Honeycomb by Joanne Harris (book series for 12 year olds .txt) 📕

as sharp as tacks, and dark: darker than despair. Now it fluttered, awkward and hateful, around the feet of the Hallowe’en King, crowing and scolding angrily:

“The Ruler of Hel never leaves his realm. Didn’t I teach you anything?” If Death leaves his post, then Death has no power. The dead and the living walk the Worlds. We’re one step away from the End of All Things. And for what? For the sake of a Sightless girl—”

“She stole my train,” said the Hallowe’en King.

The Harlequin began to laugh. It was not a pleasant laughter, and it went on for a long, long time. “Your train?” it croaked. “She stole your train? You stole my crown, my sanity. You’re as ridiculous as your son. In fact, you belong together.”

“My son?” Until that moment, the Hallowe’en King had failed to notice the blind man. But now, as he looked at the Lacewing King, hand-in-hand with the Barefoot Princess, he saw his own features mirrored there, and was filled with a great curiosity.

Around the Lacewing King’s shoulders, the coat of bees still hummed their song:

“Dream is a river that runs to the Sea

To the Sea, to the Sea

Death is a country that longs for the Sun

For the Sun, for the Sun.”

“My son,” repeated the Hallowe’en King, and took a step towards him. With his one remaining eye, the eye that looked into the hearts of men, he could see all that his son had been, and everything he had become. He had been cruel; heartless; proud. Now he was something different. The Hallowe’en King was inclined to believe that this change was for the better. He took another step forward and smiled, holding out his living hand. In the palm, his amber eye gleamed with a baleful light. “Take it,” said the Hallowe’en King. “Take it now. You know what to do.”

The Lacewing King took the amber eye, and pulled the bandage from his face. Then, he carefully fitted the eye into his empty right socket. For a moment they saw him, one eye as empty as an open grave, the other as fiercely bright as an owl’s, fixed upon the Hallowe’en King.

“I remember you now,” he said. “I remember you, Father.”

The Hallowe’en King nodded. “Yes. I know.”

“You were the Clearwing Prince,” went on the Lacewing King in a quiet voice. “You came to our World long ago, through the anger of the Moth King; the fickleness of the Butterfly Queen. You travelled the Worlds; you fell in love; you became the Hallowe’en King, and now you have come full circle; finally, back to your people.”

“You can see all that through his eye?” said the Barefoot Princess.

“The Hallowe’en King’s amber eye sees into all of the known Worlds. Past and present; great and small. The Kingdom of Death is a honeycomb filled to the brim with stories.”

The Hallowe’en King smiled. Side-by-side, they looked very alike. “My son improves with acquaintance,” he said. And from his pocket he brought out something that looked like a marble. It was small, and round, and blue, and the Lacewing King and the Barefoot Princess recognized it as an eye.

“This should be yours,” he told him. “It is the eye of the midwife who brought you into the world. She stole the nectar of dreams for herself, and so I took her eye away. But it still sees the world of the Silken Folk, and it will serve you well, I think.”

The Lacewing King took the blue eye and placed it into his left socket. Now he could see clearly again, and his eyes shone blue and golden as they went from the Barefoot Princess to the King, then back to the Barefoot Princess again. Then, from his pocket, the Hallowe’en King brought out a tiny vial, no larger than the ball of his thumb.

“This, too, should have been yours,” he said. “It is the very last of the nectar of dreams, brought from the shores of Dream by the bees, long ago and far away. When you reach your journey’s end, take it, my son, and think of us.”

The Barefoot Princess was puzzled at this, but the Lacewing King nodded.

The single blue eye of the Hallowe’en King seemed to gleam with unshed tears. “I’m glad you understand,” he said. “It was the only way, you know.” And then he embraced the Lacewing King, gently touching the face of his son with his skeletal fingers.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then the bees began to sing:

“Death is a country that longs for the past,

Long past, long past.

Dream is a flower that blooms with the Sun

Long gone, long gone.”

And at that, both they and the King vanished into the dusty air, leaving no trace of themselves behind, except for the scent of honey.

The Barefoot Princess cried out in dismay. “No! What did you do?” she said.

“Nothing,” said the Hallowe’en King. “My son accepted this willingly.”

“Accepted what?” said the Barefoot Princess.

“The crown, of course,” said the Hallowe’en King. “The Kingdom of Death needs a ruler. It was the only way, you see.”

“What do you mean?” said the Barefoot Princess. “What do you mean, the only way?”

The King—who was now no longer the Hallowe’en King, but something else entirely—looked at her with a smile and said:

“I left my domain as Ruler of Hel to pursue the Night Train. During that time, Hel was open, and Death was at a standstill. That’s why you survived the crash: that is why your friends survived. But Death’s domain should not be left unguarded. To do so, even for a second, is to risk disastrous consequences, not just to this world, but to all Worlds. The only way to avert collapse was for him to take the throne in my place.”

“Your place?”

“That’s right,” said the King. “The Sightless Folk have a term for this. I believe they call it dead men’s shoes.”

And at that, he too melted away into the air of the Labyrinth, becoming a swarm of golden bees that rose like a ribbon of bright