“No, I didn't,” said Granny.
“But anyone could have done that,” said Magenta. ' “Yes, but that's not the point,” said Granny. “The point is that you didn't.” She smiled, which was unusual for her. “Look, I don't want to be nasty to you. You're young. The world's full of things you could be doing. You don't want to be witches. Not if you knew what it means. Now just go away. Go home. Don't try the paranormal until you know what's normal. Go on. Run along.”
“But that's just trickery! That's what Diamanda said! You just use words and trickery-” Magenta protested.
Granny raised a hand.
In the trees, the birds stopped singing.
“Gytha?”
Nanny Ogg gripped her own hat brim defensively.
“Esme, listen, this hat cost me two whole dollars-”
The boom echoed through the woods.
Bits of hat lining zigzagged gently out of the sky.
Granny pointed her finger at the girls, who tried to lean out of the way.
“Now,” she said, “why don't you go and see to your friend? She was beat. She probably ain't very happy. That's no time to go leaving people.”
They still stared at her. Her finger seemed to fascinate them.
“I just asked you to go home. Perfectly reasonable voice. Do you want me to shout?”
They turned and ran.
Nanny Ogg glumly pushed her hand through the stricken hat brim.
“It took me ages to get that pig cure together,” she mumbled. “You need eight types of leaves. Willow leaves, tansy leaves, Old Man's Trousers leaves . . . I was collecting 'em all day. It's not as though leaves grow on trees-”
Granny Weatherwax watched the disappearing girls.
Nanny Ogg paused. Then she said: “Takes you back, eh? I remember when I was fifteen, standing in front of old Biddy Spective, and she said in that voice of hers, 'You want to be a what and I was that frightened I near widd-”
“I never stood in front of no one,” said Granny Weatherwax distantly. “I camped on old Nanny Gripes' garden until she promised to tell me everything she knew. Hah. That took her a week and I had the afternoons free.”
“You mean you weren't Chosen?”
“Me? No. I chose,” said Granny. The face she turned to Nanny Ogg was one she wouldn't forget in a hurry, although she might try. “I chose, Gytha Ogg. And I want that you should know this right now. Whatever happens. I ain't never regretted anything. Never regretted one single thing. Right?”
“If you say so, Esme.”
What is magic?
There is the wizards' explanation, which comes in two forms, depending on the age of the wizard. Older wizards talk about candles, circles, planets, stars, bananas, chants, runes, and the importance of having at least four good meals every day. Younger wizards, particularly the pale ones who spend most of their time in the High Energy Magic building,[18] chatter at length about fluxes in the morphic nature of the universe, the essentially impermanent quality of even the most apparently rigid time-space framework, the implausibility of reality, and so on: what this means is that they have got hold of something hot and are gabbling the physics as they go along . . .
It was almost midnight. Diamanda ran up the hill toward the Dancers, the briars and heather tearing at her dress. The humiliation banged back and forth in her skull. Stupid malicious old women! And stupid people, too! She'd won. According to the rules, she'd won! But everyone had laughed at her.
That stung. The recollection of those stupid faces, all grinning. And everyone supporting those horrible old women, who had no idea about the meaning of witchcraft and what it could become.
She'd show them.
Ahead of her, the Dancers were dark against the moonlit clouds.
Nanny Ogg looked under her bed in case there was a man there. Well, you never knew your luck.