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    Wintersmith
    Wintersmith
    Wintersmith
    Ebook365 pages5 hours

    Wintersmith

    By Terry Pratchett

    4/5

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    ALA Best Fiction for Young Adults * ALA Booklist Editors' Choice * ALA Notable Children's Book

    “Pratchett’s unique blend of comedy and articulate insight is at its vibrant best. Full of rich humor, wisdom, and eventfulness.” —Horn Book (starred review)

    By the beloved and bestselling grandmaster of fantasy, Sir Terry Pratchett, this is the third in a series of Discworld novels starring the young witch Tiffany Aching.

    When the Spirit of Winter takes a fancy to Tiffany Aching, he wants her to stay in his gleaming, frozen world. Forever. It will take all the young witch's skill and cunning, as well as help from the legendary Granny Weatherwax and the irrepressible Wee Free Men, to survive until Spring.

    Because if Tiffany doesn't make it to Spring, Spring won't come for anyone.

    The five funny and fabulous Tiffany Aching adventures are:

    • The Wee Free Men
    • A Hat Full of Sky
    • Wintersmith
    • I Shall Wear Midnight
    • The Shepherd’s Crown

    Tiffany’s mentors, Granny Weatherwax and Nanny Ogg, star in the novels Equal Rites, Wyrd Sisters, Witches Abroad, Lords and Ladies, Maskerade, and Carpe Jugulum.

    And don’t miss Terry Pratchett’s hilarious and wise Discworld novel The Amazing Maurice and His Educated Rodents! 

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHarperCollins
    Release dateOct 6, 2009
    ISBN9780061975325
    Author

    Terry Pratchett

    Terry Pratchett (1948–2015) was the acclaimed creator of the globally revered Discworld series. In all, he authored more than fifty bestselling books, which have sold more than one hundred million copies worldwide. His novels have been widely adapted for stage and screen, and he was the winner of multiple prizes, including the Carnegie Medal. He was awarded a knighthood by Queen Elizabeth II for his services to literature in 2009, although he always wryly maintained that his greatest service to literature was to avoid writing any.

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    Reviews for Wintersmith

    4/5

    2,175 ratings86 reviews

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    • 4/5
      Not possibly the best of Terry's work, but far from the worst either. Tiffany Aching is still up in Lancre learning to be a witch from old Miss Treason. When she is shown the 'other' Morris dance to welcome in Winter she accidently gets involved and finds that the Wintersmith - King Winter - has become enamoured of her. This is Not a Good Thing, as she doesn't have any of the powers of Summer, to drive him away. Well not yet anyway.....One of the sub themes - romance from a young girl's perspective, is perhaps not something that Terry as a middle aged man is best suited to deal with. He takes a fair stab at it though, and there is always Nanny Ogg to drag the conversations down to the appropriate level. Not as dark as the previous younger DW stories. Narratively it is unusual in that it has a start that only occurs later in the book.
    • 4/5
      This book wasn't due in the shops until the 28th of september, but I was able to buy it at the beginning of the week. So bewarned: here be possible SPOILERS if you haven't yet got a copy. I don't normally have any criticisms of Pratchett, but I was abit disappointed by this book firstly because it began with a chapter that seemed entirely out of kink with PTerrys style and with the flow of the story. This chapter is written like a retrospective and seems out of place ~ unlike the discworld stories we have come to feel so comfortable with. It seems like an ending to another story as Tiffany deals with an extreme winter in her chalk country, with even her father respectfully counting on her as a witch. But don't panic (like I did,) the first chapter is a chunk taken out of the end of the book. By the time you get to that point you will probably feel a need to go back to the first chapter to remind youself of it.The second thing that annoyed me abit was that the chapters seemed rather long. The one thing that I loved about Pratchetts work was the lack of chapters ~ I could begin reading and continue for as long as I liked without the subtle desire of finishing a chapter before I could take a leak or switch off the light. Chapters have been used throughout the Tiffany Aching series complete with the asterisk breaks I love, but still it felt very heavily laden.If you love your mythology then you are bound to love this book even more than you would as a fan because as far as I can tell it deals with the myth of the Morris men, the Holly and the Oak king and the myth of Persephone and Demeter ~ but in PTerrys unique style. We also get to find out about Boffo (not necessarily the clown from Men at Arms) and we also find out something about Horace, Wintersmith and You ~ yes I said You...We also meet the coven again, and see how well Petulia progressed ~ and even poor Annagramma.Despite the sexual overtones I've noticed some people read into the mistake Tiffany makes of jumping straight into a dance one night ...I liked the ending where Tiffany 'gently' lets a guy down. But ~ what happened with Roland de Chumsfanleigh ?
    • 3/5
      I feel like I should have liked this more than I did. I adore pretty much the entire Discworld canon, but in Wintersmith it felt like Sir Terry was holding back quite a bit out of regard for the delicate ears of the kiddoes. I always enjoy the look at the inner workings of the witches' lives, but this one never quite grabbed me.
    • 5/5
      Re-reread June 2015.

      The Tiffany Aching stories are more than simple YA adventures. The young protagonist is a magically talented witch-in-training, but she's also an excellent example for young readers. She's responsible, intelligent, and a deep thinker. It's not magic that makes Tiffany such an admirable character; it's her more mundane talents. These are skills that real people in the real world can cultivate.
    • 5/5
      Although Terry Pratchett always delivers a good story with a lot of chuckles along the way, I found Wintersmith to be slow-going at first. I had a bit of a hard time getting into the story within the first few chapters, but once I got rolling, everything was fine.I've always laughed aloud while reading any of the Discworld novels, and I like TIffany Aching and that her books let me get to know Granny Weatherwax more thoroughly.I liked this book, but I didn't *love* it, since it was slow at first.Quotable:pg. 80 "Why do we do it? It's hard work for not much reward."pg. 173 "They think they're so grown-up! But they're still no better than babies in the sandpit, squabbling over mud pies. I see their lies and excuses and fears. They never grow up, not really. They never look up and open their eyes. They stay children their whole lives."pg. 182 "We make happy endings, child, day by day."pg. 297 "People wanted the world to be a story, because stories had to sound right and they had to make sense. People wanted the world to make sense."pg. 432 "As always happens, and happens far too soon, the strange and wonderful becomes a memory and a memory becomes a dream. Tomorrow it's gone."
    • 4/5
      The final book in the Tiffany Aching series of Terry Pratchett's books. I highly enjoyed this book, just like the other two. I enjoyed how the characters were all brought together to solve the problem at hand. I really like the Nac Mac Feegles, and I can only hope that perhaps someday there will be another story that contains Tiffany and the Wee Free Men!
    • 4/5
      Prepare yourself for winter is coming, and it is going to be cold, *very* cold. And it is all Tiffany's fault. Our adorable witch to be got carried away and now the spirit of winter is smitten with her. Our wee big hag must find a way to let him down gracefully before everyone freezes to death
    • 5/5
      I love Pratchett's Discworld books, and I particularly love the Tiffany Aching books, so it was a surprise to me that I apparently missed noticing Wintersmith for ten years. Well, at least it means a new-for-me Pratchett when I thought that opportunity was gone.

      Tiffany Aching is an apprentice witch, currently living with a witch in the mountains, far from her beloved chalk hills. She's taken as part of her training to watch a dance she didn't know existed, the Dark Morris, which brings the beginning of winter as the Morris Dance we know brings the beginning of summer.

      Since this is the Discworld, the dances really do bring the starts of those seasons.

      Tiffany's feet, unfortunately, get the better of her. She steps into the dance, and dances with the Wintersmith, and gets some of the traits and powers of Lady Summer tangled up in herself. The Wintersmith thinks he has fallen in love with her.

      This is, of course, is a problem for everyone, especially when the Wintersmith wants to marry her and cause Summer to never come again. The Wintersmith has no real idea what being a person is all about, or why Tiffany is upset about the lambs dying when a blizzard hits too late in what should be spring, or why she doesn't love the ice palace he's made to lure her.

      The second half is a Discworld take on Orpheus and Eurydice, and both Tiffany and the local lord's son she rescued from the elf queen's court previously, take a few more steps toward adulthood.

      It's a fine taste of Pratchett, and a nice surprise for me to find it, when I thought there wasn't anything more.

      Recommended.

      I bought this audiobook.
    • 4/5
       I think I might have read too many Witch books in quick succession...This is the 'dating is difficult' installment in Pratchett's stories about teenage Tiffany Aching. She sees a cool gap in the dark morris, impulsively dances into it, and has to live with the consequences of her actions - in this case, that the Wintersmith falls for her, instead of Summer, and follows her around with deadly blizzards etc. It's a good story, although if you squint too hard there are messages that I would not 100% endorse - Nanny Ogg's relaxed 'ah, he's stalking you, but you should make him frightened of you and make him show you some respect' and the whole 'kissing him to melt him to save the world' resolution. I think I like the subplots even better. Anagramma, with her airs and lack of any practical skills, being saved and rallied round, and losing some of her corners (and being part of Granny's 'show how great she and Tiffany are' games). Miss Treason, and her boffo, and the ideas of looking the part and being the part, to get respect and get power. Little snippets of Ronald dealing with his father's illness and his evil aunts. And Horace, the cheese full of personality.Tiffany gives Granny a kitten. That's cute :-)
    • 3/5
      3.5 starsThis is the third book in the Tiffany Aching series. Tiffany is now 13 years old and learning to be a witch. She just can't help herself when she steps in to dance a dance she should only be watching. This results in the Wintersmith (who controls winter) falling for her and pursuing her to marry him! Unfortunately, during all this, Tiffany's teacher knows she will die - she knows the day and time. Tiffany is not old enough to take over the cottage and take care of everyone in the nearby village, so arrangements must be made, even though what is worked out really isn't ideal. I am still enjoying this series. The Nac Mac Feegles aren't in this one as much as I remember them from the others in the series and they are a lot of fun, but even without them as much, I did enjoy this story. It wasn't fast-paced, but being a YA book, it was still fast to read.
    • 4/5
      An enjoyable frolic but knowing of Terry Pratchett's early-onset Alzheimer's gives "Wintersmith" an underlying sadness not detected in "Wee Free Men" or Discworld books. Death is literally a character in Pratchett's books but this one tinkers with the hopefulness and hopelessness of passing time and the changing seasons, imaging what happens when someone tries to tamper with the inevitable.Favorite passages:"Deep in the snow, in the middle of a windswept moorland, a small band of traveling librarians sat around their cooling stove and wondered what to burn next....The librarians were mysterious. It was said they could tell what book you needed just by looking at you, and they could take your voice away with a word.""People wanted the world to be a story, because stories had to sound right and they had to make sense. People wanted the world to make sense.""... as always happens, and happens far too soon, the strange and wonderful becomes a memory and a memory becomes a dream. Tomorrow, it's gone."
    • 5/5
      I loved this book also. By now Tiffany and the wee free men are like old friends. I was so upset to laern that Terry Pratchett has altzhiemers. What a loss for his loyal readers. I couldn't help thinking of this during the scenes of Miss treason knwing of her death adn the decisions she makes and Tiffany reflects upon. What will be your legacy. I love the commentray on Boffo the illusion of our reputation. The ro,ance and intrigue od The Wintersmith how a young girl puts romance and being sought out together with her own mind and actions was great.
    • 5/5
      Anything involving the Wee Free Men is hilarious, and this is no exception. I didn't feel like it hung together quite as well as the first two books, plotwise; there were a couple of secondary plot elements that seemed, if not recycled, somewhat predictable. It's still totally great, though, and if the first two Tiffany Aching books weren't so spectacular, I probably would have rated it 5/5.
    • 4/5
      Well Harper Audio needs to be smacked, you don't start each chapter of a comic novel with tinkly sappy sentimental piano and synthesiser music, but otherwise this is being a delight so far.
    • 5/5
      Simply brilliantly funny satiric fantasy. Pratchett just keeps on getting better and better
    • 3/5
      As with most of Pratchett's books, I found 'Wintersmith' to be extremely entertaining, but not exceptional. Unlike many of the Discworld books, this novel will definitely be helped along if you've read some of the previous books in the series that deal with the same characters (The Wee Free Men, A Hat Full of Sky).
      I've read the first, but not the second.
      The story deals with the teenage apprentice witch, Tiffany Aching, who is helped/hindered by her friends the Nac Mac Feegles (blue, Scottish-flavored 'Pictsies'), when, due to an ill-advised dance, the titular elemental spirit of Winter falls in love with her - with less than salutary effects on the climate.
      Engaging characters and witty writing, but a fairly typical coming-of-age-type story.
    • 5/5
      Wow, another great Tiffany Aching novel. I love this series, and anybody that likes fantasy would enjoy them, not just young children or girls. The Nac Mac Feegle are the BEST, and I really hope Sam Raimi makes The Wee Free Men into a movie (see Wikipedia's info under "The Wee Free Men" for details).This book was a wonderful ride through winter on the chalk with Tiffany. She gets herself involved with the Wintersmith, the spirit of cold that brings the winter to the world, and has to work things out so that summer will come back. The Feegles played a pretty big part in this book, and I hope to see more of them later, as long as you hide all the alcohol.This book was a great third-book-in-the-series book, it just keeps getting better and I can't possible recommend them enough. I will read these to my children when my wife and I get around to having them!
    • 4/5
      What's interesting about the Tiff series is that it just _barely_ takes place on the discworld. I'd have to get out my Disc Mappe to find out exactly where the Chalk is, although it must be somewhere near Lancre, but for all the attention paid to the world around it, the Chalk might as well be in Cornwall. Of course, you'd have to explain away how Granny Weatherwax and Nanny Ogg showed up in that case.Tiffany now moves all the way to the age of thirteen. She makes a bad mistake near the beginning of the book which she may end up paying for for the rest of her life, or perhaps longer. In setting things aright, she must learn how to keep her balance. The characters of Roland and Annagramma are vastly expanded in this one. I suspect we won't see much more of Annagramma, as by the end up the book she seems surprisingly content with her lot, but Roland is obviously working to become a major player and a romantic suitor for Tiffany. There was a strong implication near the end of the previous book that Tiff and Granny Weatherwax are headed for a showdown, but we must wait for that denouement another day. In my opinion, young Ms. Aching will not be ready to fight *that* battle for at least thirty years, but we shall see how the author wishes to handle it.The plot doesn't seem to advance as much as slip from one bon mot to another until the climax occurs, rather like some of the original Rincewind stories which weren't much more than successions of gags. The mature Pratchett has advanced far beyond those days, but still the scenes are a bit awkwardly pinned together. But I look forward to finding out what happens to Tiffany at age fifteen!
    • 5/5
      A dark story but readable to the end
    • 4/5
      I'd been thinking that it would be keen to read some stories about Granny Weatherwax's youth. Then I realised I was, only with added grown up Granny to boot.
    • 3/5
      Not one of Pterry's worst, but not one of his best either. Although I am a rampaging Nac Mac Feegle fan, and they're very well used in this one. There's also bits in it that might make more sense if you're familiar with/live in Scotland (for example 'Scheemie' is a real Scottish word). Enjoyable read, but not outstanding.
    • 3/5
      Must have read this one before but couldn't remember a thing about it. Have an extra half star. A comfortable and familiar world, entertaining and interesting.
    • 4/5
      Last for the month (so far, still a couple of days to go I suppose) is Wintersmith, Terry Pratchett's new Discworld book. This one is the third in the sub-series, aimed more nominally at kids, starring trainee witch Tiffany Aching and the Nac Mac Feegle. The plot this time has Tiffany accidentally getting entangled in the Dark Morris dance at the transition between summer and winter, having the elemental spirit of winter fall in love with her, With Dark Consequences, and having Tiffany and the Feegle have to sort the whole mess out.Reading a new Pratchett book after Gaiman's new collection is a refreshing breeze; where Gaiman labours over his repetitive theme, Pratchett still manages after all this time to write new Discworld books that return to familiar themes, but do so with an energy that keeps you reading. Pratchett writes the sort of jokes that you find yourself laughing at, and then groaning at yourself for having done so, but it's all fun.
    • 4/5
      Another highly enjoyable part of the Tiffany Aching tale. I liked this bok better then 'A hat full of sky', but I didn't think it was as good as 'Wee Free Men'. Perhaps because in 'Wee Free Men' the concept of the NacMac Feegles was completely and hilariously new to me and now the novelty and surprise have worn off a bit. (Not that they aren't funny, anymore. Crivens!)
    • 4/5
      Rough synopsis - Tiffany Aching, 'apprentice' witch, gets caught up in magic much larger than she is, which causes all kinds of interesting weather events to happen. I am reasonably enamoured of Pratchett's Tiffany Aching books (of which this is the 3rd), much more than I have been of many of Pratchett's Witches books. This may be because his world building and writing have matured over the many years that he has devoted to the Discworld, or because I find her more comprehensible than the other Witches, but more likely a little of both. I also find that seeing the other witches through the eyes of Tiffany is a much more sympathetic viewpoint than the more removed perspective that I remember from the early ones. This book brings back the theme of the vaguely anthropomorphised deity, and the intermingling of the every day and the godly, that I have been noticing in recent Pratchett works. I'm thinking, say, of Small Gods, although that is a more focused look on belief than this. I quite like Pratchett's take on faith in both of these books - I can understand the immediacy of belief, and use it to inform my understanding of historical perspectives on religion. This probably indicates a failure of imagination on my part, that I require fantasy to explain history, but sideways thinking has never been a skill that I have much faith in. As to my favourite four--characterisation, world-building, plot, writing--all of these get ticks for this book. The wide range of characters, from the young Tiffany, through the troublesome Rob Anybody of the Nac Mac Feegle, to the cantankerous but wily Granny Weatherwax, all capture the attention, with none of the major characters coming across as half realised. For all the existing world-building of the Discworld, I found this to be full of new details and ideas about what makes a world. The plot is well paced, grabbing my attention (and costing me sleep), and the writing, as ever, appears effortless. This was a pleasure to read
    • 4/5
      The turn of the seasons seems like a dance orchestrated by nature to be both seamless and purposeful, but what if someone cuts in when she isn’t supposed to? Wintersmith is the 35th book of Terry Pratchett’s Discworld series and the third in the subseries featuring witch-in-training Tiffany Aching. Unfortunately for Tiffany she finds out that when you succumb to the rhythm of the music, you find yourself in a Story and have to see it through.Tiffany has been training with 113-year old Miss Treason, who uses subtle “special effects” to impress people, when she is taken to witness the dark morris one night. The dance that welcomes the winter draws on Tiffany and she joins in, unfortunately she comes face to face with the Wintersmith—winter himself—and he falls in love with her believing she is the Summer Lady. The problem is as time progresses, Tiffany starts exhibiting traits of the Summer Lady while the Wintersmith believes to successfully woo her, he must become human. Unfortunately Miss Treason isn’t able to help Tiffany through things as she passes away and Tiffany goes to train with Nanny Ogg as well has help Annagramma figure out how to be an actual witch in taking over for Miss Treason. In the end, Tiffany realizes she has finish things with the Wintersmith with a kiss to finish the dance.Throughout last several books in the Discworld series, Pratchett has delved into various themes that touch upon real world issues except in the Aching books. Like the previous two books of Tiffany’s subseries, Wintersmith focuses on characters, world-building, and plotting. Although a tad older Tiffany’s continued development is seen throughout, Pratchett spends time growing the character of Annagramma while also enhancing the reputation of Granny Weatherwax. Even though this is the 34th book in the series, Pratchett is still able to world-build the Disc with elemental forces and psychological dispositions of people in various parts which are different and also the same. And finally the plotting which was well executed writing that began with a bang then suddenly took you to the quiet beginning of the story and progressing steady as you waited to find out how Tiffany was going to “end the story”.The Tiffany Aching subseries is Pratchett giving young adults an introduction to the Disc with is interwoven strains of fantasy and humor. Wintersmith is a fun, easy read that gives even adults a fresh look at their favorite series.
    • 4/5
      Granny Weatherwax is cool, calm and collected, and rather scary. Tiffany Aching is undoubtedly cool, quite calm and collected for a thirteen year old girl, and she's working on the scary thing. Boys beware!
    • 4/5
      Plot: Fast-paced and a good foundation for brilliant scenes. It's got the sideplots that could easily become a book on their own, it's got the twisting and turning into unexpected directions, it has an ending that comes after a proper build-up and delivers what it promises. Characters: Tiffany works well as a central character, and it's interesting to see her development from the first book. She manages to hold her ground in comparison to established characters, which is an achievement given that those characters are Granny Weatherwax and Nanny Ogg, who are up to standards. Side characters are lovingly sketched, and there is no truly boring character around. Style: Pratchett at his best. The quirky scenes, the one-liners, the footnotes, the running jokes, the sheer bizarreness of the whole situation. It's a book that works on several layers. Plus: The witches. Tiffany and Roland become a little older and can do more as characters. Occasional absolute insanity. Minus: The Feegles are at times hard to understand when you're not a native speaker. Summary: Solid Discworld novel, well done and highly enjoyable.
    • 4/5
      Tiffany Aching, 13 years old, witch of The Chalk and big wee hag for the Nac Mac Feegle, has interfered in the dance between the Wintersmith and the Summer Lady - and she must face the consequences. Granny Weatherwax and Nanny Ogg are there to keep an eye on things, but she must correct her own mistakes herself, however dangerous...Third Discworld book featuring Tiffany, and another very nice one indeed. As always, Pratchett manages to engage your mind and your emotions while taking you with him in his magical universe.
    • 4/5
      Tiffany Aching is sealed as one of my favourite Pratchett characters. This third book to feature her is all about facing the consequences of your actions, howver unintentional they might have been.

    Book preview

    Wintersmith - Terry Pratchett

    CONTENTS

    Introduction    A Feegle Glossary

    Chapter 1        The Big Snow

    Chapter 2        Miss Treason

    Chapter 3        The Secret of Boffo

    Chapter 4        Snowflakes

    Chapter 5        Miss Treason’s Big Day

    Chapter 6        Feet and Sprouts

    Chapter 7        On with the Dance

    Chapter 8        The Horn of Plenty

    Chapter 9        Green Shoots

    Chapter 10      Going Home

    Chapter 11      Even Turquoise

    Chapter 12      The Pike

    Chapter 13      The Crown of Ice

    Author’s Note

    Back Ads

    About the Author

    Books by Terry Pratchett

    Credits

    Copyright

    About the Publisher

    Introduction

    A Feegle Glossary,

    adjusted for those of a delicate disposition

    (A Work in Progress by Miss Perspicacia Tick)

    Bigjobs: Human beings.

    Big Man: Chief of the clan (usually the husband of the kelda).

    Blethers: Rubbish, nonsense.

    Boggin’: To be desperate, as in I’m boggin’ for a cup of tea.

    Bunty: A weak person.

    Cack yer kecks: Er, to put it delicately . . . to be very, very frightened. As it were.

    Carlin: Old woman.

    Cludgie: The privy.

    Crivens!: A general exclamation that can mean anything from My goodness! to I’ve just lost my temper and there is going to be trouble.

    Dree your/my/his/her weird: Face the fate that is in store for you/me/him/her.

    Een: Eyes.

    Eldritch: Weird, strange. Sometimes means oblong, too, for some reason.

    Fash: Worry, upset.

    Geas: A very important obligation, backed up by tradition and magic. Not a bird.

    Gonnagle: The bard of the clan, skilled in musical instruments, poems, stories, and songs.

    Hag: A witch of any age.

    Hag o’ hags: A very important witch.

    Hagging/Haggling: Anything a witch does.

    Hiddlins: Secrets.

    Kelda: The female head of the clan, and eventually the mother of most of it. Feegle babies are very small, and a kelda will have hundreds in her lifetime.

    Lang syne: Long ago.

    Last World: The Feegles believe that they are dead. This world is so nice, they argue, that they must have been really good in a past life and then died and ended up here. Appearing to die here means merely going back to the Last World, which they believe is rather dull.

    Mudlin: Useless person.

    Pished: I am assured that this means tired.

    Schemie: An unpleasant person.

    Scuggan: A really unpleasant person.

    Scunner: A generally unpleasant person.

    Ships: Woolly things that eat grass and go baa. Easily confused with the other kind.

    Spavie: See Mudlin.

    Special Sheep Liniment: Probably moonshine whisky, I am very sorry to say. No one knows what it’d do to sheep, but it is said that a drop of it is good for shepherds on a cold winter’s night and for Feegles at any time at all. Do not try to make this at home.

    Spog: A leather pouch, worn on the front of his belt, where a Feegle keeps his valuables and uneaten food, interesting insects, useful bits of twig, lucky dirt, and so on. It is not a good idea to fish around in a spog.

    Steamie: Found only in the big Feegle mounds in the mountains, where there’s enough water to allow regular bathing; it’s a kind of sauna. Feegles on the Chalk tend to rely on the fact that you can get only so much dirt on you before it starts to fall off of its own accord.

    Waily: A general cry of despair.

    CHAPTER 1

    The Big Snow

    When the storm came, it hit the hills like a hammer. No sky should hold as much snow as this, and because no sky could, the snow fell, fell in a wall of white.

    There was a small hill of snow where there had been, a few hours ago, a little cluster of thorn trees on an ancient mound. This time last year there had been a few early primroses; now there was just snow.

    Part of the snow moved. A piece about the size of an apple rose up, with smoke pouring out around it. A hand no larger than a rabbit’s paw waved the smoke away.

    A very small but very angry blue face, with the lump of snow still balanced on top of it, looked out at the sudden white wilderness.

    Ach, crivens! it grumbled. Will ye no’ look at this? ’Tis the work o’ the Wintersmith! Noo there’s a scunner that willna tak’ ‘no’ fra’ an answer!

    Other lumps of snow were pushed up. More heads peered out.

    Oh waily, waily, waily! said one of them. He’s found the big wee hag again!

    The first head turned toward this head, and said, Daft Wullie?

    Yes, Rob?

    Did I no’ tell ye to lay off that waily business?

    Aye, Rob, ye did that, said the head addressed as Daft Wullie.

    So why did ye just do it?

    Sorry, Rob. It kinda bursted oot.

    It’s so dispiritin’.

    Sorry, Rob.

    Rob Anybody sighed. But I fear ye’re right, Wullie. He’s come for the big wee hag, right enough. Who’s watchin’ over her doon at the farm?

    Wee Dangerous Spike, Rob.

    Rob looked up at clouds so full of snow that they sagged in the middle.

    Okay, he said, and sighed again. It’s time fra’ the Hero.

    He ducked out of sight, the plug of snow dropping neatly back into place, and slid down into the heart of the Feegle mound.

    It was quite big inside. A human could just about stand up in the middle, but would then bend double with coughing because the middle was where there was a hole to let smoke out.

    All around the inner wall were tiers of galleries, and every one of them was packed with Feegles. Usually the place was awash with noise, but now it was frighteningly quiet.

    Rob Anybody walked across the floor to the fire, where his wife, Jeannie, was waiting. She stood straight and proud, like a kelda should, but close up it seemed to him that she had been crying. He put his arm around her.

    All right, ye probably ken what’s happenin’, he told the blue-and-red audience looking down on him. This is nae common storm. The Wintersmith has found the big wee hag—noo then, settle doon!

    He waited until the shouting and sword rattling had died down, then went on: We canna fight the Wintersmith for her! That’s her road! We canna walk it for her! But the hag o’ hags has set us on another path! It’s a dark one, and dangerous!

    A cheer went up. Feegles liked the idea of this, at least.

    Right! said Rob, satisfied. Ah’m awa’ tae fetch the Hero!

    There was a lot of laughter at this, and Big Yan, the tallest of the Feegles, shouted, It’s tae soon. We’ve only had time tae gie him a couple o’ heroing lessons! He’s still nae more than a big streak o’ nothin’!

    He’ll be a Hero for the big wee hag and that’s an end o’ it, said Rob sharply. Noo, off ye go, the whole boilin’ o’ ye! Tae the chalk pit! Dig me a path tae the Underworld!

    It had to be the Wintersmith, Tiffany Aching told herself, standing in front of her father in the freezing farmhouse. She could feel it out there. This wasn’t normal weather even for midwinter, and this was springtime. It was a challenge. Or perhaps it was just a game. It was hard to tell, with the Wintersmith.

    Only it can’t be a game because the lambs are dying. I’m only just thirteen, and my father, and a lot of other people older than me, want me to do something. And I can’t. The Wintersmith has found me again. He is here now, and I’m too weak.

    It would be easier if they were bullying me, but no, they’re begging. My father’s face is gray with worry and he’s begging. My father is begging me.

    Oh no, he’s taking his hat off. He’s taking off his hat to speak to me!

    They think magic comes free when I snap my fingers. But if I can’t do this for them, now, what good am I? I can’t let them see I’m afraid. Witches aren’t allowed to be afraid.

    And this is my fault. I: I started all this. I must finish it.

    Mr. Aching cleared his throat.

    . . . And, er, if you could . . . er, magic it away, uh, or something? For us . . . ?

    Everything in the room was gray, because the light from the windows was coming through snow. No one had wasted time digging the horrible stuff away from the houses. Every person who could hold a shovel was needed elsewhere, and still there were not enough of them. As it was, most people had been up all night, walking the flocks of yearlings, trying to keep the new lambs safe . . . in the dark, in the snow. . . .

    Her snow. It was a message to her. A challenge. A summons.

    All right, she said. I’ll see what I can do.

    Good girl, said her father, grinning with relief. No, not a good girl, thought Tiffany. I brought this on us.

    You’ll have to make a big fire, up by the sheds, she said aloud. "I mean a big fire, do you understand? Make it out of anything that will burn, and you must keep it going. It’ll keep trying to go out, but you must keep it going. Keep piling on the fuel, whatever happens. The fire must not go out!"

    She made sure that the not! was loud and frightening. She didn’t want people’s minds to wander. She put on the heavy brown woolen cloak that Miss Treason had made for her and grabbed the black pointy hat that hung on the back of the farmhouse door. There was a sort of communal grunt from the people who’d crowded into the kitchen, and some of them backed away. We want a witch now, we need a witch now, but—we’ll back away now, too.

    That was the magic of the pointy hat. It was what Miss Treason called Boffo.

    Tiffany Aching stepped out into the narrow corridor that had been cut through the snow-filled farmyard where the drifts were more than twice the height of a man. At least the deep snow kept off the worst of the wind, which was made of knives.

    A track had been cleared all the way to the paddock, but it had been heavy going. When there are fifteen feet of snow everywhere, how can you clear it? Where can you clear it to?

    She waited by the cart sheds while the men hacked and scraped at the snowbanks. They were tired to the bone by now; they’d been digging for hours.

    The important thing was—

    But there were lots of important things. It was important to look calm and confident, it was important to keep your mind clear, it was important not to show how pants-wettingly scared you were. . . .

    She held out a hand, caught a snowflake, and took a good look at it. It wasn’t one of the normal ones, oh no. It was one of his special snowflakes. That was nasty. He was taunting her. Now she could hate him. She’d never hated him before. But he was killing the lambs.

    She shivered and pulled the cloak around her.

    This I choose to do, she croaked, her breath leaving little clouds in the air. She cleared her throat and started again. This I choose to do. If there is a price, this I choose to pay. If it is my death, then I choose to die. Where this takes me, there I choose to go. I choose. This I choose to do.

    It wasn’t a spell, except in her own head, but if you couldn’t make spells work in your own head, you couldn’t make them work at all.

    Tiffany wrapped her cloak around her against the clawing wind and watched dully as the men brought straw and wood. The fire started slowly, as if frightened to show enthusiasm.

    She’d done this before, hadn’t she? Dozens of times. The trick was not that hard when you got the feel of it, but she’d done it with time to get her mind right, and anyway, she’d never done it with anything more than a kitchen fire to warm her freezing feet. In theory it should be just as easy with a big fire and a field of snow, right?

    Right?

    The fire began to roar up. Her father put his hand on her shoulder. Tiffany jumped. She’d forgotten how quietly he could move.

    What was that about choosing? he said. She’d forgotten what good hearing he had, too.

    It’s a . . . witch thing, she answered, trying not to look at his face. So that if this . . . doesn’t work, it’s no one’s fault but mine. And this is my fault, she added to herself. It’s unfair, but no one said it wasn’t going to be.

    Her father’s hand caught her chin and gently turned her head around. How soft his hands are, Tiffany thought. Big man’s hands but soft as a baby’s, because of the grease on the sheep’s fleeces.

    We shouldn’t have asked you, should we . . . ? he said.

    Yes, you should have asked me, Tiffany thought. The lambs are dying under the dreadful snow. And I should have said no, I should have said I’m not that good yet. But the lambs are dying under the dreadful snow!

    There will be other lambs, said her Second Thoughts.

    But these aren’t those lambs, are they? These are the lambs that are dying, here and now. And they’re dying because I listened to my feet and dared to dance with the Wintersmith.

    I can do it, she said.

    Her father held her chin and stared into her eyes.

    Are you sure, jiggit? he asked. It was the nickname her grandmother had had for her— Granny Aching, who never lost a lamb to the dreadful snow. He’d never used it before. Why had it risen up in his mind now?

    Yes! She pushed his hand away, and broke his gaze before she could burst into tears.

    I . . . haven’t told your mother this yet, said her father very slowly, as if the words required enormous care, but I can’t find your brother. I think he was trying to help. Abe Swindell said he saw him with his little shovel. Er . . . I’m sure he’s all right, but . . . keep an eye open for him, will you? He’s got his red coat on.

    His face, with no expression at all, was heartbreaking to see. Little Wentworth, nearly seven years old, always running after the men, always wanting to be one of them, always trying to help . . . how easily a small body could get overlooked. . . . The snow was still coming fast. The horribly wrong snowflakes were white on her father’s shoulders. It’s these little things you remember when the bottom falls out of the world, and you’re falling—

    That wasn’t just unfair; that was . . . cruel.

    Remember the hat you wear! Remember the job that is in front of you! Balance! Balance is the thing. Hold balance in the center, hold the balance. . . .

    Tiffany extended her numb hands to the fire, to draw out the warmth.

    Remember, don’t let the fire go out, she said.

    I’ve got men bringing up wood from all over, said her father. I told ’em to bring all the coal from the forge, too. It won’t run out of feeding, I promise you!

    The flame danced and curved toward Tiffany’s hands. The trick was, the trick, the trick . . . was to fold the heat somewhere close, draw it with you and . . . balance. Forget everything else!

    I’ll come with— her father began.

    No! Watch the fire! Tiffany shouted, too loud, frantic with fear. You will do what I say!

    I am not your daughter today! her mind screamed. I am your witch! I will protect you!

    She turned before he could see her face and ran through the flakes, along the track that had been cut toward the lower paddocks. The snow had been trodden down into a lumpy, hummocky path, made slippery with fresh snow. Exhausted men with shovels pressed themselves into the snowbanks on either side rather than get in her way.

    She reached the wider area where other shepherds were digging into the wall of snow. It tumbled in lumps around them.

    Stop! Get back! her voice shouted, while her mind wept.

    The men obeyed quickly. The mouth that had given that order had a pointy hat above it. You didn’t argue with that.

    Remember the heat, the heat, remember the heat, balance, balance. . . .

    This was witching cut to the bone. No toys, no wands, no Boffo, no headology, no tricks. All that mattered was how good you were.

    But sometimes you had to trick yourself. She wasn’t the Summer Lady and she wasn’t Granny Weatherwax. She needed to give herself all the help she could.

    She pulled the little silver horse out of her pocket. It was greasy and stained, and she’d meant to clean it, but there had been no time, no time. . . .

    Like a knight putting on his helmet, she fastened the silver chain around her neck.

    She should have practiced more. She should have listened to people. She should have listened to herself.

    She took a deep breath and held out her hands on either side of her, palms up. On her right hand a white scar glowed.

    Thunder on my right hand, she said. Lightning in my left hand. Fire behind me. Frost in front of me.

    She stepped forward until she was only a few inches away from the snowbank. She could feel its coldness already pulling the heat out of her. Well, so be it. She took a few deep breaths. This I choose to do. . . .

    Frost to fire, she whispered.

    In the yard, the fire went white and roared like a furnace.

    The snow wall spluttered and then exploded into steam, sending chunks of snow into the air. Tiffany walked forward slowly. Snow pulled back from her hands like mist at sunrise. It melted in the heat of her, becoming a tunnel in the deep drift, fleeing from her, writhing around her in clouds of cold fog.

    Yes! She smiled desperately. It was true. If you had the perfect center, if you got your mind right, you could balance. In the middle of the seesaw is a place that never moves. . . .

    Her boots squelched over warm water. There was fresh green grass under the snow, because the awful storm had been so late in the year. She walked on, heading to where the lambing pens were buried.

    Her father stared at the fire. It was burning white-hot, like a furnace, eating through the wood as if driven by a gale. It was collapsing into ashes in front of his eyes. . . .

    Water was pouring around Tiffany’s boots now.

    Yes! But don’t think about it! Hold the balance! More heat! Frost to fire!

    There was a bleat.

    Sheep could live under the snow, at least for a while. But as Granny Aching used to say, when the gods made sheep, they must’ve left their brains in their other coat. In a panic, and sheep were always just an inch from panicking, they’d trample their own lambs.

    Now ewes and lambs appeared, steaming and bewildered as the snow melted around them, as if they were sculptures left behind.

    Tiffany moved on, staring straight ahead of her, only just aware of the excited cries of the men behind her. They were following her, pulling the ewes free, cradling the lambs. . . .

    Her father yelled at the other men. Some of them were hacking at a farm cart, throwing the wood down into the white-hot flames. Others were dragging furniture up from the house. Wheels, tables, straw bales, chairs—the fire took everything, gulped it down, and roared for more. And there wasn’t any more.

    No red coat. No red coat! Balance, balance. Tiffany waded on, water and sheep pouring past her. The tunnel ceiling fell in a splashing and slithering of slush. She ignored it. Fresh snowflakes fell down through the hole and boiled in the air above her head. She ignored that, too. And then, ahead of her . . . a glimpse of red.

    Frost to fire! The snow fled, and there he was. She picked him up, held him close, sent some of her heat into him, felt him stir, whispered: It weighed at least forty pounds! At least forty pounds!

    Wentworth coughed and opened his eyes. Tears falling like melting snow, she ran over to a shepherd and thrust the boy into his arms.

    "Take him to his mother! Do it now!" The man grabbed the boy and ran, frightened of her fierceness. Today she was their witch!

    Tiffany turned back. There were more lambs to be saved.

    Her father’s coat landed on the starving flames, glowed for a moment, then fell into gray ashes. The other men were ready; they grabbed the man as he went to jump after it and pulled him back, kicking and shouting.

    The flint cobbles had melted like butter. They spluttered for a moment, then froze.

    The fire went out.

    Tiffany Aching looked up, into the eyes of the Wintersmith.

    And up on the roof of the cart shed, the small voice belonging to Wee Dangerous Spike said, Ach, crivens!

    All this hasn’t happened yet. It might not happen at all. The future is always a bit wobbly. Any little thing, like the fall of a snowflake or the dropping of the wrong kind of spoon, can send it spinning off along a new path. Or perhaps not.

    Where it all began was last autumn, on the day with a cat in it. . . .

    CHAPTER 2

    Miss Treason

    This is Tiffany Aching, riding a broomstick through the mountain forests a hundred miles away. It’s a very old broomstick, and she’s flying it just above the ground; it’s got two smaller broomsticks stuck on the back like training wheels, to stop it from tipping over. It belongs, appropriately, to a very old witch called Miss Treason, who’s even worse at flying than Tiffany and is 113 years old.

    Tiffany is slightly more than one hundred years younger than that, taller than she was even a month ago, and not as certain of anything at all as she was a year ago.

    She is training to be a witch. Witches usually wear black, but as far as she could tell, the only reason that witches wore black was that they’d always worn black. This did not seem a good enough reason, so she tended to wear blue or green. She didn’t laugh with scorn at finery because she’d never seen any.

    You couldn’t escape the pointy hat, though. There was nothing magical about a pointy hat except that it said that the woman underneath it was a witch. People paid attention to a pointy hat.

    Even so, it was hard to be a witch in the village where you’d grown up. It was hard to be a witch to people who knew you as Joe Aching’s girl and had seen you running around with only your undershirt on when you were two years old.

    Going away had helped. Most people Tiffany knew hadn’t been more than ten miles away from the spot where they were born, so if you’d gone to mysterious foreign parts, that made you a bit mysterious, too. You came back slightly different. A witch needed to be different.

    Witching was turning out to be mostly hard work and really short on magic of the zap!-glingle-glingle-glingle variety. There was no school and nothing that was exactly like a lesson. But it wasn’t wise to try to learn witching all by yourself, especially if you had a natural talent. If you got it wrong, you could go from ignorant to cackling in a week. . . .

    When you got right down to it, it was all about cackling. No one ever talked about this, though. Witches said things like You can never be too old, too skinny, or too warty, but they never mentioned the cackling. Not properly. They watched out for it, though, all the time.

    It was all too easy to become a cackler. Most witches lived by themselves (cat optional) and might go for weeks without ever seeing another witch. In those times when people hated witches, they were often accused of talking to their cats. Of course they talked to their cats. After three weeks without an intelligent conversation that wasn’t about cows, you’d talk to the wall. And that was an early sign of cackling.

    Cackling, to a witch, didn’t just mean nasty laughter. It meant your mind drifting away from its anchor. It meant you losing your grip. It meant loneliness and hard work and responsibility and other people’s problems driving you crazy a little bit at a time, each bit so small that you’d hardly notice it, until you thought that it was normal to stop washing and wear a kettle on your head. It meant you thinking that the fact you knew more than anyone else in your village made you better than them. It meant thinking that right and wrong were negotiable. And, in the end, it meant you going to the dark, as the witches said. That was a bad road. At the end of that road were poisoned spinning wheels and gingerbread cottages.

    What stopped this was the habit of visiting. Witches visited other witches all the time, sometimes traveling quite a long way for a cup of tea and a bun. Partly this was for gossip, of course, because witches love gossip, especially if it’s more exciting than truthful. But mostly it was to keep an eye on one another.

    Today Tiffany was visiting Granny Weatherwax, who was in the opinion of most witches (including Granny herself) the most powerful witch in the mountains. It was all very polite. No one said, Not gone bats, then? or Certainly not! I’m as sharp as a spoon! They didn’t need to. They understood what it was all about, so they talked of other things. But when she was in a mood, Granny Weatherwax could be hard work.

    She sat silently in her rocking chair. Some people are good at talking, but Granny Weatherwax was good at silence. She could sit so quiet and still that she faded. You forgot she was there. The room became empty.

    It upset people. It was probably meant to. But Tiffany had learned silence too, from Granny Aching, her real grandmother. Now she was learning that

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