdling cry. The moment the sail caught the shriek, it gusted to life and the Sudsfarer began to glide so fast they were knocked off their feet, the terrifying scream ringing in their ears. The boat’s short, stumpy legs motored away like they were in a race, and even the Mists seemed to let them pass through more easily, clearing a path for them.
‘Amazing!’ cried Willow, gripping the edge of the boat.
‘Oh, me EARS!’ wailed Oswin.
As they hurtled through the Mists, the air began to clear a little, and at last the boat entered a lake. The water was black, with almost no reflection, though every now and then they could see something with eyes and hands rising above the surface.
The hairs on the back of Willow’s neck stood on end, and she and Essential clutched each other in fright.
‘Great Starfell!’ breathed Feathering.
Suddenly Oswin’s panicked cries reached a deafening crescendo. ‘Oh no! OH, ME ’orrid aunt! Oh, ’tis the end I tells yeh, the end!’
Essential’s eyes were huge in her face. ‘Is that – a waterfall?’
Willow could also hear a noise in the distance. She paled. With horror, she realised it must be the long, slow drop all the way down to the dark underworld of Netherfell.
They gasped. The boat tried to swim backwards, its little legs doing a frantic kind of doggy paddle, but it was futile – the current, combined with the remaining thrust of the banshee wail, was pulling them down.
‘BATTEN DOWN THE HATCHES!’ cried Holloway. And, at their blank stares, he hollered, ‘Hold tight!’
They did as instructed and all began to scream as the Sudsfarer reached the edge, tipped forward … and dropped.
Willow’s stomach seemed to dive into her chest, and she held on to the hairy carpetbag for dear life.
‘AAAAAAAAAAAGHHHHH!’
They fell for what seemed an eternity and the blink of an eye, all at the same time.
Then, suddenly, the boat hit something with a thud. It swayed dangerously before it righted itself.
Willow and her friends all staggered unsteadily to their feet. Looking around, they found that they had landed in something like water, but not quite as solid – as if it were made not of liquid but of shadow.
‘We must be in Netherfell,’ breathed Essential.
They all stared in horror and awe.
In the landscape around them there was an absence of colour – or perhaps the faded memory of it. The air was misty and grey and everything around them seemed made of dark smoke or blue shadow.
Willow swallowed as she stared. Up ahead, alongside the shadow river, was a large, creepy forest. It was packed with giant, twisted trees, and dominating it all was an enormous one the size of several farmhouses stacked together, rising high towards smoky, swirling blue fog. It reminded Willow a little of Wisperia, or at least a dark reverse side of Wisperia – an echo or a memory made of shadow.
Instead of real bark and leaves, the forest seemed to have been made from the memory of what the trees once were. Though, at the same time, there was something almost alive about them. Undead, Willow realised with a shudder as the boat sailed past a clump of trees that seemed to bend and move. She could see decaying vines that slithered as they passed and smell the scent of rotten leaves.
The boat came to a stop as they neared what looked like a small black beach, and Holloway dropped the copper-kettle anchor. ‘We’re here,’ he whispered. The wizard threw the small set of steps over the side, and Essential, Sprig and Willow climbed down.
‘H-how – how will we find her?’ asked Willow as they disembarked, looking ahead through the trees.
‘I should imagine she will find us,’ said Essential, who sounded terrified. ‘Or maybe she’ll send her undead subjects to bring us to her.’
‘Why – why do you say that?’ asked Willow with a gulp.
Feathering hefted himself off the boat, which seemed to buoy itself more upright with a groan of relief, but the dragon looked grim. ‘Because it looks like they are already on their way.’
Willow gasped, frozen to the spot, as shadowy wraith-like figures raced towards them. As they neared, Willow’s heart thundered in her chest. The creatures resembled monstrous women with long, vine-like hair and stick-like fingers that ended in pale, twisty fingernails. Their eyes were like pinpricks of hollow light.
‘Oh NOOOOOOO,’ whispered Oswin.
Willow’s knees trembled as the wraiths reached them and she tried to back away.
‘No!’ shouted Holloway. He tried to come to their aid, but as he was rushing down from the boat he was dragged back by something large, tentacled and monstrous that emerged from the shadowy river.
Willow watched helplessly as she was grabbed by the wraith-like women.
‘Holloway!’ she shouted.
But, before she could do anything more, she and the others were being whisked towards the heart of the forest, towards a small clearing filled with shadowy plants, spikes and thistles.
In the centre of the clearing was a throne made of what looked like diamonds and opals. Willow gulped, as there on the throne was the most terrifying yet hauntingly beautiful creature she had ever seen.
She was dressed in a gown made of shadows and the roots of trees, with pale blossoms dotted throughout the long black hair that waved in the air above her head as though she were underwater. Very subtly, the figure shifted before their eyes like black ink. Her face was pale marble with deep, dark eyes that seemed as if they were quietly examining their very souls.
‘Welcome,’ she said in a voice that sounded like the rain before thunder. ‘We’ve been expecting you.’ Then she smiled, which was somehow even more terrifying.
‘We?’ asked Willow.
Which was when she saw Moreg.
‘Willow!’ gasped Moreg Vaine as she was dragged forward by a wraith. ‘I didn’t want you to come here!’ She looked at Sprig. ‘You were supposed to keep her away.’