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.Occasionally she would throw herself into franticbouts of housework; ancient crusts were unceremoniously dug out of the cracksin the flagstones, and the fireback was scraped free of the winter s soot and black-leaded to within an inch of its life.A nest of mice in the back of the dresser werekindly but firmly ejected into the goatshed.38 Sunset came.The light of the Discworld was old and slow and heavy.From the cottage doorGranny watched as it drained off the mountains, flowing in golden rivers throughthe forest.Here and there it pooled in hollows until it faded and vanished.She drummed her fingers sharply on the doorpost, humming a small and bitterlittle tune.Dawn came, and the cottage was empty except for Esk s body, silent and un-moving on the bed.But as the golden light flowed slowly across the Discworld like the first fresh-ing of the tide over mudflats the eagle circled higher into the dome of heaven,beating the air down with slow and powerful wingbeats.The whole of the world was spread out beneath Esk all the continents, allthe islands, all the rivers and especially the great ring of the Rim Ocean.There was nothing else up here, not even sound.Esk gloried in the feel of it, willing her flagging muscles into greater effort.But something was wrong.Her thoughts seemed to be chasing around beyondher control, and disappearing.Pain and exhilaration and weariness poured intoher mind, but it was as if other things were spilling out at the same time.Mem-ories dwindled away on the wind.As fast as she could latch on to a thought itevaporated, leaving nothing behind.She was losing chunks of herself, and she couldn t remember.what she waslosing.She panicked, burrowing back to the things she was sure of.I am Esk, and I have stolen the body of an eagle and the feel of wind in feathers,the hunger, the search of the not-sky below.She tried again.I am Esk and seeking the windpath, the pain of muscle, thecut of the air, the cold of it.I am Esk high over air-damp-wet-white, above everything, the sky is thin.I am I am.Granny was in the garden, among the beehives, the early morning wind whip-ping at her skirts.She went from hive to hive, tapping on their roofs.Then, in thethickets of borage and beebalm that she had planted around them, she stood withher arms outstretched in front of her and sang something in tones so high that nonormal person could have heard them.But a roar went up from the hives, and then the air was suddenly thick with the39 heavy, big-eyed, deep-voiced shapes of drone bees.They circled over her head,adding their own bass humming to her chant.Then they were gone, soaring into the growing light over the clearing andstreaming away over the trees.It is well known- at least, it is well known to witches that all colonies of beesare, as it were, just one part of the creature called the Swarm, in the same way thatindividual bees are component cells of the hivemind.Granny didn t mingle herthoughts with the bees very often, partly because insect minds were strange, alienthings that tasted of tin, but mostly because she suspected that the Swarm was agood deal more intelligent than she was.She knew that the drones would soon reach the wild bee colonies in the deepforest, and within hours every corner of the mountain meadows would be undervery close scrutiny indeed.All she could do was wait.At noon the drones returned, and Granny read in the sharp acid thoughts of thehivemind that there was no sign of Esk.She went back into the cool of the cottage and sat down in the rocking chair,staring at the doorway.She knew what the next step was.She hated the very idea of it.But shefetched a short ladder, climbed up creakily on to the roof, and pulled the stafffrom its hiding place in the thatch.It was icy cold.It steamed. Above the snowline, then, said Granny.She climbed down, and rammed the staff into a flowerbed.She glared at it.She had a nasty feeling that it was glaring back. Don t think you ve won, because you haven t, she snapped. It s just that Ihaven t got the time to mess around.You must know where she is.I commandyou to take me to her! The staff regarded her woodenly. By Granny paused, her invocations were a little rusty, - by stock andstone I order it! Activity, movement, liveliness all these words would be completely inaccu-rate descriptions of the staff s response.Granny scratched her chin.She remembered the little lesson all children gettaught: what s the magic word? Please? she suggested [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.Occasionally she would throw herself into franticbouts of housework; ancient crusts were unceremoniously dug out of the cracksin the flagstones, and the fireback was scraped free of the winter s soot and black-leaded to within an inch of its life.A nest of mice in the back of the dresser werekindly but firmly ejected into the goatshed.38 Sunset came.The light of the Discworld was old and slow and heavy.From the cottage doorGranny watched as it drained off the mountains, flowing in golden rivers throughthe forest.Here and there it pooled in hollows until it faded and vanished.She drummed her fingers sharply on the doorpost, humming a small and bitterlittle tune.Dawn came, and the cottage was empty except for Esk s body, silent and un-moving on the bed.But as the golden light flowed slowly across the Discworld like the first fresh-ing of the tide over mudflats the eagle circled higher into the dome of heaven,beating the air down with slow and powerful wingbeats.The whole of the world was spread out beneath Esk all the continents, allthe islands, all the rivers and especially the great ring of the Rim Ocean.There was nothing else up here, not even sound.Esk gloried in the feel of it, willing her flagging muscles into greater effort.But something was wrong.Her thoughts seemed to be chasing around beyondher control, and disappearing.Pain and exhilaration and weariness poured intoher mind, but it was as if other things were spilling out at the same time.Mem-ories dwindled away on the wind.As fast as she could latch on to a thought itevaporated, leaving nothing behind.She was losing chunks of herself, and she couldn t remember.what she waslosing.She panicked, burrowing back to the things she was sure of.I am Esk, and I have stolen the body of an eagle and the feel of wind in feathers,the hunger, the search of the not-sky below.She tried again.I am Esk and seeking the windpath, the pain of muscle, thecut of the air, the cold of it.I am Esk high over air-damp-wet-white, above everything, the sky is thin.I am I am.Granny was in the garden, among the beehives, the early morning wind whip-ping at her skirts.She went from hive to hive, tapping on their roofs.Then, in thethickets of borage and beebalm that she had planted around them, she stood withher arms outstretched in front of her and sang something in tones so high that nonormal person could have heard them.But a roar went up from the hives, and then the air was suddenly thick with the39 heavy, big-eyed, deep-voiced shapes of drone bees.They circled over her head,adding their own bass humming to her chant.Then they were gone, soaring into the growing light over the clearing andstreaming away over the trees.It is well known- at least, it is well known to witches that all colonies of beesare, as it were, just one part of the creature called the Swarm, in the same way thatindividual bees are component cells of the hivemind.Granny didn t mingle herthoughts with the bees very often, partly because insect minds were strange, alienthings that tasted of tin, but mostly because she suspected that the Swarm was agood deal more intelligent than she was.She knew that the drones would soon reach the wild bee colonies in the deepforest, and within hours every corner of the mountain meadows would be undervery close scrutiny indeed.All she could do was wait.At noon the drones returned, and Granny read in the sharp acid thoughts of thehivemind that there was no sign of Esk.She went back into the cool of the cottage and sat down in the rocking chair,staring at the doorway.She knew what the next step was.She hated the very idea of it.But shefetched a short ladder, climbed up creakily on to the roof, and pulled the stafffrom its hiding place in the thatch.It was icy cold.It steamed. Above the snowline, then, said Granny.She climbed down, and rammed the staff into a flowerbed.She glared at it.She had a nasty feeling that it was glaring back. Don t think you ve won, because you haven t, she snapped. It s just that Ihaven t got the time to mess around.You must know where she is.I commandyou to take me to her! The staff regarded her woodenly. By Granny paused, her invocations were a little rusty, - by stock andstone I order it! Activity, movement, liveliness all these words would be completely inaccu-rate descriptions of the staff s response.Granny scratched her chin.She remembered the little lesson all children gettaught: what s the magic word? Please? she suggested [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]