News of their arrival spread quickly. Within seconds a rather short Mementon (at just below nine feet) came forward to greet them. Willow’s first impression was BLUE. Followed quickly by HAIR.
He had very bright and very wild, bushy blue hair that trailed from his head, met at his triangular beard and seemed to end somewhere by his waist.
‘Moreg!’ greeted the Mementon, blinking rapidly. ‘Er, what brings you here?’ he asked a little nervously, darting a look at Moreg, who as far as Willow could see was trying her best to appear friendly. She wasn’t frowning at least.
The Mementon’s eyes were strange. They were deep dark blue, with white flecks in them, so that it looked like small chips of the night sky full of stars. Willow wondered if he saw things differently with eyes like that.
Moreg introduced Willow to Chopak and said, ‘Well, we need your help, you see; speed is of the essence, and we’re in the market for two of your brooms.’
Chopak’s pointy ears shot up in shock. ‘You – you’re looking for a broom?’ It sounded like he couldn’t believe his ears.
Moreg sighed. ‘I’m afraid so.’
Which seemed a little rude … but neither of them dared point that out to the witch.
Willow couldn’t help marvelling at all that she saw. Seeing this, Chopak, who was at heart a born salesman, said, ‘Come with me, I’ll give you the tour.’ They followed after him through the Broom Woods.
‘That’s the Twigging Depot – mostly suitable for the young ones,’ he said, pointing a curling fingernail at a group of around twelve Mementons. Willow watched as a Mementon with bright ginger hair and nails to match tied up a bunch of twigs the size of a small boulder with what looked like yarn on a large trestle table.
‘Delicate work, see – suitable to their small fingers,’ said Chopak, holding up his own sausage-like digits.
From within the bag Willow heard a faint mutter. ‘Little ’uns? Little ’uns, ’airy nutter! Them curly-clawed beasts are the exact opposite of little!’
‘Shhh,’ hissed Willow, giving the bag a little shake. The truth was, as friendly as these Mementons appeared, while they might have given up on humans, she wasn’t sure if a kobold might not actually find itself as dinner …
‘That’s Assembly,’ said Chopak, continuing. ‘Self-explanatory really – that’s where they are put together.’ He pointed to a small area where a group of Mementons were carefully attaching the twig bundles to the broom handles. ‘That’s Strimming,’ he said as they passed a group of very tall and thin-looking Mementons, who were examining brooms parked in mid-air from all angles, making adjustments here and there. ‘We try to keep it down here, as they need the quiet,’ he said in a whisper.
They walked past on tiptoes. ‘And here –’ he said, as they came to the heart of the dark woods – ‘is where the real magic happens; this is Awakening, where the broom comes to life … and tells you what it will become.’
There was a still quality to the air, as if it were waiting for something.
‘They tell you?’ asked Willow in surprise.
There was only one other Mementon present, a female with sleek auburn hair that flowed to her waist. The nails on her hands and feet were green, which matched her very large, luminous eyes.
‘My wife,’ whispered Chopak, ‘Ybaer.’ Ybaer was concentrating on the important task at hand, and he carried on whispering, so as not to disturb her. ‘We call this the Spark – when the broom touches the hands of an Awakener it releases the magic – telling the broom-maker what type of broom it will become. You see, like people, wood has a personality and no broom is exactly the same as another.’
Ybaer’s long fingers slid along the sapling, which lifted slowly into the air. After some time a very faint blue outline shone all around it.
Chopak explained. ‘When it glows blue like that it’s a Stealth.’
‘A Stealth?’ asked Willow, her eyes reflecting the glow from the broom.
‘Yes, while no two brooms are exactly the same, they tend to have one dominant personality trait – like people. Some people are reserved, some confident, some exacting …’ Chopak said, eyeing Moreg. He cleared his throat, and then continued. ‘In the same way a broom’s dominant personality lends itself to different uses. Brooms tend to be Racers, Stealths, Torques or Jaunters. Racers are for those covering long-distance terrain and requiring a bit of speed; a Stealth is best for those who would prefer to pass unnoticed. Torques offer a rocket-like getaway, and Jaunters are for those who enjoy a Sunday-afternoon sort of glide. There are the rare few that combine their qualities. You can get weird combinations, though, just like people. We had a Jaunter-Racer once, a very bumpy stop-start ride. It reminded me of an old racing horse who occasionally remembered his victorious youth!’
Ybaer turned now to face them and gave a small bow in greeting. She didn’t seem that surprised that Moreg Vaine was there. In fact, it was as if she were expecting her.
‘Moreg,’ she said, nodding, her green eyes wise. ‘I wondered if you’d come to us. Strange things have been happening; I have been reading the signs …’
‘As have I,’ agreed Moreg. ‘What have you seen?’
‘Brooms that have appeared, which none of us remember making – and yet they appear to be some of our best yet.’
Chopak nodded. ‘We’ve tried replicating the process but without knowing what was done to begin with … it’s impossible.’
Willow and Moreg shared a look.
‘There’s other things too,’ continued Chopak. ‘Well, my nephew, Raymar – he’s been walking around in a daze for days; he was meant to be married – it’s so bizarre, because we’re just not sure if he actually was. All he keeps saying is he can’t remember.’
‘The trouble is, neither can we,’ said Ybaer.
Moreg nodded. ‘That makes sense – it matches what we’ve seen too.’ And she explained to them about the missing day and her fear that it had been stolen.
Ybaer gasped. ‘You believe it was taken away? And all the memories with it?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ said Moreg. ‘But we are going to try to get it back.’
As Willow listened a giant purple hat with a long green feather swam before her eyes, her grandmother’s face turned away from her, and she felt something inside her clench in icy cold fear, but just as quickly as the image appeared in her mind it was gone. She couldn’t help wondering if all the others had forgotten something, something that had happened on Tuesday – had she?
Ybaer seemed to stare at Willow for a long moment as if considering her. Then she nodded. ‘We can help you with this,’ she said, snapping a small twig from a sapling that gleamed with a blue haze and handing it to Willow. ‘This is a stealth sprig, it will help you to become invisible. As it has been taken from its source it will only work the once. Use it wisely when the time comes. You will know when that is.’
Willow blinked. ‘You want me to have it?’ she asked. ‘Not … Moreg?’
The Mementon nodded. ‘Only a child can use it.’