You couldn’t say: Yes, but I’d never have really taken it! The hiver used what it found—the little secret wishes, the desires, the moments of rage, all the things that real humans knew how to ignore! It didn’t let you ignore them!

  Then, as she fumbled to tie the pieces together, the egg flipped out of her hands, trusted in gravity and smashed on the toe of her boot.

  She stared at it, the blackness of despair darkening the noonlight. Why did I try this? I’ve never made a shamble that worked, so why did I try? Because I believed it had to work this time, that’s why. Like in a story. Suddenly it would all be… all right.

  But this isn’t a story, and there are no more eggs…

  There was a scream but it was high up and the sound of it took Tiffany home in the bounce of a heartbeat. It was a buzzard, in the eye of the sun, getting bigger in its plunge towards the field.

  It soared up again as it passed over Tiffany’s head, fast as an arrow, and as it did so, something small let go its hold on the buzzard’s talons with a cry of ‘Crivens!’

  Rob Anybody dropped like a stone, but there was a thwap! and suddenly a balloon of cloth snapped open above him. Two balloons, in fact, or to put it another way, Rob Anybody had ‘borrowed’ Hamish’s parachute.

  He let go of them as soon as they’d slowed him down, and dropped neatly into the shamble.

  ‘Did ye think we’d leave ye?’ he shouted, holding onto the strings. ‘I’m under a geas, me! Get on wi’ it, right noo!’

  ‘What? I can’t!’ said Tiffany, trying to shake him off. ‘Not with you! I’ll kill you! I always crack the eggs! What goose?’

  ‘Dinnae argue!’ shouted Rob, bouncing up and down in the strings. ‘Do it! Or ye’re no’ the hag of the hills! An’ I know ye are!’

  People were running past now. Tiffany glanced up. She thought she could see the hiver now as a moving shape in the dust.

  She looked at the tangle in her hands and at Rob’s grinning face.

  The moment twanged.

  A witch deals with things, said her Second Thoughts. Get past the ‘I can’t.’

  O-K…

  Why hasn’t it ever worked before? Because there was no reason for it to work. I didn’t need it to work.

  I need it to help me now. No. I need me to help me.

  So think about it. Ignore the noise, ignore the hiver rolling towards her over the trodden grass…

  She’d use the things she’d had, so that was right. Calm down. Slow down. Look at the shamble. Think about the moment. There were all the things from home…

  No. Not all the things. Not all the things at all. This time, she felt the shape of what wasn’t there—

  –and tugged at the silver horse around her neck, breaking its chain, then hanging it in the threads.

  Suddenly her thoughts were as cool and clear as ice, as bright and shiny as they needed to be. Let’s see… that looks better there… and that needs to be pulled this way…

  The movement jerked the silver horse into life. Then it spun gently, passing through the threads and Rob Anybody, who said, ‘Didnae hurt a bit! Keep goin’!’

  Tiffany felt a tingle in her feet. The horse gleamed as it turned.

  ‘I dinnae want to hurry ye!’ said Rob Anybody. ‘But hurry!’

  I’m far from home, thought Tiffany, in the same clear way, but I have it in my eye. Now I open my eyes. Now I open my eyes again—

  Ahh…

  Can I be a witch away from my hills? Of course I can. I never really leave you, Land Under Wave…

  Shepherds on the Chalk felt the ground shake, like thunder under the turf. Birds scattered from the bushes. The sheep looked up.

  Again, the ground trembled.

  Some people said a shadow crossed the sun. Some people said they heard the sound of hooves.

  And a boy trying to catch hares in the little valley of the Horse said the hillside had burst and a horse had leaped out like a wave as high as the sky, with a mane like the wave of the sea and a coat as white as chalk. He said it had galloped into the air like rising mist, and flew towards the mountains like a storm.

  He got punished for telling stories, of course, but he thought it was worth it.

  The shamble glowed. Silver coursed along the threads. It was coming from Tiffany’s hands, sparking like stars.

  In that light, she saw the hiver reach her and spread out until it was all around her, invisibility made visible. It rippled and reflected the light oddly. In those glints and sparkles there were faces, wavering and stretching like reflections in water.

  Time was going slowly. She could see, beyond the wall of hiver, witches staring at her. One had lost her hat in the commotion, but it was hanging in the air. It hadn’t had time to fall yet.

  Tiffany’s fingers moved. The hiver shimmered in the air, disturbed like a pond when a pebble has been dropped into it. Tendrils of it reached towards her. She felt its panic, felt its terror as it found itself caught—

  ‘Welcome,’ said Tiffany.

  Welcome? said the hiver in Tiffany’s own voice.

  ‘Yes. You are welcome in this place. You are safe here.’

  No! We are never safe!

  ‘You are safe here,’ Tiffany repeated.

  Please! said the hiver. Shelter us!

  ‘The wizard was nearly right about you,’ said Tiffany. ‘You hid in other creatures. But he didn’t wonder why. What are you hiding from?’

  Everything, said the hiver.

  ‘I think I know what you mean,’ said Tiffany.

  Do you? Do you know what it feels like to be aware of every star, every blade of grass? Yes. You do. You call it ‘opening your eyes again’. But you do it for a moment. We have done it for eternity. No sleep, no rest, just endless… endless experience, endless awareness. Of everything. All the time. How we envy you, envy you! Lucky humans, who can close your minds to the endless cold deeps of space! You have this thing you call… boredom? That is the rarest talent in the universe! We heard a song, it went ‘Twinkle twinkle little star…’ What power! What wondrous power! You can take a billion trillion tons of flaming matter, a furnace of unimaginable strength, and turn it into a little song for children! You build little worlds, little stories, little shells around your minds and that keeps infinity at bay and allows you to wake up in the morning without screaming!

  Completely binkers! said a cheerful voice at the back of Tiffany’s memory. You just couldn’t keep Dr Bustle down.

  Pity us, yes, pity us, said the voices of the hiver. No shield for us, no rest for us, no sanctuary. But you, you withstood us. We saw that in you. You have minds within minds. Hide us!

  ‘You want silence?’ said Tiffany.

  Yes, and more than silence, said the voice of the hiver. You humans are so good at ignoring things. You are almost blind and almost deaf. You look at a tree and see… just a tree, a stiff weed. You don’t see its history, feel the pumping of the sap, hear every insect in the bark, sense the chemistry of the leaves, notice the hundred shades of green, the tiny movements to follow the sun, the subtle growth of the wood…

  ‘But you don’t understand us,’ said Tiffany. ‘I don’t think any human could survive you. You give us what you think we want, as soon as we want it, just like in fairy stories. And the wishes always go wrong.’

  Yes. We know that now. We have an echo of you now. We have… understanding, said the hiver. So now we come to you with a wish. It is the wish that puts the others right.

  ‘Yes,’ said Tiffany. ‘That’s always the last wish, the third wish. It’s the one that says “Make this not have happened”.’

  Teach us the way to die, said the voices of the hiver.

  ‘I don’t know it!’

  All humans know the way, said the voices of the hiver. You walk it every day of your short, short lives. You know it. We envy you your knowledge. You know how to end. You are very talented.

  I must know how to die, Tiffany thought. Somewhere deep down. Let me think. Let me get past the ‘I can’t’…

  She held up the glittering shamble. Shafts of light still spun off it, but she didn’t need it any more. She could hold the power in the centre of herself. It was all a matter of balance.

  The light died. Rob Anybody was still hanging in the threads, but all his hair had come unplaited and stood out from his head in a great red ball. He looked stunned.

  ‘I could just murrrder a kebab,’ he said.

  Tiffany lowered him to the ground, where he swayed slightly, then she put the rest of the shamble in her pocket.

  ‘Thank you, Rob,’ she said. ‘But I want you to go now. It could get… serious.’

  It was, of course, the wrong thing to say.

  ‘I’m no’ leavin’!’ he snapped. ‘I promised Jeannie to keep ye safe! Let’s get on wi’ it!’

  There was no arguing. Rob was standing in that half-crouch of his, fists bunched, chin out, ready for anything and burning with defiance.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Tiffany, and straightened up.

  Death is right behind us, she thought. Life ends, and there’s death, waiting. So… it must be close. Very close.

  It would be… a door. Yes. An old door, old wood. Dark, too.

  She turned. Behind her, there was a black door in the air.

  The hinges would creak, she thought.

  When she pushed it open, they did.

  So-oo… she thought, this isn’t exactly real. I’m telling myself a story I can understand, about doors, and I’m fooling myself just enough for it all to work. I just have to keep balanced on that edge for it to go on working, too. And that’s as hard as not thinking about a pink rhinoceros. And if Granny Weatherwax can do that, I can too.

  Beyond the door, black sand stretched away under a sky of pale stars. There were some mountains on the distant horizon.

  You must help us through, said the voices of the hiver.

  ‘If you’ll tak’ my advice, you’ll no’ do that,’ said Rob Anybody from Tiffany’s ankle. ‘I dinnae trust the scunner one wee bitty!’

  ‘There’s part of me in there. I trust that,’ she said. ‘I did say you don’t have to come, Rob.’

  ‘Oh, aye? An’ I’m ta’ see you go through there alone, am I? Ye’ll not find me leavin’ you now!’

  ‘You’ve got a clan and a wife, Rob!’

  ‘Aye, an’ so I willnae dishonour them by lettin’ yer step across Death’s threshold alone,’ said Rob Anybody firmly.

  So, thought Tiffany as she stared through the doorway, this is what we do. We live on the edges. We help those who can’t find the way…

  She took a deep breath and stepped across.

  Nothing much changed. The sand felt gritty underfoot and crunched when she walked over it, as she expected, but when it was kicked up it fell back as slowly as thistledown, and she hadn’t expected that. The air wasn’t cold, but it was thin and prickly to breathe.

  The door shut softly behind her.

  Thank you, said the voices of the hiver. What do we do now?

  Tiffany looked around her, and up at the stars. They weren’t ones that she recognized.

  ‘You die, I think,’ she said.

  But there is no ‘me’ to die, said the voices of the hiver. There is only us.

  Tiffany took a deep breath. This was about words, and she knew about words. ‘Here is a story to believe,’ she said. ‘Once we were blobs in the sea, and then fishes, and then lizards and rats and then monkeys, and hundreds of things in between. This hand was once a fin, this hand once had claws! In my human mouth I have the pointy teeth of a wolf and the chisel teeth of a rabbit and the grinding teeth of a cow! Our blood is as salty as the sea we used to live in! When we’re frightened the hair on our skins stands up, just like it did when we had fur. We are history! Everything we’ve ever been on the way to becoming us, we still are. Would you like the rest of the story?’

  Tell us, said the hiver.

  ‘I’m made up of the memories of my parents and grandparents, all my ancestors. They’re in the way I look, in the colour of my hair. And I’m made up of everyone I’ve ever met who’s changed the way I think. So who is “me”?’

  The piece that just told us that story, said the hiver. The piece that’s truly you.

  ‘Well… yes. But you must have that too. You know you say you’re “us”—who is it saying it? Who is saying you’re not you? You’re not different from us. We’re just much, much better at forgetting. And we know when not to listen to the monkey.’

  You’ve just puzzled us, said the hiver.

  ‘The old bit of our brains that wants to be head monkey, and attacks when it’s surprised,’ said Tiffany. ‘It reacts. It doesn’t think. Being human is knowing when not to be the monkey or the lizard or any of the other old echoes. But when you take people over, you silence the human part. You listen to the monkey. The monkey doesn’t know what it needs, only what it wants. No, you are not an “us”. You are an “I”.’

  I, me, said the hiver. I. Who am I?

  ‘Do you want a name? That helps.’

  Yes. A name…

  ‘I’ve always liked Arthur, as a name.’

  Arthur, said the hiver. I like Arthur, too. And if I am, I can stop. What happens next?

  ‘The creatures you… took over, didn’t they die?’

  Yes, said the Arthur. But we—but I didn’t see what happened. They just stopped being here.

  Tiffany looked around at the endless sand. She couldn’t see anybody, but there was something out there that suggested movement. It was the occasional change in the light, perhaps, as if she was catching glimpses of something she was not supposed to see.

  ‘I think,’ she said, ‘that you have to cross the desert.’

  What’s on the other side? said Arthur.

  Tiffany hesitated. ‘Some people think you go to a better world,’ she said. ‘Some people think you come back to this one in a different body. And some think there’s just nothing. They think you just stop.’

  And what do you think? Arthur asked.

  ‘I think that there are no words to describe it,’ said Tiffany.

  Is that true? said Arthur.

  ‘I think that’s why you have to cross the desert,’ said Tiffany. ‘To find out.’

  I will look forward to it. Thank you.

  ‘Goodbye… Arthur.’

  She felt the hiver fall away. There wasn’t much sign of it—a movement of a few sand grains, a sizzle in the air—but it slid away slowly across the black sand.

  ‘An’ bad cess an’ good riddance ta’ ye!’ Rob Anybody shouted after it.

  ‘No,’ said Tiffany. ‘Don’t say that.’

  ‘Aye, but it killed folk to stay alive.’

  ‘It didn’t want to. It didn’t know how people work.’

  ‘That was a fine load of o’ blethers ye gave it, at any rate,’ said Rob admiringly. ‘Not even a gonnagle could make up a load o’ blethers like that.’

  Tiffany wondered if it had been. Once, when the wandering teachers had come to the village, she had paid half a dozen eggs for a morning’s education on ***Wonders of the Univers!!*** That was expensive, for education, but it had been thoroughly worth it. The teacher had been a little bit crazy, even for a teacher, but what he’d said had seemed to make absolute sense. One of the most amazing things about the universe, he had said, was that, sooner or later, everything is made of everything else, although it’ll probably take millions and millions of years for this to happen. The other children had giggled or argued, but Tiffany knew that what had once been tiny living creatures was now the chalk of the hills. Everything went round, even stars.

  That had been a very good morning, especially since she’d been refunded half an egg for pointing out that ‘Universe’ had been spelled wrong.

  Was it true? Maybe that didn’t matter. Maybe it just had to be true enough for Arthur.

  Her eyes, the inner eyes that opened twice, were beginning to close. She could feel the power draining away. You couldn’t stay in that state for long. You became so aware of the universe that you stopped being aware of you. How clever of humans to have learned how to close their minds. Was there anything so amazing in the universe as boredom?

  She sat down, just for a moment, and picked up a handful of the sand. It rose above her hand, twisting like smoke, reflecting the starlight, then settled back as if it had all the time in the world.

  She had never felt this tired.

  She still heard the inner voices. The hiver had left memories behind, just a few. She could remember when there had been no stars and when there had been no such thing as ‘yesterday’. She knew what was beyond the sky and beneath the grass. But she couldn’t remember when she had last slept, properly slept, in a bed. Being unconscious didn’t count. She closed her eyes, and closed her eyes again—

  Someone kicked her hard on the foot.

  ‘Dinnae gae to sleep!’ Rob Anybody shouted. ‘Not here! Ye cannae gae to sleep here! Rise an’ shine!’

  Still feeling muzzy, Tiffany pushed herself back onto her feet, through gentle swirls of rising dust, and turned to the dark door.

  It wasn’t there.

  There were her footprints in the sand, but they went only a few feet and, anyway, were slowly disappearing. There was nothing around her but dead desert, for ever.

  She turned back to look towards the distant mountains, but her view was blocked by a tall figure, all in black, holding a scythe. It hadn’t been there before.

  GOOD AFTERNOON, said Death.

  Chapter Twelve

  The Egress

  Tiffany stared up into a black hood. There was a skull in it, but the eye sockets glowed blue.

  At least bones had never frightened Tiffany. They were only chalk that had walked around.

  ‘Are you—?’ she began, but Rob Anybody gave a yell and leaped straight for the hood.

  There was a thud. Death took a step backwards and raised a skeletal hand to his cowl. He pulled out Rob Anybody by his hair and held him at arm’s length while the Nac Mac Feegle cursed and kicked.

  IS THIS YOURS? Death asked Tiffany. The voice was heavy and all around her, like thunder.