Wintersmith

on her face.
    “Either we get oot noo,” said Rob, “or ye can hang aroond and wait for some more, mebbe?”
    “An’ here they come,” said Billy Bigchin. He pointed across the river. A pure mass of orange was pouring into the cave, so many bogles that there was no space between them.
    Roland hesitated, still fighting for breath.
    “I’ll tell ye whut,” said Rob Anybody soothingly. “If ye are a guid boy an’ rescue the lady, we’ll bring ye doon here another time, wi’ some sandwiches so’s we can make a day o’ it.”
    Roland blinked. “Er, yes,” he said. “Um…sorry. I don’t know what happened just then….”
    “Offski time!” yelled Big Yan. Roland grabbed the hand of the not-Tiffany.
    “An’ don’t look back until we’re well oot o’ here,” said Rob Anybody. “It’s kind of traditional.”

    On the top of the tower, the ice crown appeared in the Wintersmith’s pale hands. It shone more than diamonds could, even in the pale sunlight. It was purest ice, without bubbles, lines, or flaw.
    “I made this for you,” he said. “The Summer Lady will never wear it,” he added sadly.
    It fit perfectly. It didn’t feel cold.
    He stepped back.
    “And now it is done,” said the Wintersmith.
    “There is something I have to do, too,” said Tiffany. “But first there’s something I have to know. You found the things that make a man?”
    “Yes!”
    “How did you find out what they were?”
    The Wintersmith proudly told her about the children, while Tiffany breathed carefully, forcing herself to relax. His logic was very…logical. After all, if a carrot and two pieces of coal can make a heap of snow a snowman, then a big bucket of salts and gases and metal should certainly make him a human. It made…sense. At least, sense to the Wintersmith.
    “But, you see, you need to know the whole song,” said Tiffany. “It is mostly only about what humans are made of. It isn’t about what humans are .”
    “There were some things that I could not find,” said the Wintersmith. “They made no sense. They had no substance.”
    “Yes,” said Tiffany, nodding sadly. “The last three lines, I expect, which are the whole point. I’m really sorry about that.”
    “But I will find them,” said the Wintersmith. “I will!”
    “I hope you do, one day,” said Tiffany. “Now, have you ever heard of Boffo?”
    “What is this Boffo? It was not in the song!” said the Wintersmith, looking uneasy.
    “Oh, Boffo is how humans change the world by fooling themselves,” said Tiffany. “It’s wonderful. And Boffo says that things have no power that humans don’t put there. You can make things magical, but you can’t magically make a human out of things. It’s just a nail in your heart. Only a nail.”
    And the time has come and I know what to do, she thought dreamily. I know how the Story has to end. I must end it in the right kind of way.
    She pulled the Wintersmith toward her and saw the look of astonishment on his face. She felt light-headed, as though her feet weren’t touching the floor. The world became…simpler. It was a tunnel, leading to the future. There was nothing to see but the Wintersmith’s cold face, nothing to hear but her own breathing, nothing to feel but the warmth of the sun on her hair.
    It wasn’t the fiery globe of summer, but it was still much bigger than any bonfire could ever be.
    Where this takes me, there I choose to go, she told herself, letting the warmth pour into her. I choose. This I choose to do. And I’m going to have to stand on tiptoe, she added.
    Thunder on my right hand. Lightning in my left hand.
    Fire above me….
    “Please,” she said, “take the winter away. Go back to your mountains. Please.”
    Frost in front of me….
    “No. I am Winter. I cannot be anything else.”
    “Then you cannot be human,” said Tiffany. “The last three lines are: ‘Strength enough to build a home, Time enough to hold a child, Love enough to break a heart.’”
    Balance…and it came quickly, out of nowhere, lifting her up inside.
    The center of the seesaw does not move. It feels neither upness nor downness. It is balanced.
    Balance…and his lips were like blue ice. She’d cry, later, for the Wintersmith who wanted to be human.
    Balance…and the old kelda had once told her: “There’s a little bitty bit inside ye that willna melt and flow.”
    Time to thaw.
    She shut her eyes and kissed the Wintersmith…
    …and drew down the sun.
    Frost to