"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 bend 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 be and was.
Glurk dreamed of slim bodies pushing swiftly through the undergrowth. As they passed the Carpet seemed to come alive. It was like a splash in a cup; the ripples ran out and out, getting bigger as they ran. Deep in underground caves sleeping creatures awoke, and howled. He saw the Thimbrule that lay far beyond Varnisholme, a great silver dome. He saw the glow as the wights mined their varnish at Varnisholme, the flames spouting from their forge.
In his dream he moved through the night hairs like a spirit, until he came to the Endless Flatness. The Carpet ended suddenly, and from its shores the Flatness ran on for ever. He looked for hairs and there were none, just flatness without end, and balls of dust that were bowled over and over in the forlorn wind. And Culaina stood by the last hair, her robe flapping in the gusts.
Glurk sat up suddenly.
It was morning. Yellow light dappled the clearing, making the hairs shine like bronze. Brocando was still asleep. The others were talking quietly.
One look was enough.
"Not exactly dreams," said Pismire. "What we dreamed weren't exactly dreams. She lives all her lives at once, we picked up echoes-"
"I saw Culaina walking through the Carpet," began Glurk. "And I think I saw Snibril, too."
"And I saw the Hearthlands and the fire in the sky," added Pismire.
"There were all sorts of creatures," said Glurk.
Brocando turned over and opened his eyes. He listened to the others for a moment, then nodded. "I was back in the High Gate Land. There was a domed cave, and under the dome a throne of bronze with a Vortgorn on it. He had a yellow beard and a crown. Two mouls were standing in front of him. I'll swear one of them was Gormaleesh. They were laughing. Then one snatched the crown, but the Vortgorn just sat with his chin on his hand and said nothing."
"That'd be Stagbat, their king," said Glurk. "I heard the Vortgorn guards talking. The mouls turned up one day after Fray had struck nearby and they said Fray was a Dumii weapon. They said they'd be allies. Now they run the place, of course."
"You can't control Fray," said Pismire. "I keep on telling you, it's a natural phenomenon."
"They always find our weak points," said Glurk. He looked across at Bane, who had been silent.
"And what did you dream?" he asked.
"I dreamed ... I dreamed ... " Bane began, and then seemed to wake up, "I dreamed of nothing. I slept well."
There was no sign of Culaina. The pones had stayed.
"They think life is going to be interesting," said Glurk. "They used to like working for the Vortgorns. People used to come and read them stories and things. Must be hard, having a brain and no hands to do things with it."
"We'd better go to Ware," said Bane. "I don't think we've got any choice."
"We've got lots of choice," said Pismire. "It's just that we've got to choose to go to Ware."
Glurk saddled up Acretongue. "Interesting times ahead," he said gloomily.
Bane took a last look around the sugar clearing.
"She's here ... somewhere," he said.
"Everywhere," said Pismire. "Everywhere there's a choice to be made."
There was a faraway look in Bane's eyes. "What must it be like," he said, "to know everything that could happen?"
"Terrible," said Pismire. "Now, come along. Bane? I said come on ... "
CHAPTER 14
Snibril had led the search, after the storm. They'd sifted through the rubble of the place. They'd gone down into Underlay, roped together, and shouted out the names of those who were lost. They'd found nothing.
But as Pismire would have pointed out, finding nothing was better than finding ... something.
Then they'd discovered the tracks in the distant clearing. Lots of creatures had come up. It seemed to Snibril that there had been someone else following them, someone who had lain low for a while in the bushes ... but everything was covered with dust shaken down by the storm, and it was hard to be sure. The tracks, such as they were, led south.
The Munrungs had helped Brocando's people rebuild walls and things, even though the rock itself was now visibly leaning over. And, as someone said, if Fray came again at least they now knew how to get into Underlay. Nothing would get them there.
Snibril thought about this as he rode Roland through the hairs, looking for any more tracks.
We can always go into Underlay, he thought. We can stop being people. We can just grub around in the dark.
The Deftmenes think that no enemy is too big to fight, but we never even see Fray.
The Dumii don't think like that. They think that if an enemy is too big, you should find a smaller enemy.
Maybe Pismire is right. We can't stop Fray. But at least we can stop being frightened of Fray.