The land was speaking to her now, filling her up, throwing the glamour of the elf lord aside as though it were nothing, and the air crackled like lightning. Yes, she thought. Thunder and Lightning. The two dogs were long gone, buried in the hills alongside Granny Aching, but their strength was with her.
And she was standing firm, her feet on the turf, the murmur of the ancient ocean below swelling through her soles. Earth. Water.
She raised her arms. ‘Thunder and Lightning, I command you.’ Fire and Air. As she drew on the power of the two sheepdogs, there in the air was a flash of lightning, a rumble of thunder. The shepherd’s crown glowed golden on her breast — at the heart of it all, the soul and centre of her being — the golden light rising from the apex to surround her, protect her, add its energy to her own.
And the sky broke in half.
Never had there been such a storm. It was full of vengeance and the elves were running, or rather trying to run because the Feegles were in their way and the Wee Free Men had no liking for the elves. In the carnage and the shouting, it seemed to Tiffany that she wasn’t in charge any more. She was just a conduit for the wrath of the Chalk.
The land under her feet was trembling, shaking like a wounded animal on a leash, yearning to be free. And the shepherd’s crown was shining like a living thing in front of her.
A shepherd’s crown, not a royal one.
A crown for someone who knew where she had come from.
A crown for the lone light zigzagging through the night sky, hunting for a single lost lamb.
A crown for the shepherd who was there to herd away the predators.
A crown for the shepherd who could work with the best sheepdogs any shepherd could possibly have.
A shepherd’s crown.
And she heard again that voice: Tiffany Aching is the first among shepherds, for she puts others before herself …
A king of shepherds.
No … a queen.
She felt she needed to apologize to the crown, apologize for letting these elves come through and threaten this land, and so she said in a whisper, ‘I am Tiffany Aching and my bones are in the Chalk. Let the Chalk be cleansed!’
And the world changed.
In the city of Ankh-Morpork, Hex spat out a calculation for Ponder Stibbons — and he saw that an answer was underlined …
A prayer wheel spun in the monastery of Oi Dong, and the monks bowed down in gratitude …
While a little boy took his mother’s hand in the travelling now, and said, ‘Mummy, big nasties all gone …’ He had a wooden train in his other hand, and a little backpack of tools over one shoulder. Perhaps he will be an engineer in this new world when he grows up, his mother thought.
And in Fairyland, there was a sudden twang, as if a strand connecting the two worlds had suddenly snapped …
There was fighting still going on — it was hard to stop the Feegles once they got going — and Tiffany walked through it as if in a dream. The elves were trying to get away now, but the ground seemed to hold them down and she whispered, ‘I ask the Chalk, deliver to me the King of the Elves!’
The heavy dance of the land now had a different tempo.
Dust flew out, and there came suddenly the King of the Elves — the stink and his long hair and antlers were unmistakable. Oh, that stink! It had a life of its own. But in a way, Tiffany thought, it was a male stink of life.
The huge body loomed over her. ‘How now, Mistress Tiffany. I can’t say, “Well met again,”’ said the King. ‘But I must confess to … surprise. You surprised me before,’ he mused, ‘with the gift you left me. A … shed. What do you humans do with this place you call a shed?’ He sounded intrigued.
‘It is a place for … interests. Where the future can be founded,’ Tiffany said. ‘And a place where those who have lived many years may remember.’
‘I have many memories,’ said the King. ‘But I did not know that you had the power to offer me new entertainments, to draw me to new pleasures. Very few in this world or others are able to do so.’
And now, Tiffany thought, the King of the Elves did see her as more than a young girl. At this meeting she had respect. But he deserved respect too, so she bowed her head towards him, just a little.
‘May I apologize for the hotheads in my kingdom,’ he continued lazily, his voice smooth and delicious. ‘I find them a large annoyance. Quite possibly as you do.’ He glared at the quivering Peaseblossom, and then at the corpse of Nightshade. ‘You, elf, you killed my queen, my lady Nightshade, just for spite,’ he growled. And the King of the Elves brought himself upright and smacked Peaseblossom with a hand that killed, leaving the carcass just lying there, his careless and casual use of violence shocking Tiffany, despite all she knew of elves. ‘I’m sorry I had to do that,’ he said, ‘but they don’t understand anything else. The universe turns, alas; it turns and we have to accommodate change or move on. This is a good world we had here, mistress,’ the King said now. He shrugged. ‘It’s a shame about the iron. But perhaps as the universe turns, Mistress Tiffany, we might meet again, on a different turn and in more happy circumstances.’
‘Yes,’ said Tiffany, ‘we might. Now, begone from my land.’ Her voice was hard. And in the air there was the piercing sound of a whistle, with an answering screech as the early-morning train left Twoshirts station. ‘Listen, your majesty. That is the song of the five twenty-five for Lancre, and that is your future, my lord. A lifetime of metal if you stay.’
‘These mechanisms are interesting. There are tools in my shed, and I wonder if such “trains” could perhaps be made … without iron,’ said the King, adding wistfully, ‘I am a man of magic, so I should be able to have anything I want.’
‘But you can’t,’ said Tiffany. ‘The railways are not for you.’
And it seemed to her, as he left, that the King of the Elves was looking thoughtful.
As the final elves slipped away to limp back to their land, she turned to Rob Anybody. ‘Rob, let us bury the Lady Nightshade here, where she fell,’ she said quietly. ‘I will mark the spot with a cairn of stones. We will remember this day. We will remember her.’ Then she added softly, almost to herself: ‘We need to remember.’
Chapter 19
Peace
As the morning flowed into the day, the Feegles were settling down to a feast of drinking, eating and more drinking and telling tales, some of which were bigger than the Feegles themselves.
Rob Anybody looked at Tiffany and said, ‘Weel noo, mistress, the field is oor ain! Come on doon intae the mound. Jeannie would love tae see your sonsie face.’
And Tiffany slid into the mound, which seemed bigger than when she had seen it last. The great hall was full of leaping figures and flying kilts as the Feegles danced their reels — Feegles loved a reel at any time; the slap of boot on earth was like a challenge to the universe. Then, of course, every Feegle wanted every other Feegle to know how well they had conducted themselves against the elves.
Every single one of the younger Feegles was wanting Tiffany — their hag o’ the hills — to know how brave he had been. As they gathered around, she said, ‘What are your names, boys?’
Wee Callum, a little bit tongue-tied, said, ‘I’m Callum, mistress.’
‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Tiffany.
‘Aye, mistress, and this is my brother, Callum.’