Terry Pratchett - A Hat Full Of Sky

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.