A Hat Full Of Sky - Terry Pratchett [69]
“Then why are ye sweatin’, ye big heap o’ jobbies? Ach, what a scunner!” said a voice behind it.
For a moment the hiver wavered. Its shape changed, many times in the fractions of a second. There were bits of scales, fins, teeth, a pointy hat, claws…and then it was Tiffany again, smiling.
“Oh, Rob Anybody, we are glad to see you,” it said. “Can you help us?”
“Dinna gi’ me all that swiddle!” shouted Rob, bouncing up and down in rage. “I know a hiver when I sees one! Crivens, but ye’re due a kickin’!”
The hiver changed again, became a lion with teeth the size of swords and roared at him.
“Ach, it’s like that, is it?” said Rob Anybody. “Dinna go awa’!” He ran a few steps and vanished.
The hiver changed back to its Tiffany shape again.
“Your little friend has gone,” it said. “Come out now. Come out now. Why fear us? We are you. You won’t be like the rest, the dumb animals, the stupid kings, the greedy wizards. Together—”
Rob Anybody returned, followed by…well, everyone.
“Ye canna die,” he yelled. “But we’ll make ye wish ye could!”
They charged.
The Feegles had the advantage in most fights because they were small and fought big enemies. If you’re small and fast, you’re hard to hit. The hiver fought back by changing shape, all the time. Swords clanged on scales, heads butted fangs—it whirled across the turf, growling and screaming, calling up past shapes to counter every attack. But Feegles were hard to kill. They bounced when thrown, sprang back when trodden on, and easily dodged teeth and claws. They fought—
—and the ground shook so suddenly that even the hiver lost its footing.
The shepherding hut creaked and began to settle into the turf, which opened up around it as easily as butter. The saplings trembled and began to fall over, one after the other, as if their roots were being cut under the grass.
The land…rose.
Rolling down the shifting slope, the Feegles saw the hills cimbing toward the sky. What was there, what had always been there, become more plain.
Rising into the dark sky was a head, shoulders, a chest. Someone who had been lying down, growing turf, their arms and legs the hills and valleys of the downland, was sitting up. They moved with great stony slowness, millions of tons of hill shifting and creaking around them. What had looked like two long mounds in the shape of a cross became giant green arms, unfolding.
A hand with fingers longer than houses reached down, picked up the hiver, and lifted it up into the air.
Far off, something thumped three times. The sound seemed to be coming from outside the world. The Feegles, turning and watching from the small hill that was one of the knees of the giant girl, ignored it.
“She tells the land whut it is, and it tells her who she is,” said Awf’ly Wee Billy, tears running down his face. “I canna write a song aboot this! I’m nae good enough!”
“Is that the big wee hag dreamin’ she’s the hills or the hills dreamin’ they’re the big wee hag?” said Daft Wullie.
“Both, mebbe,” said Rob Anybody. They watched the huge hand close and winced.
“But ye canna kill a hiver,” said Daft Wullie.
“Aye, but ye can frit it awa’,” said Rob Anybody. “It’s a big wee universe oout there. If I was it, I’d no’ think o’ tryin’ her again!”
There were three more booms in the distance, louder this time.
“I think,” he went on, “that’s it’s time we were offski.”
In Miss Level’s cottage someone was knocking heavily on the front door. Thump. Thump. Thump.
CHAPTER 9
Soul and Center
Tiffany opened her eyes, remembered, and thought: Was that a dream, or was that real?
And the next thought was: How do I know I’m me? Suppose I’m not me but just think I’m me? How can I tell if I’m me or not? Who’s the “me” who’s asking the question? Am I thinking these thoughts? How would I know if I wasn’t?
“Dinna ask me,” said a voice by her head. “Is this one of them tricksie ones?”
It was Daft Wullie. He was sitting on her pillow.
Tiffany squinted down. She was in bed in