Willow gave him a small, grateful smile. It was true, Oswin could be useful … when he wanted to be. Mostly because he was often the one who remembered about food, but there was also the fact that his koboldish blood let him know whenever they were approaching dangerous magic. And yes, there was his rather useful ability to blow up when he was agitated enough – which had partly helped save the missing day. Not that he’d meant to do it. Still, it was handy.
Together they quickly packed the hairy carpetbag and left the cottage. Willow stopped only to get her broom, Whisper, from the shed.
At the garden gate, the oak tree harrumphed as she passed him. ‘Running away, are we?’
There was a faint ‘Oh noooo, I forgot about ’IM,’ from within the bag.
Willow turned to look at the tree in surprise, her face blotchy with tears. She’d been sure that he wouldn’t speak to her again. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. ‘Yes. I need to find my friend, and to do that I have to sort out my magic … and get away from here. I’m sorry about the letter, though – and for disturbing you.’
The tree made a windy harrumphing sound. Then its knot eyes softened slightly as it took in the state of Willow’s tear-streaked face. ‘It sounded like you’d been punished enough.’
‘You heard all that?’ she asked, surprised.
‘Trees hear everything,’ he replied, then raised a root from the ground. ‘I reach well under the cottage … I know what’s going on, even when I sleep.’
Willow didn’t know what to feel about that. This whole time they’d had an audience they had never known about. It was a bit creepy when she thought about it.
‘I know it really happened – the missing day,’ said the tree. ‘If that helps. I know you aren’t talking nonsense … well, no more than the rest of them anyway,’ he said, pointing a branch in the direction of the cottage. ‘I felt that something was wrong, that something had disappeared, causing strange effects, even as I slept. And, besides that, trees talk … We know what you helped to do.’
Willow blinked. They did?
There was a loud popping sound from the direction of the cottage, followed by several high-pitched screams. Willow’s heart started to race – her family must have reappeared in the kitchen. At least this still allowed her a bit of a head start. Fighting mounting panic, she picked up the carpetbag with Oswin inside. ‘I’d better go – I can’t afford to waste time hoping that my family will believe me. My friend needs me.’
The old oak tree considered her. ‘I was the youngest in my family before I moved here … An oak needs some space sometimes,’ he said, pointing to the dark woods ahead. ‘I remember how it was – no room to grow. I’ll hold them off while you leave.’
‘You will?’
He nodded, making his leaves rustle. ‘Didn’t much care for that comment about trees to be honest. As if it was ridiculous somehow. Typical of humans to think only they can talk or move or think …’
There was a harrumph of agreement from within the carpetbag at this. ‘Exacterly,’ mumbled Oswin.
As the tree frowned at the bag in some confusion, Willow stared at him. ‘But how will you hold them off?’
There was a windy sort of grunt. ‘I’ll think of something,’ he said, shuffling some acorns in a slightly menacing way that made Willow feel a moment of concern her family, and even guiltier than she already did for running away.
Still, he was giving her the chance she needed. ‘Thank you,’ said Willow.
The tree ignored her thanks as it clomped towards the cottage, muttering to himself, ‘Blooming had to choose a house full of witches, didn’t I? Couldn’t just keep my darn roots out of it …’
Then, as the cottage door opened, despite his grumbling, the oak began pelting her family with acorns rather enthusiastically while they all screeched in shock. Seeing Willow, they shouted at her to come back.
‘Willow, don’t go!’ cried her mother, dodging an acorn. ‘Stop, you horrid tree!’ she snapped as another one bounced off her forehead. ‘Willow, I’ll get Amora Spell to come and look at you – we can do something about this! I believe you about the tree at least …’
But Willow shook her head. It was too late. Besides, Amora Spell, her grandmother’s swindling ex-partner, would definitely not help matters and time was running out. She needed to get to Moreg. It was possible that the witch knew where poor Nolin Sometimes was.
As Camille stepped forward, the tree picked her up and said, ‘Oh no you don’t, missus … I have half a mind to drag you off to the Mists of Mitlaire myself for threatening your sister with that. A person’s soul is no joking matter!’
Willow swallowed down her guilt. ‘I’m sorry, really … but I have to go!’
Then she mounted Whisper and set off towards Moreg’s house, her family’s screeches and Oswin’s loud, panicked cries of ‘Oh nooooooooo, not this flying sticks again!’ heavy in her ears.
Far away, in a strange place where time seemed to have stopped, Nolin Sometimes woke to darkness. It was the kind of dark where you can’t see your own hand in front of your face, where you aren’t sure where you begin and the shadows end, or if they end at all …
He swallowed as he sat up. There was a lump throbbing on his forehead.
The silence around him was unlike any he had ever known or grown used to in the forest of Wisperia, where there was always the sound of birds, the rustling of trees, the whisper of the wind … This was the absence of all that. It was nothing.
He called out to the nothing … which was when the fear started to build to a crescendo and the blood rushed in his ears, for no sound escaped his lips, even as he screamed …
4
Pimpernell, a ‘Hed’ Witch
As Willow flew up, past the dark woods and towards the warm glow of the midday sun peeking behind the trees, the hard knot twisting her stomach seemed to loosen slightly.
While she regretted having to leave her family behind in such a dramatic way, she felt a sense of purpose grab hold of her. It was the first time she’d felt anything like it since she’d found out about what had happened on that missing Tuesday – when she’d discovered that she’d lost Granny Flossy and the world had seemed to end.
Up through the trees, the wind in her hair, everything seemed to grow quiet, allowing her mind to sharpen, and she began to think.
And the main thing she thought was that she should have brought a map.
Willow reached into her pocket and took out her StoryPass, a magical device that resembled a compass and appeared to know things that she didn’t. It seemed to agree, as it was currently pointing to ‘One Might Have Suspected as Such’.
‘Do you think I should head east or west for Troll Country?’ she asked aloud. A green paw shot out of the bag, palm up, followed by a mumble about not exactly being able to see properly through a bag made of hair.
Also something about a cumberworld.
‘I suppose we’ll have to land and ask for directions,’ said Willow, pointing Whisper down towards a village on the edge of the woods.