Free Harvest by William Horwood

teeth bared and nostrils flared, to take a stance in front of Stort, the others a foot or two behind.
    He dropped his head, his tail stiff and straight, his growl turned deep as if it now came from the Earth Herself. He lowered his whole body and began to advance towards the great thing that
threatened them. With each slow, deliberate forward step he took, the Scythe squirmed and retreated, thinning in the sky, the ice-blue fading towards white. They felt their limbs relax, their panic
going.
    Georg advanced further still and they saw that the Scythe, though less than it had been, seemed now to be swirling as a mist to something more, like some creature that has suffered a brief
setback in a fight and is gathering its strength to strike again.
    ‘Georg!’ rasped Stort, his voice returning.
    But the dog did not turn back. He growled more, his pace increased as if going for the kill, he began to run into the line of the Scythe’s terrible curve.
    ‘
Georg!
’ they cried as one. ‘Come back!’
    The hissing turned to a sucking, sighing sound, the Scythe retreated far into the night sky until it was barely visible at all and then it roared its rage. It swung suddenly back towards the
Earth, its colour turning to that of blood, its size now spreading right across the dreadful sky. Its hiss was a sound so vile they raised their hands to block their ears.
    They saw Georg stop and go back on his haunches.
    He seemed to stare at the great thing coming down towards him and around him, and to think, his head to one side. He seemed to see something that puzzled him. He looked back at Stort, his eyes
all hazel and russet and filled with love.
    Then he turned back and stood up to face the blade of light, puny and helpless before its size and speed, and he barked a savage bark, and he growled, and as he did the blade cut through
him.
    Hish
. . . it went right through his flesh and
hish
. . . and
hish
. . . again and again.
    Georg’s body slivered to a thousand shards of exquisite light, which held his shape for a brief moment before they whirled away in different directions, like a pack of cards scattered by a
gale-force wind. In among the gnarled trees of the ancient hill, cutting as they went, a hundred thousand shining facets of what he had been passed before their eyes and out of sight.
    His last growl was a slice as well, melding into the Scythe sound, distorting it to something that was more gentle for a moment: his final offering, making the Scythe pull back for a few moments
to give them time to flee once more.
    They started running towards the nascent light of day, fighting, struggling through the thick, black trees. Running for their lives again.
    Still there was forest where none should have been, for they were atop the hill, the ground falling away on either side on a stretch they had seen when they first arrived, which before was
devoid of any vegetation but close-cropped sward. Then at last a shaft of light on the eastern horizon and they saw dawn begin to rise. Suddenly Stort stopped.
    ‘What are you doing? Come
on
!’ cried Jack.
    ‘What I am doing is forgetting that I am a scientist, or at least an inquirer!’ he shouted in Jack’s ear. ‘At the end of this you’ll ask me again what it was and
unless I put myself to the test I’ll never be able to do more than offer you theories. We may never have this chance again.’
    ‘For Mirror’s sake, Stort!’ cried Jack and Katherine, running back to his side. It was for this kind of courage of his they loved and admired him, shown so often before,
demonstrated again now. They stood and faced as one whatever it was that manifested behind them.
    They saw the dim forms of old bent and broken trees, the branches and twigs that had grabbed at them as they ran, though now bent upwards in pleading supplication, as if the trees were bent and
distorted mortal forms, begging not to be cut down.
    Then they saw it again and with it the vast form that wielded it.