Carpe Jugulum

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.
    C HOOSE , he said. Y OU ARE GOOD AT CHOOSING , I BELIEVE .
    “Is there any advice you could be givin’ me?” said Granny.
    C HOOSE 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, Esmerelda Weatherwax,” she said. “You don’t scare me no more.”
    The last of the light vanished.
    Granny Weatherwax hung in the dark for a time she couldn’t measure. It was as if the absolute emptiness had sucked all the time and direction into it. There wasn’t anywhere to go, because there wasn’t any anywhere.
    After what may have been days or seconds, she began to hear another sound, the faintest of whispers on the borders of hearing. She pushed toward it.
    Words were rising through the blackness like little wriggling golden fish.
    She fought her way toward them, now that there was a direction.
    The slivers of light turned into sounds.
    “—and asketh you in your infinite compassion to see your way clear to possibly intervening here…”
    Not normally the kind of words she’d associate with light. Perhaps it was the way they were said. But they had a strange echo to them, a second voice, woven in amongst the first voice, glued to every syllable…
    “…what compassion? How many people prayed at the stake? How foolish I look, kneeling like this…”
    Ah…one mind, split in half. There were more Agneses in the world than Agnes dreamed of, Granny told herself. All the girl had done was give a thing a name, and once you gave a thing a name you gave it a life…
    There was something else near by, a glimmer a few photons across, which winked out as she looked for it again. She turned her attention away for a moment, then jerked it back. Again, the tiny spark blinked out.
    Something was hiding.
    The sand stopped rushing. Time was up.
    Now to find out what she was.
    Granny Weatherwax opened her eyes, and there was light.

The coach swished to a halt on the mountain road. Water poured around its wheels.
    Nanny got out and paddled over to Igor, who was standing where the road wasn’t.
    Water was foaming where it should have been.
    “Can we get acroth?” said Igor.
    “Probably, but it’ll be