Carpe Jugulum - Terry Pratchett [84]
She wished her mind was working faster. She couldn’t think properly. Her head felt full of fog.
This…wasn’t a real place. No, that wasn’t the right way of thinking about it. It wasn’t a usual place. It might be more real than Lancre. Across it her shadow stretched, waiting…
She glanced up at the tall, silent figure beside her.
GOOD EVENING.
“OH…you again.”
ANOTHER CHOICE, ESMERELDA WEATHERWAX.
“Light and dark? It’s never as simple as that, you know, even for you.”
Death sighed. NOT EVEN FOR ME.
Granny tried to line up her thoughts.
Which light and which dark? She hadn’t been prepared for this. This didn’t feel right. This wasn’t the fight she had expected. Whose light? Whose mind was this?
Silly question. She was always her.
Never lose your grip on that…
So…light behind her, darkness in front…
She’d always said witches stood between the light and the dark.
“Am I dyin’?”
YES.
“Will I die?”
YES.
Granny thought this over.
“But from your point of view, everyone is dying and everyone will die, right?”
YES.
“So you aren’t actually bein’ a lot of help, strictly speakin’.”
I’M SORRY, I THOUGHT YOU WANTED THE TRUTH. PERHAPS YOU WERE EXPECTING JELLY AND ICE CREAM?
“Hah…”
There was no movement in the air, no sound but her own breathing. Just the brilliant white light on one side, and the heavy darkness on the other…waiting.
Granny had listened to people who’d nearly died but had come back, possibly because of a deft thump in the right place or the dislodging of some wayward mouthful that’d gone down the wrong way. Sometimes they talked about seeing a light—
That’s where she ought to go, a thought told her. But…was the light the way in, or the way out?
Death snapped his fingers.
An image appeared on the sand in front of them. She saw herself, kneeling in front of the anvil. She admired the dramatic effect. She’d always had a streak of theatrics, although she’d never admit it, and she appreciated in a disembodied way the strength with which she had thrust her pain into the iron. Someone had slightly spoiled the effect by putting a kettle on one end.
Death reached down and took a handful of sand. He held it up, and let it slip between his fingers.
CHOOSE, he said. YOU ARE GOOD AT CHOOSING, I BELIEVE.
“Is there any advice you could be givin’ me?” said Granny.
CHOOSE RIGHT.
Granny turned to face the sheer white brilliance, and closed her eyes.
And stepped backward.
The light dwindled to a tiny distant point, and vanished.
The blackness was suddenly all around, closing in like quicksand. There seemed to be no way, no direction. When she moved she did not sense movement.
There was no sound but the faint trickle of sand inside her head.
And then, voices from her shadow.
“…Because of you, some died who may have lived…”
The words lashed at her, leaving livid lines across her mind.
“Some lived who surely would have died,” she said.
The dark pulled at her sleeves.
“…you killed…”
“No. I showed the way.”
“…hah! That’s just words…”
“Words is important,” Granny whispered into the night.
“…you took the right to judge others…”
“I took the duty. I’ll own up to it.”
“…I know every evil thought you’ve ever had…”
“I know.”
“…the ones you’d never dare tell anyone…”
“I know.”
“…all the little secrets, never to be told…”
“I know.”
“…how often you longed to embrace the dark…”
“Yes.”
“…such strength you could have…”
“Yes.”
“…embrace the dark…”
“No.”
“…give in to me…”
“No,”
“…Lilith Weatherwax did. Alison Weatherwax did…”
“That’s never been proved!”
“…give in to me…”
“No. I know you. I’ve always known you. The Count just let you out to torment me, but I’ve always known you were there. I’ve fought you every day of my life and you’ll get no victory now.”
She opened her eyes and stared into the blackness.
“I knows who you are now,