The Golden Yarn

by Cornelia Funke

  Shoot! the wind whispered. It brought a smell. A hospital corridor. A quiet room. Clara’s motionless body on the bed. Like the princess in the tower. Dead because her prince had never come.

  Shoot!

  But he heard the Fairy inside his head.

  “What did they promise you?”

  He didn’t know she could sound so weak. So vulnerable. The moths swarmed from her hair and clothes. Even the coachman in the fairy-tale clothes grew wings, and Seventeen disappeared under the fluttering mass, his scream frozen into bark. Sixteen’s stiffening arms were raised in self-defense. The sight silvered his mind, but his heart was jade, the jade the Fairy had given him.

  Don’t look at her, Will.

  He cocked the crossbow.

  “No!” The Bastard sounded as if his tongue was silver, too. “Let her go!”

  The moths let go of Seventeen and swarmed toward Will. Like black, winged smoke.

  As in Her Dreams

  He hesitated. Just like she’d seen in her dreams again and again. But even Fairy dreams didn’t always come true. Was that why she hadn’t hidden from him? No. Why lie to herself? She’d been too preoccupied with her own lovesickness.

  The sickness was gone, as was the love.

  The Mirrorlings who’d been shadowing the hunter had been born from her sisters’ foolishness. So much rage. Payback for an ancient debt. More ancient than herself.

  And she was so tired.

  It was all she could feel. Tiredness.

  Her hunter was still hesitating. No, that’s not what she wanted to call him. His destiny was to protect her. That’s why she’d sown the stone in him. But the crossbow had its own will. He’d just had to bring it here.

  So much rage. So much ancient rage.

  The stag wanted to jump in front of the bolt. He struggled desperately against the green shackles that protected him. They were all so keen to die for her. But why? The bolt would find her. Her sisters had been right. And still, she would’ve taken the same path again. Because it was her path.

  The jade returned as soon as her moths attacked him. Her own magic shielded her assassin. All for Kami’en. Even that thought no longer hurt. The Golden Yarn was in her hand when the bolt struck.

  So much darkness, so much light.

  Was that what they called death?

  The Golden Yarn slipped from her fingers as she surrendered to the element that had borne her. It was just a little trickle, but it willingly received her last spark of life.

  Her sisters would perish, and it would be her fault. Again. That was the last of the Dark Fairy’s thoughts before they dissolved and became as clear as nobody would ever allow them to be. And the rest of her died.

  Gone

  Yes. This was the convent Kami’en had described to the draftsman. It was the river he’d seen, and the nun who opened the gate wore a black habit. Her face showed the usual disgust as she took in his men. Her hatred baseless. When the Bavarian officer, who’d been sent along as their watchdog, asked her about the infant, her hatred turned to fear. Idiot. Was he trying to give them time to hide his son? Probably.

  If they hadn’t taken him away already.

  Kami’en was no longer sure whether it had been wise to come himself. Two attacks on his train, farmers spitting at his sight, women crossing themselves, children staring at him as though they’d seen the Devil. Who was to say whether their fear of him and his armies brought more danger than protection to his son? Hentzau had been right: the Bavarians made no secret of their harking back to a time when all Goyl were simply killed on sight. Now he could only hope Hentzau hadn’t also been right about the trap. And that the child was still alive.

  The nun spoke in a dialect Kami’en couldn’t understand. He ordered the Bavarian officer to translate. The man’s grasp of the Goyl language was quite good, but when he repeated to Kami’en what the nun had said, his soft human lips suddenly seemed to move without making a sound. All Kami’en could hear was his own heartbeat, loud, as though he was suddenly alone in a vast, empty hall.

  She was gone.

  The officer was still talking.

  Kami’en turned his horse around.

  His own men stared at him. The Bavarian officer wanted to stop him. One of his bodyguards reached for his reins. Kami’en shoved him aside, and he spurred his horse. He drove it beneath the trees behind the convent, ignoring the cries behind him. He’d always been a good horseman.

  When he finally stopped, he no longer knew where he was.

  Enemy territory. So what? For a Goyl, all territory was enemy territory.

  She was gone.

  And his heart was beating too loud and too fast.

  Into nothingness.

  The Executioner

  The Dark One fell without a sound. Like a leaf. Nerron struggled to his feet. What had he expected? That she would die like a human? He looked speckled, like a bug, and his body ached as though those damn Mirrorlings had put him on a spit and roasted him. But the Bastard lived—though Sixteen had tried very hard to turn him into a hunk of precious metal.

  Let that be a warning to your Elf masters! he thought as he scraped the silver off his face with his claws. They’d best remember not to mess with the Goyl when they return.

  The stag was still trying to free himself from the Fairy’s vines. It had really seemed like she didn’t want to be saved. Hell, that stag was a monster. Nerron had never seen a bigger one, but the Pup walked past the snorting beast as though it weren’t even there. He only had eyes for the still body lying next to the carriage. A lost boy was all he now was. Oh, but no, Nerron. He now has a brand-new title: the Fairy Slayer.

  The moths were hovering aimlessly above her body, like drones who’d just lost their queen. They didn’t attack the Pup, except for one who kept fluttering at his face. Will didn’t even swat at it. Nerron went to his side. The Dark One’s eyes were open. What happened when death claimed what was immortal?

  The Pup was still holding the weapon that had ended her.

  In his snail-skinned hand.

  Nerron could’ve killed him. Why didn’t he? The Pup no longer had bodyguards.

  Seventeen was completely frozen. His startled bark-face was a welcome sight. Some of the leaves growing out of his arms were silver and glass.

  Sixteen was still stirring. Will turned to her as she whispered his name. The Pup looked almost as startled as her wooden brother. He dropped the crossbow like a broken toy and stumbled toward what had been a girl.

  Sixteen was on her knees, but in contrast to her brother, she still had her shape. She could even move one arm; all else had turned to wood. Will touched her face. She was trying hard to make it look at least a little human, but her skin was reflecting the gathering night. The Pup kissed her anyway. So touching. Smitten with a glass girl.

  He didn’t even notice when Nerron picked up the crossbow.

  There. Won. Lost. Won. Lost. Won.

  This wasn’t quite the ending he’d hoped for, but that didn’t make it a bad one. Except for the Fairy. The stag had almost freed himself. Careful, Nerron. Skewered by a stag with the crossbow in his hand? Well, why not try it on an animal for a change? Would all deer die with him? Whatever. The Bastard wouldn’t miss them. The bolt slid out of the Fairy’s chest as though out of water.

  Hurry, Bastard.

  The stag reared up and tore through the last vines.

  What antlers! The beast lowered its head, but it ignored the crossbow as well the Goyl who was aiming it at him. Surprise! He was going for the Pup!

  Good. And why not? Let the stag take care of the Pup. Nerron liked it when others did the killing for him, and the stag would probably not object if Nerron claimed the head and sent it to Jacob Reckless.

  Milk-face was still kneeling next to what had been a girl of silver and glass.

  He didn’t even look around!

  Nerron cursed as he lifted the crossbow.

  He cocked the glass string, though his fingers ached as if he’d
bathed them in acid.

  Damn, damn, damn.

  The Bastard, who was so proud of thinking only of himself, was now playing the savior. And this time he didn’t even have an excuse.

  The stag still wasn’t paying any attention to him. Maybe it was the crossbow. Magic weapons often made their victims blind to the danger they posed. Nerron caught him in midair. The bolt hit his unprotected side. The stag stumbled toward the Pup—he really didn’t give up easily—and then he collapsed, with a groan that sounded almost human.

  An onyx wouldn’t have left the antlers behind, but the Bastard was no friend of hunting trophies. The crossbow was lighter in his hand than he remembered. The last time he’d shot it was at Jacob Reckless. Much more satisfying. He found the swindlesack on the ground and pulled it over the weapon. Which leaves us with what’s next, Nerron.

  The Pup was actually scraping the bark off Sixteen’s body. He did it carefully, as though he were uncovering treasure. The jade boy and the glass girl. Well, if that didn’t sound like a fairy tale. Time to give it a bad ending.

  Yes. Who was to say he hadn’t had a good reason to save him from the stag? Why leave his final revenge to some big buck, the revenge he’d traveled so far to get? Nerron didn’t even want to know whether he was seeking payback for the humiliation he’d suffered at the hands of Jacob Reckless or for how the Jade Goyl had betrayed his maker.

  But he did. He knew the answer.

  Damn, he just had to look at the Pup to feel sick with disappointment. He wanted to make gloves from his pink baby skin, light a fire with his bodyguards and spit-roast the Pup over it. The Jade Goyl was now again nothing but a snail face. And that made the whole damn world seem as empty as the eyes of the Fairy, as dead as the stag. There should be a law against telling fairy tales to children, and anyone who broke it should have their tongue cut out.

  He stepped behind the Pup and drew his pistol.

  “Forget her!” he said, aiming at the pale dunce’s head. “We’re leaving. Why do you think she made eyes at you? She knew what would happen when she got too close to the Fairy. Why else do you think they needed you? I wonder what they have in common with their Elf fathers? Quite a lot, apparently.”

  There was something in the way the Pup turned.

  Stop dreaming, Nerron.

  “We can’t just leave her here. She’s still alive.”

  “Alive? I’m not sure that’s what she ever was. Did you see her eyes? Maybe we should cut them open. Maybe then you’ll believe me.”

  Yes. Oh, there it came. Pale green, like the old ponds in the royal fortress. Nothing more beautiful beneath the earth. Not beneath, and not above. The joy that flooded Nerron was as strong as when he’d last felt it as a child.

  Once upon a time. No, now upon a time.

  The Pup was one of them. Still. And forever. The rage in his eyes was Goyl in golden letters. Thank the Fairy!

  “Shall I guess what you’re thinking?” Nerron trained his pistol at the jade-green brow. “That you killed the Dark One for nothing, right? Fool! As though this was ever about you. Is that what they told you? I’m sure you handed your glassy girlfriend’s master exactly what he needed. You could say the same about me. All’s well that end’s well. So will you get on that horse, or will I have to demonstrate how Goyl bullets can penetrate even jade skin?”

  Sixteen groaned as she struggled to her feet. The pain made her draw blood as she bit her lips and straightened her back.

  The Pup took her arm.

  “I will find him,” he panted. Oh yes, this was pure Goyl rage. “He deceived me. Me and her.”

  “He?” Stop it, Nerron. You don’t want to know.

  “Yes. He. Whatever he is. Wherever he is. I will find him.”

  “The only one we have to find is Kami’en.” Nerron cocked the pistol. “I won’t say it twice. Get on that horse.”

  The Pup didn’t move.

  The Pup was the Jade Goyl—the Fairy Slayer. “I’ll show you the mirror if you let me go. You still want to see it, don’t you? Come with me.”

  Oh no. No, Nerron! He had the crossbow. He had the Jade Goyl. It was never good to want too much. And Seventeen’s warning had been quite clear.

  Sixteen stood there looking at the Pup. Nerron couldn’t figure out what he saw in her wounded face. She looked…guilty? Yes.

  “Do not look for him! Please.” She sounded as though the bark was in her throat as well.

  “Why? I’m not afraid of him.”

  “You should be.”

  She tried to flex her stiff arm, groaning with pain. The Pup attempted to help her, but she pushed him away. With her wooden hand. The one that couldn’t harm him.

  “Go with the stoneface. Why do you want to find him? You can’t wake your love. Not as long as Spieler doesn’t want you to.”

  The Pup stared at her as though she’d just changed into a viper.

  “What do you know about Clara?”

  “Don’t be stupid.” Sixteen flexed her wooden fingers. “The Fairies can’t even see the mirrors. The thorn magic was never theirs.”

  The Pup grabbed her arm, but she flinched like a wounded animal. She was still dangerous. But the pistol was no help. Could he set her on fire? Sixteen looked at Nerron as though she’d heard him. She ripped the bark off her fingers with her teeth.

  “It was all Spieler’s plan. He’s smart. So much smarter than the others.”

  The Pup looked at the dead Fairy.

  That didn’t feel nice, did it? Used like a tool, pushed like a pawn across the gameboard, not knowing for whom or what. Nerron knew the feeling. His own brother had been the last one to make him feel that way.

  “Spieler.” The Pup repeated it, giving a name to all the rage, the shame, the helpless pain Nerron could see on his face.

  Put that pistol away, Nerron.

  Who was he trying to fool? The Pup would never come with him, so what good would it do to shoot him? And it might not be so easy.

  “Good,” he said. “I’ll come with you. Through the mirror. But I don’t want anything to do with that... What’s his name? Spieler? That’s your war.”

  Sixteen smiled. It was a smile full of scorn—and pain.

  “And how are you going to avoid meeting him, stoneskin? That mirror? It is his.”

  She looked at her hands. A couple of fingers were still glass.

  “But there are others,” she said.

  “Other what?” Oh no, Nerron did not trust her.

  And the Pup didn’t anymore, either. Even his jade face was easy to read.

  “Other Alderelves.”

  Great! There were more than one left. He should have seen that coming.

  “They all have mirrors,” Sixteen added. “Spieler can’t see those.”

  The Pup was still looking at the Fairy. “And? I only know the one in Schwanstein.”

  Sixteen tried to smile. Not easy when you had hardly any face left. “I can find them. We’re made of the same glass.”

  She staggered toward the tree that had been Seventeen and stroked the face in the bark.

  “I can find them,” she repeated. “Oh yes.”

  Then she turned and hobbled toward the green horses still standing next to the carriage.

  Will wanted to go after her, but Nerron stepped in his path. The jade was still there. The Pup was on the warpath.

  “You didn’t stick to our bargain,” Nerron said to him. “Don’t try that again. You owe me. I want your promise that if you’re still alive after you’ve settled your score with the Elf, then you’ll come with me. The Jade Goyl swore an oath to Kami’en, and I will make sure he fulfills it.”

  The Pup wanted to say something, but then he just nodded.

  The green horses let themselves be caught. They seemed as lost as the moths, but Nerron let Sixteen and the Pup have them. He caught himself the gelding he found behind the carriage.

  Sixteen struggled to get on her horse. The Pup didn’t look at her as he helped her.

/>   Why are you riding with them, Nerron?

  Why couldn’t he stop asking questions?

  Maybe he’d send Hentzau a telegram from along the way: Bastard has crossbow. And Jade Goyl.

  Maybe. And maybe not. This world was now his. He had its most powerful weapon.

  Silver and Gold

  It took Fox and Jacob four days to find the place the spider had shown them in its web. They were finally certain when they found a silver snake and the trail of two riders. Soon they came upon some bark, sticky with what looked like liquid glass. And then they saw the carriage.

  They only dared to approach it after Fox had scouted a stream nearby to which they could flee. The memory of Sixteen’s attack was still fresh.

  Will was nowhere to be seen, nor were his guards, or the Bastard.

  “Your brother has found her.”

  Yes.

  Fox took Jacob’s hand when she spotted the dead body next to the carriage. A few steps away, the grass was covered with blood, but it wasn’t human. The trail Fox found was that of a wounded animal dragging itself away. The hoof prints were not from a horse but a stag.

  Not once during their pursuit of Will had Fox realized that they were also trying to save the Fairy. She hated her and her red sister ever since she’d spent a year waiting for Jacob by the shores of their lake. They’d both caused her so much pain that Fox had often dreamed of being witness to their end. But now that she saw the Dark One lying there like a piece of bagged venison, she almost felt as if she were looking at her own corpse.

  They could have made it in time. Jacob was probably thinking the same. If only his father hadn’t stolen the carpet. If only Orlando had told them earlier about the spider shaman.

  If only...

  Jacob tried to read the ground for the answer he’d sought ever since he went to talk to the Bamboo Girl, but not even the vixen could see whether his brother had a jade skin. Will had ridden off with two companions; that much was clear. Fox would have bet her Man-Swan feather that the Bastard was one of them. But the second trail was a mystery. It was made by a lighter body, maybe a woman’s. She seemed to have been injured, and there were bits of bark where the trail began, covered with the same sticky substance they’d found earlier.