Page 101 of The Heart and the Hawthorn

Chapter Fifty-Four

Frida jerked back, dropping Dian’s hand with a yelp. Dian had not moved, but staring up at her from within a particularly knotty patch of cobwebs was the sleepy face of a tiny jumping spider.

‘Moth?’ Frida gasped.

The spider blinked at her. ‘No. Obviously.’

Frida’s eyes widened. The relief and joy at thinking Moth was alive quickly turned to confusion. ‘Not Moth?’ But of course, the longer they looked at each other, the more certain she was that this was indeed not Moth at all. This jumping spider had a green tinge to the fur below their eyes, and an orange spot on their back, unlike Moth, who’d been pitch black with snowy spots. Leaning closer, Frida saw that this spider was rounder too, with thin short arms instead of Moth’s boxing gloves. The higher pitch of their vibrations made Frida think that this spider was female. She cocked her head wonderingly.

‘I’m Frida,’ she said, scrubbing at her tear-stained face.

The spider rubbed her pedipalps together. ‘I know,’ she said, her tone wry.

Hope, treacherous, started to blossom inside Frida’s belly. Her heart beat a rapid tattoo. ‘Please, will you tell me who you are?’

‘Mushkila Gloficus Globe Twirler the Fourteenth, at your service,’ the spider answered, without hesitation, her delivery bone dry. Frida liked her immediately.

She sank back on her heels, a grin breaking on her face. ‘Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mushkila Gloficus Globe Twirler the Fourteenth.’

The spider sniffed. ‘You may call me Mush, I suppose. Dian does, anyway.’

Frida burst out laughing at their tone of long-suffering despair, the impossible sheer magic of it. ‘Are you related, by any chance, to Behemoth Artilius Twirel Night Weaver the Tenth?’

Mush sighed, in a tiny desperate way. ‘I suppose so, yes. Behemoth the Tenth was our ancestor. His long winding stories have been passed down through many generations,’ Mush said dispassionately, clicking her arms together and tiredly beginning to weave a little web. ‘You’ve been passed down through many generations too, Frida Rose.’

The spider knew Frida’s name.

‘Dian wished me to tell you something.’ Knit, knit, knit, went her legs. ‘At my discretion. If I thought you were worthy of it.’

Frida saw stars. The lump in her throat was so huge, she couldn’t speak. She was nodding so much, she felt like a puppy dog on a dashboard, with no idea what to say. She wiped at her tears so hard she almost took off a layer of skin.

‘I was listening to your rousing little speech,’ Mush continued. Knit, knit. ‘Until,’ she sniffed, ‘you tried to drown me.’

Frida found her voice. ‘I’m sorry! I really didn’t know you were there.’ Then her cheeks flushed. She hadn’t known anyone had been listening to her ramblings.

Mush made a non-committal snort. ‘An excuse, that sounds like.’ She surveyed her work. Her web didn’t have the light that Moth’s had done, and the threads were weak and fragile, but it was a web. It was something. Shaking her furry legs, she slowly disentangled herself and, with a huff, looked back up at Frida, her eight black eyes reflecting the floating stars of the embers. ‘Their name is Ioelwsthyithuaawn.’

Frida wasn’t quite sure if she’d heard what the spider had said. For a long moment, she stayed utterly still. Had the spider just done what she’d thought she’d done?

‘Their name . . .’

‘Is Ioelwsthyithuaawn, yes.’

‘Ioel-y-wsthtye . . .’ Frida trailed off in despair.

Mush clicked her pedipalps in irritation. ‘Exactly. I told them you’d never be able to say it, but they claimed it would work just as well if you spoke the meaning. It seems like a cheat to me, but there you have it.’

Frida waited, her heart in her mouth. Her whole future resting on this single, tiny, deadpan spider.

Mush glared at her for another few seconds, before her eyes warmed into a smile. ‘Forest,’ she whispered gently. ‘Their name, Frida Rose, is forest.’

Their name is forest.

Frida couldn’t move.

‘Well?’ Mush drawled with a sweep of a pedipalp. ‘I thought you were in a hurry.’

Frida let out a cry, which quickly entwined with a wail of joy. The spider chuckled as Frida launched herself at her ravaged fairy, still prone amidst the soil and the grass.