One of her hands held the collar of a white snarg, which was swishing its tail menacingly.

"Um," said Glurk, "this is Culaina."

The wight walked past them and patted Acretongue's flank. The pone's long neck turned and his little eyes looked at Culaina; then he clumsily lowered himself to his knees and laid his head on the ground.

Culaina turned, and smiled. The whole clearing seemed to smile with her. The change was sudden, and dramatic.

"So here you are," she said, "and now you must tell me of your adventures. I know you will, because I remember you did. Follow me. There will be food."

At the far side of the clearing was Culaina's home, or one of her homes. It was no more than a roof of woven dust on poles. There were no walls or doors, no ditch or stockade to protect it at night, and no place for a fire. Above it was a large hive of hymetors. Animals cropped and dozed peacefully around Culaina's camp.

When Glurk and the others approached the hymetors hummed furiously and rose from their hive in an angry swarm. The four ducked and tried to protect their faces with their arms, until Culaina whistled once.

The creatures swooped harmlessly overhead and returned, peacefully, to their home in the hairs. Glurk caught a glimpse of long sharp stings.

"She sent them back," whispered Brocando urgently. "She just whistled and they obeyed her!"

On the floor under the shelter was a pile of fruit and some bowls of green liquid.

"I had this before," said Glurk. "It's sap from the green hairs. Sets you up a treat."

They sat down. Pismire shifted uneasily, and Culaina smiled at him.

"Say what you think," she said. "I remember that you did. But you must say it."

"Wight mustn't tell people the future!" said Pismire. "Everyone knows that! They never tell! It's too dangerous for people to know what will happen! This is all-"

"I remember I interrupted you here," said the wight. "Yes. I know the rules. And that's what they are, and all they are. They are only rules. I am not, Pismire, quite like other wights. Have you ever heard the word ... thunorg? I know you have."

"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."