A Hat Full Of Sky

like a magical order. ’Tis a heavy thing, tae be under a geas.”
    “Well, they’re big birds,” said Daft Wullie.
    “Wullie,” said Rob, patiently, “ye ken I said I would tell ye when there wuz times you should’ve kept your big gob shut?”
    “Aye, Rob.”
    “Weel, that wuz one o’ them times.” He raised his voice. “Now, lads, ye ken all aboot hivers. They cannae be killed! But ’tis oor duty to save the big wee hag, so this is, like, a sooey-side mission and ye’ll probably all end up back in the land o’ the living doin’ a borin’ wee job. So…I’m askin’ for volunteers!”
    Every Feegle over the age of four automatically put his hand up.
    “Oh, come on ,” said Rob. “You canna all come! Look, I’ll tak’…Daft Wullie, Big Yan, and…you, Awf’ly Wee Billy Bigchin. An’ I’m takin’ no weans, so if yez under three inches high, ye’re not comin’! Except for ye, o’course, Awf’ly Wee Billy. As for the rest of youse, we’ll settle this the traditional Feegle way. I’ll tak’ the last fifty men still standing!”
    He beckoned the chosen three to a place in the corner of the mound while the rest of the crowd squared up cheerfully. A Feegle liked to face enormous odds all by himself, because it meant you didn’t have to look where you were hitting.
    “She’s more’n a hundret miles awa’,” said Rob as the big fight started. “We canna run it—’tis too far. Any of youse scunners got any ideas?”
    “Hamish can get there on his buzzard,” said Big Yan, stepping aside as a cluster of punching, kicking Feegles rolled past.
    “Aye, and he’ll come wi’ us, but he canna tak’ more’n one passenger,” shouted Rob over the din.
    “Can we swim it?” said Daft Wullie, ducking as a stunned Feegle hurtled over his head.
    The others looked at him. “Swim it? How can we swim there fra’ here, yer daftie?” said Rob Anybody.
    “It’s just worth consid’ring, that’s all,” said Wullie, looking hurt. “I wuz just tryin’ to make a contribution, ye ken? Just wanted to show willin’.”
    “The big wee hag left in a cart,” said Big Yan.
    “Aye, so what?” said Rob.
    “Weel, mebbe we could?”
    “Ach, no!” said Rob. “Showin’ oursels tae hags is one thing, but not to other folks! You remember what happened a few years back when Daft Wullie got spotted by that lady who wuz painting the pretty pichoors doon in the valley? I dinna want to have them Folklore Society bigjobs pokin’ aroound again!”
    “I have an idea, Mister Rob. It’s me, Awf’ly Wee Billy Bigchin Mac Feegle. We could disguise oursels.”
    Awf’ly Wee Billy Bigchin Mac Feegle always announced himself in full. He seemed to feel that if he didn’t tell people who he was, they’d forget about him and he’d disappear. When you’re half the size of most grown pictsies, you’re really short; much shorter and you’d be a hole in the ground.
    He was the new gonnagle. A gonnagle is the clan’s bard and battle poet, but they don’t spend all their lives in the same clan. In fact, they’re a sort of clan all by themselves. Gonnagles move around among the other clans, making sure the songs and stories get spread around all the Feegles. Awf’ly Wee Billy had come with Jeannie from the Long Lake clan, which often happens. He was very young for a gonnagle, but as Jeannie had said, there was no age limit to gonnagling. If the talent was in you, you gonnagled. And Awf’ly Wee Billy knew all the songs and could play the mousepipes so sadly that outside it would start to rain.
    “Aye, lad?” said Rob Anybody, kindly. “Speak up, then.”
    “Can we get hold o’ some human clothes?” said Awf’ly Wee Billy. “Because there’s an old story about the big feud between the Three Peaks clan and the Windy River clan and the Windy River boys escaped by making a tattiebogle walk, and the men o’ Three Peaks thought it was a bigjob and kept oot o’ its way.”
    The others looked puzzled, and Awf’ly Wee Billy remembered that they were men of the Chalk and had probably never seen a tattiebogle.
    “A scarecrow?” he said. “It’s like a bigjob made o’ sticks, wi’ clothes on, for to frighten away the birdies fra’ the crops? Now, the song says the Windy River’s kelda used magic to make it walk, but I reckon it was done by cunnin’ and strength.”
    He sang about it. They listened.
    He explained how to make a human that would walk. They looked at one another. It was a mad,