Wintersmith

anything down here that this sword I’m carrying could kill?”
    “Ah, no. No’ kill,” said Rob Anybody. “No’ bogles. No’ as such. It’s no’ a magic sword, see?”
    “Then why am I dragging it along?”
    “’Cuz ye are a Hero. Who ever heard o’a Hero wi’oot a sword?”
    Roland tugged the sword out of its scabbard. It was heavy and not at all like the flying, darting silver thing that he’d imagined in front of the mirror. It was more like a metal club with an edge.
    He gripped it in both hands and managed to hurl it out into the middle of the slow, dark river.
    Just before it hit the water, a white arm rose and caught it. The hand waved the sword a couple of times and then disappeared with it under the water.
    “Was that supposed to happen?” he asked.
    “A man throwin’ his sword awa’?” yelled Rob. “No! Ye’re no’ supposed tae bung a guid sword intae the drinkie!”
    “No, I mean the hand,” said Roland. “It just—”
    “Ach, they turn up sometimes.” Rob Anybody waved a hand as if midstream underwater sword jugglers were an everyday occurrence. “But ye’ve got no weapon noo!”
    “You said swords can’t hurt bogles!”
    “Aye, but it’s the look o’ the thing, okay?” said Rob, hurrying on.
    “But not having a sword should make me more heroic, right?” said Roland, as the rest of the Feegles trotted after them.
    “Technic’ly, aye,” said Rob Anybody reluctantly. “But mebbe also more deid.”
    “Besides, I have a Plan,” said Roland.
    “Ye have a Plan?” said Rob.
    “Yes. I mean aye.”
    “Writted doon?”
    “I’ve only just thought of—” Roland stopped. The ever-shifting shadows had parted, and a big cave lay ahead.
    In the center of it, surrounding what looked like a rock slab, was a dim yellow glow. There was a small figure lying on the slab.
    “Here we are,” said Rob Anybody. “That wasna so bad, aye?”
    Roland blinked. Hundreds of bogles were clustered around the slab, but at a distance, as if they were not keen on going any closer.
    “I can see…someone lying down,” he said.
    “That’s Summer herself,” said Rob. “We have tae be canny aboot this.”
    “Canny?”
    “Like…careful,” said Rob helpfully. “Goddesses can be a wee bit tricky. Verra image conscious.”
    “Don’t we just…you know, grab her and run?” said Roland.
    “Oh, aye, we’ll end up doin’ somethin’ like that,” said Rob. “But you, mister, will have tae be the one tae kiss her first. You okay wi’ that?”
    Roland looked a bit strained, but he said: “Yes…er, fine.”
    “The ladies expect it, ye ken,” Rob went on.
    “And then we run for it?” said Roland hopefully.
    “Aye, ’cuz probably that’s when the bogles will try an’ stop us gettin’ awa.’ It’s people leavin’ that they don’t like. Off ye go, laddie.”
    I’ve got a Plan, thought Roland, walking toward the slab. And I’ll concentrate on it so that I don’t think about the fact that I’m walking through a crowd of scribbly monsters that are only there if I blink and my eyes are watering. What’s in my head is real to them, right?
    I’m going to blink, I’m going to blink, I’m going to…
    …blink. It was over in a moment, but the shudder went on for a lot longer. They had been everywhere, and every toothy mouth was looking at him. It should not be possible to look with teeth.
    He ran forward, eyes streaming with the effort of not closing, and looked down at the figure lying in the yellow glow. It was female, it was breathing, it was asleep, and it looked like Tiffany Aching.

    From the top of the ice palace Tiffany could see for miles, and they were miles of snow. Only on the Chalk was there any sign of green. It was an island.
    “You see how I learn?” said the Wintersmith. “The Chalk is yours. So there summer will come, and you will be happy. And you will be my bride and I will be happy. And everything will be happy. Happiness is when things are correct. Now I am human, I understand these things.”
    Don’t scream, don’t shout, said her Third Thoughts. Don’t freeze up, either.
    “Oh…I see,” she said. “And the rest of the world will stay in winter?”
    “No, there are some latitudes that never feel my frost,” said the Wintersmith. “But the mountains, the plains as far as the circle sea…oh, yes.”
    “Millions of people will die!”
    “But only once, you see. That is what makes it wonderful. And after that, no more death!”
    And