Glassborn, p.1
Glassborn, page 1
Fairy Tree tall and grand, open a path to Fairyland.
The year is 1826, and the four Belle siblings arrive at their new home – Fairykeep Cottage. Here Acton, the youngest member of the family, discovers a hidden key that opens a door into Fairyland. But when he ventures through, he’s kidnapped by the Fairy Queen’s servants.
Cora, Elle and Bram set out on a quest to rescue their brother. But Fairyland is full of dangers…and to overcome the Fairy Queen they will need all their courage, cunning and a great deal of hope.
An enthralling tale of magic and mystery, from the bestselling author of The Cogheart Adventures.
A long time ago, when the Kings of England were always named George, and any light at night that wasn’t the moon or stars came from candles or magic, there lived four silver-tongued siblings called the Belles…
To my family
“Can you keep a secret? I wonder if you can.
Once an evil curse was set by the Queen of Fairyland.
Now six lost souls must remember their true names.
A five pointed crown must be won in riddling games.
Four wooden soldiers must help cast magic spells.
Three Glassborn children must sing like ringing bells.
Two Fairy twins must hide a magic key,
and the child who is the chosen one must set their family free.”
Traditional Fairy Nursery Rhyme
Contents
About This Book
Dedication
Title Page
The Family Tree
Prologue: 20th December, 1799
1. Acton Belle
2. Fairykeep Cottage
3. Cora Belle
4. Eliza and Kisi
5. Bedtime Stories
6. Mirror Mirror
7. Wolf at the Window
8. Fairyland
9. Storm Sorceress
10. The Glass Tower
11. Root Map
12. The Queen’s Bargain
13. Magic Lessons
14. Acton’s Answer
15. Wolfmoot
16. The Well Between Worlds
17. Seven League Wolves
18. The Dead Lands
19. Crows and Rose
20. Lost Souls
21. Noman’s Land
22. Ferry Keepers
23. The Troll
24. The Dead King’s Palace
25. Gripewater’s Glass Eye
26. The Nameless Girl
27. The Dreaming Tree
28. Deadtime Stories
29. Midwinter Night’s Dream
30. True Name
31. The Fairy Queen
32. The Glimmerglass Crown
33. The Last Challenge
34. Fairyland Repaired
35. The Belles’ Return
Q + A With Peter Bunzl, The Author of Glassborn
Acknowledgements
Copyright Page
Once upon a time, five days before Christmas, at the thirteenth stroke of midnight, on the night before the Winter Solstice, a wolf named Thomas leaped across the moonlit sky, springing from cloud to cloud in great, long leaps.
The wolf wore a stone with a hole in it, called a hag stone, and a yellow tooth on a string around his scraggy neck. His long snout sniffed the snowy air. His eyes – one green, one blue – twinkled in the silvery moonlight, searching for a Fairy Tree that grew in an old churchyard, beside the walled garden of a crumbling cottage.
A Storm Sorceress named Tempest rode on the wolf’s back. Her eyes – one green, one blue – were full of wisdom and cunning, and her determined, wrinkled face was as rugged as a cliffside. Her leaf-green cloak and her loose white hair streamed behind her like the banners of a marching army. She was not afraid of the wolf, for though he was known to be wild he was also her brother.
A red robin named Coriel flew beside the Storm Sorceress and the wolf, gliding on the midnight winds to keep pace with them. Her coal-black eyes glanced ahead in the dark, as she chirruped out the occasional direction. She was the first to spot the Fairy Tree, and she landed in the tree’s branches as the wolf and the Storm Sorceress touched down in the frozen grounds of the churchyard, beside the tree’s great trunk.
The Storm Sorceress climbed from the wolf’s back and brushed snowflakes from her hair. The wolf crouched among the gravestones and began to dig among the tree’s roots. The snowy earth squelched between his scrabbling paws.
The Storm Sorceress put a wizened hand in the pocket of her cloak and took out a carefully folded handkerchief. From it she unwrapped a little sparkling key with wards like gold teeth. She placed the key carefully in the hole and the wolf pushed the earth back over it.
The robin flew around gathering moss and twigs to drop over the bare ground.
When they were done, the Storm Sorceress grasped the cloud-shaped piece of bone and a carved wooden boat that hung round her neck, and spoke a spell.
“Tree that’s wise, earth that knows, keep this secret down below.”
Tufted grass and spiked branches sprouted over the patch of freshly turned earth, and each new blade and twig that grew crackled with frost. Soon the spot where the key was buried looked no different from the rest of the clearing around it.
The Storm Sorceress smiled. Her work here was done. There was no more reason to remain. The magic would take care of the rest. She felt the heaviness of her eighty-seven years. Life would be lighter soon, of that she was sure. She pressed her palm to her necklace once more and spoke another spell.
“Fairy Tree, tall and grand, open a path to Fairyland.”
A sparkling, silver web grew from the tree’s branches. Its threads twined together to become a doorway, which floated in the air a few inches off the ground. On the far side of the doorway was a separate shimmering world, ever so slightly different to our own. It was daytime over there and rather than the glow of the full moon everything was bathed in sunlight.
“Remember what I told you,” the Storm Sorceress advised the wolf and robin. “The Chosen One is coming for the key. I’ll see you again when you bring them to me. Whatever you do, don’t let the Fairy Queen get to them first, or else doom will befall us all.”
She stepped through the magical doorway. “Close!” she commanded, and it shut behind her. One moment she was there, the next she was gone, as if she’d never existed.
Then all that was left was the red robin sitting in the Fairy Tree, the wolf pacing around its trunk, and the magical key buried deep underground.
A long time ago, when the Kings of England were always named George, and any light at night that wasn’t the moon or stars came from candles or magic, there lived four silver-tongued siblings called the Belles. Their surname was Belle like their papa, but people sometimes called them the Glass-Belles, because their mama’s family, who’d been glassmakers, had the surname Glass, and because each of the children’s voices was pure and true, like the chime of a glass bell.
The four children were storytellers. When one of them lost the thread of a story, another would take it up and complete it for them. That’s how close they were. So close they stood on each other’s toes, shared each other’s hopes and dreams, laughed at each other’s jokes, cried each other’s tears, or accidentally poked each other in the ribs after an especially egregious argument.
It was five days before Christmas, one day before the Winter Solstice, at around four in the afternoon, and the four Belle children were shivering in blankets in a horse-drawn carriage hurrying through the frosty Greenwood Forest. Black clouds threw large snowflakes across the sky, and in the wide-open spaces and long shadows a chilly grey twilight was falling.
One Sunday last winter, almost a year ago, the children’s mama had become suddenly and violently ill. A few days later, she had died of influenza at their home in Miles Cross. Today they were taking a long and winding road with their papa to their new home in Tambling village: a house called Fairykeep Cottage.
Acton was the youngest Belle. The last to get the hand-me-downs, and to be told what was going on. Eleven years old, with eyes as blue as a summer’s day, delicate features and auburn hair that rippled like the ocean. Acton loved games, adventures, magic, and stories – especially the old fairy tales Mama used to tell. His brother said those weren’t true, but Acton knew better. In his heart he was certain he would always believe in Fairies.
Elle was the next youngest. Twelve, with a round face, green eyes bright as spring, long scruffy yellow hair and slim earth-stained fingers. Elle adored nature, and could name every insect, plant, tree and animal. Acton loved it when she took him out on expeditions in search of undiscovered organisms. When they found one they’d always name it. Usually something like: the “Ellesian Moth” or the “Ellestoa Tree”. Never, Acton noticed, the “Acton Bush”, or the “Acton Flower”, which was a pity.
Bram was Acton’s older brother. The one who didn’t believe in Fairies. Bram’s full name was Bramble, which he hated. He was thirteen going on thirty, with eyes grey as winter and ginger hair that was scruffy and tangled. Bram loved battles. The uniforms, the muskets, the medals and the cannons. Whenever he could, he read military history, in case he got caught in a skirmish and had to kill in cold blood. That meant with gore, guts and bone-curdling screams, he explained to Acton with a chilling ha! Ha! HA! and a punch to the arm. Bram was also very good at riddles. He collected them like most people collect conkers. He’d recently thought up a new one, which he told to the others now.
“Today, as I went down to the Dead Lands, I met an old trouba dour with a lute in his hands. Dancing behind him were sixteen brown bears, twelve moles and one vole, and a brace of grey hares. Prancing with them were thirteen black cats, and fifty white mice in the tallest tall hats. Waltzing about them were eighteen young brides and eighteen young bridegrooms with tears in their eyes. Each traveller waved, with a paw or a hand, but how many were going down to the Dead Lands?”
Acton had no idea. “All of them,” he guessed.
“Wrong!” Bram crowed.
Elle bit her lip, thinking. “Ten?” she suggested.
“The answer’s one,” interrupted Cora, the oldest of the four, looking up from her book. “Just you, Bramble. Isn’t that so?”
“How did you know?” Bram asked.
“You’re the sole soul heading towards the Dead Lands,” Cora explained. “Everyone else is heading away from them, in the opposite direction.”
She’d worked it out and guessed correctly. Acton was impressed.
Cora was his favourite sibling. Fourteen, with a resolute chin and matted brown hair. She had small hazel eyes the colour of autumn, that were glazed with the far-off expression of a dreamer, and over her dress she wore a long red hooded cloak – a family heirloom.
Cora was the best at telling Mama’s fairy tales, but she also fashioned stories of her own, about a magical place called Glasstown. She wanted to be a writer when she grew up and write epic novels like Mary Shelley, whose book Frankenstein she was halfway through reading. When Acton had asked her what it was about, Cora had said it concerned a monster and a man, and nobody was entirely sure which was which. She’d said this with a wry smile as thoughtful and clever as Mama’s. The smile made Acton miss Mama even more.
Acton glanced at Papa, slumped in his seat. Papa’s name was Patrick; Pat for short. He liked poems, tricks and riddles. Long ago, he’d taught his four children how to write their names backwards. He did the same for Mama when they were courting, to make her laugh. Papa’s name backwards was Tap. Acton’s was Notca. Cora’s was Aroc. Mama’s was Airam. Bram’s was Marb. Elle’s was Elle, a palindrome that read the same both ways. Elle’s whole name ElleBelle was a palindrome too, which was the reason Mama and Papa, who both loved word-games, had chosen it.
Papa’s stubble looked grey this afternoon, and his mourning suit was patched and ruffled. His once-red hair had turned white overnight after Mama’s death. His shoulders were hunched in his high-collared shirt, and his eyes were scrunched shut. His head bounced lightly against the headrest and Acton realized he’d fallen asleep.
Since Mama had died Papa was always tired. He’d lost his job as a vicar, when his sadness became so intense he was barely able to function. Soon he was staying in bed all day. And when he did get up, he didn’t wash, shave, or dress, instead he’d sit in Mama’s old rocking chair in his nightshirt and dressing gown and stare out of the window. Acton wondered if he was imagining the summer walks he used to take with Mama, or the day trips they’d made as a family.
Mama was buried in Tambling Churchyard. Acton, Elle, Bram and Cora had not gone to her funeral. Papa said it would be too much for them. They hadn’t even visited Fairykeep Cottage – Mama’s childhood home, and the new house where they were going to live, since they’d lost their old home in Miles Cross from Papa’s neglect.
Fairykeep Cottage was owned by Mama’s sister, Aunt Eliza. Over the years, Mama had told her children many tales about her family and the house. Cora was the one who remembered most of them. Acton decided he would like to hear one now. It would pass the time on the long journey. “Tell us one of Mama’s old stories, Cor,” he said.
“All right,” Cora agreed. “I’ll tell you one you’ve not heard before, that Mama told me when the rest of you weren’t around.”
Acton felt a pang of jealousy that he had no similar stories Mama had told only to him. He was desperate to hear this one. He leaned forward and listened carefully. He didn’t want to miss any detail that might be drowned out by the rattle of the carriage.
“Once upon a time,” Cora began, “a hundred years ago, two ferrymen, named Prosper and Marino, lived in a house called Ferrykeep Cottage, which sat beside the Tambling River.
“Prosper kept a boat called Nixie that had a scratch down her starboard side, where she’d once scraped a hidden river rock. Marino carved wooden toys from fallen branches and driftwood. The two ferrymen shared their home with their adopted children, a Storm Girl called Tempest and a Wild Boy called Thomas.”
“Our great-grandma and great-grand-uncle!” Acton exclaimed.
“Precisely!” Cora said. “Tempest and Thomas had magic powers…”
“What kind of magic powers?” Elle interrupted.
“Thomas could turn himself into any animal he liked,” Cora said, “and Tempest was a Storm Sorceress who could control the weather.” She paused, thinking a bit. “Plus, they could both talk to birds and cast spells.
“The village children nicknamed their home Fairykeep Cottage because of their powers, and because they had come to England from Fairyland, and were the son and daughter of the Fairy Queen…”
“Does that mean we’re related to the Fairy Queen too?” Acton asked, astonished.
“She was our great-great-grandmother,” Cora explained. “She was also a tyrant, who inflicted terrible harm on her family. Even saw to it that her own sister was killed, but that’s a tale for another day.”
Acton hated the idea that his great-great-grandmother had been so evil she’d murdered her own sister. It’s only a story, he told himself, and stories aren’t always true.
“When Tempest and Thomas came to England to live with Prosper and Marino,” Cora continued, “the Fairy Queen tried to keep in contact with them. After all, the only reason she had let them go in the first place was that they’d promised to stay in touch.
“But Tempest and Thomas couldn’t bear to see her any more, because of the many evil things she’d done. They wrote her a letter to tell her to stay away. When the Fairy Queen received their letter, she was so angry she vowed to get her revenge.
“For weeks, she tried to think of a punishment evil enough to satisfy her furious anger, but she couldn’t, and so she sent bad luck spells instead. Meanwhile, she stewed for months and years about the glorious retribution she would dish out to her children one day, when the time was right…”
Acton shivered. What a horrible way to live, stewing on revenge all the time.
“Back in England,” Cora continued, “an enchanted Fairy Tree grew in the churchyard beside Fairykeep Cottage.” “Anyone who ate its apples would dream of Fairyland. Marino carved gifts for Tempest and Thomas from the fallen branches of the tree: four colourful hand-carved wooden soldiers – guardians and lucky charms to protect the children from their mother’s growing wrath.”
“You mean these soldiers?” Elle asked, taking a Green Soldier from her pocket. “Passed down to us?”
Cora nodded and took a wooden Red Soldier from her own pocket.
Acton put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a Blue Soldier. Bram didn’t get out his soldier, but it was the yellow one. Acton knew he always kept it in his pocket too, just like the others. The toy soldiers were a gift from Mama. Each was the size of thumb and each carried a musket and sword, just as real soldiers did. The feel of the little Blue Soldier in Acton’s palm gave him comfort when he was scared, like today.
Cora put her Red Soldier away and Elle and Acton followed suit, then she continued the story.
“Prosper altered Fairykeep Cottage to add four upstairs rooms, painting them in the same colours as the toy soldiers. There was the Red Room, the Green Room, the Yellow Room and the Blue Room. Tempest filled each room with Weather Magic, as a reminder of her and Thomas’s old home in Fairyland, where the weather was always wild, indoors and out.
“In the Red Room there were glorious sunsets. In the Green Room rain dripped through the ceiling, as if Fairykeep Cottage was crying. The Yellow Room was warmed by a sirocco wind. The Blue Room was dingy in the daytime, but at night a thousand stars shone bright on its walls.
“Years passed and Tempest and Thomas grew up, but the Fairy Queen never forgot her vow to get revenge on them. One day, she finally came up with a plan that was suitably horrible and would punish them for ever.”
