'You only wounded that phoenix, though.'
'My point exactly. It allowed itself to be hurt, and therefore extinction looms. No, my dear, if we won't fade with the old world we must make shift in the new. Witches? I'm afraid witches are all in the past now.'
The broomsticks in the present landed just above the treeline, on the edge of the moor. As Agnes had said, it was barely big enough to deserve the term. She could even hear the little mountain brook at the far end.
'I can't see anything gnarly-looking,' said Agnes. She knew it was a stupid thing to say, but the presence of Magrat was getting on her nerves.
Nanny looked up at the sky. The other two followed her gaze.
'You've got to get your eye in, but you'll see it if you watch,' she said. 'You can only see it if you stands on the moor.'
Agnes squinted at the overcast.
'Oh... I think I can,' said Magrat.
I bet she doesn't, said Perdita, I can't.
And then Agnes did. It was tricky to spot, like a join between two sheets of glass, and it seemed to move away whenever she was certain she could see it, but there was an... inconsistency, flickering in and out on the edge of vision.
Nanny licked a finger and held it up to the wind. Then she pointed.
'This way. An' shut your eyes.'
'There's no path,' said Magrat.
'That's right. You hold on to my hand, Agnes will hold on to yours. I've been this way a few times. It ain't hard.'
'It's like a children's story,' said Agnes.
'Yes, we're down to the bone now, all right,' said Nanny. 'And... off we go...'
Agnes felt the heather brush her feet as she stepped forward. She opened her eyes.
Moorland stretched away on every side, even behind them. The air was darker, the clouds heavier, the wind sharper. The mountains looked a long way away. There was a distant thunder of water.
'Where are we now?' said Magrat.
'Still here,' said Nanny. 'I remember my dad saying sometimes a deer or somethin' would run into gnarly ground if it was bein' hunted.'
'It'd have to be pretty desperate,' said Agnes. The heather was darker here, and scratched so much it was almost thorny. 'Everything's so... nasty-looking.'
'Attitude plays a part,' said Nanny. She tapped something with her foot.
It was... well, it had been a standing stone, Agnes thought, but now it was a lying stone. Lichen grew thickly all over it.
'The marker. Hard to get out again if you don't know about it,' said Nanny. 'Let's head for the mountains. Esme all wrapped up, Magrat? Little Esme, I mean.'
'She's asleep.'
'Yeah,' said Nanny, in what Agnes thought was an odd tone of voice. 'Just as well, really. Let's go. Oh, I thought we might need these...'
She fumbled in the bottomless storeroom of her knickerleg and produced a couple of pairs of socks so thick that they could have stood up by themselves.
'Lancre wool,' she said. 'Our Jason knits 'em of an evenin' and you know what strong fingers he's got. You could kick your way through a wall.'
The heather ripped fruitlessly at the wire-like wool as the women hurried over the moor. There was still a sun here, or at least a bright spot in the overcast, but darkness seemed to come up from beneath the ground.
Agnes... said Perdita's voice, in the privacy of her shared brain.