“We’d best be moving on, mistress,” said Rob Anybody. He had a dead Feegle over his shoulder. Quite a few of the others were carrying bodies, too.
“Er…are you going to bury them?” said Tiffany.
“Aye, they dinna need these ol’ bodies noo, an’ it’s no’ tidy to leave ’em lyin’ aboot,” said Rob Anybody. “Besides, if the bigjobs find little wee skulls and bones aroound, they’ll start to wonder, and we don’t want anyone pokin’ aboot. Savin’ your presence, mistress,” he added.
“No, that’s very, er…practical thinking,” said Tiffany, giving up.
The Feegle pointed to a distant mound with a thicket of thorn trees growing on it. A lot of the mounds had thickets on them. The trees took advantage of the deeper soil. It was said to be unlucky to cut them down.
“It’s nae very far noo,” he said.
“You live in one of the mounds?” Tiffany asked. “I thought they were, you know, the graves of ancient chieftains?”
“Ach, aye, there’s some ol’ dead kingie in the chamber next door, but he’s nae trouble,” said Rob. “Dinna fret, there’s nae skelingtons or any such in oour bit. It’s quite roomy, we’ve done it up a treat.”
Tiffany looked up at the endless blue sky over the endlessly green downland. It was all so peaceful again, a world away from headless men and big savage dogs.
What if I hadn’t taken Wentworth down to the river? she thought. What would I be doing now? Getting on with the cheese, I suppose….
I never knew about all this. I never knew I lived in heaven, even if it’s only heaven to a clan of little blue men. I didn’t know about people who flew on buzzards.
I never killed monsters before.
“Where do they come from?” she said. “What’s the name of the place the monsters come from?”
o;No!” she said. “I don’t dinna any ken at all! I haven’t done this before! Please help me!”
“That’s true, Rob,” said a Feegle. “She’s new to the haggin’. Tak’ her to the kelda.”
“Not e’en Granny Aching ever went to see the kelda in her ain cave!” snapped Rob Anybody. “It’s no a—”
“Quiet!” hissed Tiffany. “Can’t you hear that?”
The Feegles looked around.
“Hear what?” said Hamish.
“It’s a susurration!”
The turf was trembling. The sky looked as though Tiffany was inside a diamond. And there was the smell of snow.
Hamish pulled a pipe out of his waistcoat and blew it. Tiffany couldn’t hear anything, but there was a scream from high above.
“I’ll let ye know what’s happenin’!” cried the pictsie, and started to run across the turf. As he ran, he raised his arms over his head.
He was moving fast by then, but the buzzard sped down and across the turf even faster and plucked him neatly into the air. As it beat at the air to rise again, Tiffany saw Hamish climbing up through the feathers.
The other Feegles had formed a circle around Tiffany, and this time they’d drawn their swords.
“Whut’s the plan, Rob?” said one of them.
“Okay, lads, this is what we’ll do. As soon as we see somethin’, we’ll attack it. Right?”
This caused a cheer.
“Ach, ’tis a good plan,” said Daft Wullie.
Snow formed on the ground. It didn’t fall, it…did the opposite of melting, rising up fast until the Nac Mac Feegle were waist deep, and then buried up to their necks. Some of the smaller ones began to disappear, and there was muffled cursing from under the snow.