Hogfather

back. She put both hands around the branch and heaved; it came away with a crack, like a broken icicle, and she waved it like a club.
    “Come on,” she said. “Jump! Just you try it! Come on !”
    One did. The branch caught it as it landed, and then Susan spun and brought the branch back on the upswing, lifting the dazed animal off its feet and out over the edge.
    For a moment the shape wavered and then, howling, it dropped out of sight.
    She danced a few steps of rage and triumph.
    “Yes! Yes! Who wants some? Anyone else?”
    The other dogs looked her in the eye, decided that no one did, and that there wasn’t. Finally, after one or two nervous attempts, they managed to turn, still sliding, and tried to make it back to the plateau.
    A figure barred their way.
    It hadn’t been there a moment ago but it looked permanent now. It seemed to have been made of snow, three balls of snow piled on one another. It had black dots for eyes. A semicircle of more dots formed the semblance of a mouth. There was a carrot for the nose.
    And, for the arms, two twigs.
    At this distance, anyway.
    One of them was holding a curved stick.
    A raven wearing a damp piece of red paper landed on one arm.
    “Bob bob bob?” it suggested. “Merry Solstice? Tweetie tweet? What are you waiting for? Hogswatch?”
    The dogs backed away.
    The snow broke off the snowman in chunks, revealing a gaunt figure in a flapping black robe.
    Death spat out the carrot.
    H O . H O . H O .
    The gray bodies smeared and rippled as the hounds sought desperately to change their shape.
    YOU COULDN’T RESIST IT ? I N THE END ? A MISTAKE , I FANCY .
    He touched the scythe. There was a click as the blade flashed into life.
    I T GETS UNDER YOUR SKIN, LIFE , said Death, stepping forward. S PEAKING METAPHORICALLY, OF COURSE . I T’S A HABIT THAT’S HARD TO GIVE UP . O NE PUFF OF BREATH IS NEVER ENOUGH . Y OU’LL FIND YOU WANT TO TAKE ANOTHER .
    A dog started to slip on the snow and scrabbled desperately to save itself from the long, cold drop.
    A ND, YOU SEE, THE MORE YOU STRUGGLE FOR EVERY MOMENT, THE MORE ALIVE YOU STAY …W HICH IS WHERE I COME IN, AS A MATTER OF FACT .
    The leading dog managed, for a moment, to become a gray cowled figure before being dragged back into shape.
    F EAR, TOO, IS AN ANCHOR , said Death. A LL THOSE SENSES, WIDE OPEN TO EVERY FRAGMENT OF THE WORLD . T HAT BEATING HEART . T HAT RUSH OF BLOOD . C AN YOU NOT FEEL IT, DRAGGING YOU BACK ?
    Once again the Auditor managed to retain a shape for a few seconds, and managed to say: You cannot do this, there are rules!
    Y ES . T HERE ARE RULES . B UT YOU BROKE THEM . H OW DARE YOU ? H OW DARE YOU ?
    The scythe blade was a thin blue outline in the gray light.
    Death raised a thin finger to where his lips might have been, and suddenly looked thoughtful.
    A ND NOW THERE REMAINS ONLY ONE FINAL QUESTION , he said.
    He raised his hands, and seemed to grow. Light flared in his eye sockets. When he spoke next, avalanches fell in the mountains.
    H AVE YOU BEEN NAUGHTY…OR NICE ?
    H O . H O . H O .
    Susan heard the wails die away.
    The boar lay in white snow that was now red with blood. She knelt down and tried to lift its head.
    It was dead. One eye stared at nothing. The tongue lolled.
    Sobs welled up inside her. The tiny part of Susan that watched, the inner baby-sitter, said it was just exhaustion and excitement and the backwash of adrenaline. She couldn’t be crying over a dead pig.
    The rest of her drummed on its flank with both fists.
    “No, you can’t! We saved you! Dying isn’t how it’s supposed to go!”
    A breeze blew up.
    Something stirred in the landscape, something under the snow. The branches on the ancient trees shook gently, dislodging little needles of ice.
    The sun rose.
    The light streamed over Susan like a silent gale. It was dazzling. She crouched back, raising her forearm to cover her eyes. The great red ball turned frost to fire along the winter branches.
    Gold light slammed into the mountain peaks, making every one a blinding, silent volcano. It rolled onward, gushing into the valleys and thundering up the slopes, unstoppable…
    There was a groan.
    A man lay in the snow where the boar had been.
    He was naked except for an animal skin loincloth. His hair was long and had been woven into a thick plait down his back, so matted with blood and grease that it looked like felt. And he was bleeding everywhere the hounds had caught him.
    Susan watched for a moment, and then,