A Hat Full Of Sky

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
    T iffany 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 Miss Level’s cottage. A green quilt stretched out in front of her. A quilt. Green. Not turf, not hills…but it looked like the downland from here.
    “Did I say all that aloud?” she asked.
    “Oh, aye.”
    “Er…it did all happen, didn’t it?” said Tiffany.
    “Oh, aye,” said Daft Wullie cheerfully. “The big hag o’ hags wuz up here till just noo, but she said ye probably wasna gonna wake up a monster.”
    More bits of memory landed in Tiffany’s head like red-hot rocks landing on a peaceful planet.
    “Are you all right?”
    “Oh, aye,” said Daft Wullie.
    “And Miss Level?”
    And this rock of memory was huge, a flaming mountain that’d make a million dinosaurs flee for their lives. Tiffany’s hands flew to her mouth.
    “I killed her!” she said.
    “Noo, then, ye didna—”
    “I did! I felt my mind thinking it. She made me angry! I just waved my hand like this”—a dozen Nac Mac Feegle dived for cover—“and she just exploded into nothing! It was me ! I remember!”
    “Aye, but the hag o’ hags said it wuz usin’ your mind tae think with—” Daft Wullie began.
    “I’ve got the memories! It was me , with this hand!” The Feegles who had raised their heads ducked back down again. “And…the memories I’ve got…I remember dust, turning into stars…things…the heat…blood…the taste of blood…I remember…I remember the seeme trick! Oh, no! I practically invited it in! I killed Miss Level!”
    Shadows were closing in around her vision, and there was a ringing in her ears. Tiffany heard the door swing open, and hands picked her up as though she was as light as a bubble. She was slung over a shoulder and carried swiftly down the stairs and out into the bright morning, where she was swung down onto the ground.
    “…And all of us…we killed her…take one crucible of silver…”