The Carpet People

around Culaina’s camp.
    When Glurk and the others approached the hymetors hummed furiously and rose from their hive in an angry swarm. The four ducked and triedto protect their faces with their arms, until Culaina whistled once.
    The creatures swooped harmlessly overhead and returned, peacefully, to their home in the hairs. Glurk caught a glimpse of long sharp stings.
    ‘She sent them back,’ whispered Brocando urgently. ‘She just whistled and they obeyed her!’
    On the floor under the shelter was a pile of fruit and some bowls of green liquid.
    ‘I had this before,’ said Glurk. ‘It’s sap from the green hairs. Sets you up a treat.’
    They sat down. Pismire shifted uneasily, and Culaina smiled at him.
    ‘Say what you think,’ she said. ‘I remember that you did. But you must say it.’
    ‘Wights mustn’t tell people the future!’ said Pismire. ‘Everyone knows that! They never tell! It’s too dangerous for people to know what will happen! This is all—’
    ‘I remember I interrupted you here,’ said the wight. ‘Yes. I know the rules. And that’s what they are, and all they are. They are only rules. I am not, Pismire, quite like other wights. Have you ever heard the word . . . thunorg? I know you have.’
    ‘Oh, yes, the wights who can remember things that – oh. My word,’ said Pismire, shocked, ‘I thought that was just a story. I thought thunorgs were monsters.’
    ‘It is just a story. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t true. The rules don’t apply to me. They’re only rules. Rules don’t have to apply . . . not always. I don’t much care for cities. But this crushing and destruction of the Carpet . . . this forging of bronze and trampling of dust ...’
    She shook her head. ‘No. This shall not be. You will go to Ware tomorrow, before the mouls leave Jeopard. There will be a battle. You must win. I will not tell you how. But you must win. In the meantime, you may spend this night here. Do not be afraid. Nothing comes to my house that I do not expect.’
    ‘No,’ said Bane, ‘I need to know. Why are you helping us? Wights remember everything that’s ever happened, and what will happen. And they don’t tell. What’s different about you?’
    Culaina put her head on one side.
    ‘Did you hear me?’ said Bane.
    ‘Yes. I was remembering what I told you. Yes. Now I remember. There is so much, you see ... so much . . .’ She stood up and walked a little way away from them. Then she turned. ‘Pismire should know this,’ she said. ‘Sometimes . . . very rarely, as rare as my albino snarg here . . . sometimes a wight is born who is different, as different from wights as they are from you. You see, we remember . . . everything.’
    ‘So do all wights,’ said Bane.
    ‘No,’ said Culaina. ‘They remember only all those things that happen. We remember things that might happen. I remember what will happen if you don’t win. I know all possibilities. For every thing that happens, a million things don’t happen. I live all of them. I remember you winning, and I remember you losing. I remember the mouls triumphant, I remember you triumphant. Both are real, for me. For me, both of these have happened. My brother and sister wights remember the thread of history. But I remember all the threads that never get woven. For me, all possibilities are real. I live in them all.’
    ‘But why?’ said Bane.
    ‘Someone must. Otherwise, they never could have happened.’
    She stepped into the shadows.
    They heard her voice. It seemed to come from somewhere distant. ‘Nothing has to happen. History isn’t something you live. It is something you make. One decision. One person. At the right time. Nothing is too small to make a difference. Anything can be changed.’
    The voice faded. After a while Bane got to his feet, feeling very clumsy, and peered into the shadows.
    ‘She’s gone.’
    ‘I wonder if she can ever be entirely in one place,’ said Pismire. ‘What do we do now?’
    ‘I’m going to sleep,’ said Glurk. ‘I don’t know about you, but it’s been a busy day.’
    Several times Bane awoke, and thought he heard crashes and cries in the wind, but when he listened hard they seemed to disappear.
    Pismire dreamed. He saw hairs bending and bowing as if shaken by a high wind, and the gleam of ten thousand eyes, green, red and white, and the figure of Culaina, her hair caught and tugged by the air, treading through the noisy darkness, living everything that could be and might