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The Moonlight Market

Book by Joanne Harris · 25 quotes · Butterflies, King And Queen, Moths

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The Moonlight Market Quotes

“Long ago, and far away, the Butterfly King met the Moth Queen. They were very different. She was nocturnal and he loved the sun; she was fierce and warlike, and he was a gentle dreamer. And they were both from different worlds. He was from a land of towers, and trains, and roads, and airplanes; she was from a land of dreams, and silent wings, and falling leaves. But Love has always found a way of defying boundaries. And after warring for a time, and making their share of mistakes, and overcoming many dangers and obstacles, they were at last united in love, and thus united their people. And with the help of the Spider Mage and his web, they passed through the Honeycomb, and led the way back to the Kingdom all who chose to follow them there. There, they were crowned, and made their pledge-- she in a garland of autumn leaves, he in a circlet of spider silk-- to rule the Kingdom wisely; to fight against injustice and fear; to honor their love, and to guard it well, and to tend it, and give it time to grow. And if she was not always moderate in the way she expressed herself, and if he was sometimes a little naïve, this surprised no one, and was only to be expected. But between them, they ruled both wisely and well; with passion and moderation. And when their children were born, she taught them how to stand their ground and how to fight for what they loved; and he taught them how to see their world and appreciate its beauty.”

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“And running through his story, from adolescence to adulthood, always by moonlight, but bright as the sun, there was Charissa. But this was a different Charissa to the one he thought he knew; that fierce and cynical Moth girl, loyal only to herself. Here was Charissa as a girl, hopeful and filled with laughter. Here, as an adolescent, wise one moment, childish the next. Here, she glanced out from the pages as an adult, a lover, a friend; dancing in the firelight, poised against the starry sky. Here, she was trusting, loving, unmasked, gentle and filled with confidences. Here, by the light of the full moon, she was not only beautiful, she was by far the most beautiful woman Tom had ever seen. And now Tom Argent realized what he should have guessed before, what he should have seen in her eyes while he had been dazzled by someone else. She was the girl on the bridge, the one who had kissed him so tenderly. Hers was the shine he had recognized, reflected in Vanessa. She had been the memory contained in the flower seller's gift, the flower that only blossoms once, like innocence--- Like true love.”

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“In the semi-darkness, Tom thought he saw faces-- or were they masks?-- that seemed to be covered in feathers or fur. And there was a summery scent of sun-ripened fruit; of night-blooming flowers; of new-baked bread; and frying mushrooms, and bilberry wine, and sandalwood, and cedar, and musk; and fresh-laundered sheets all wild from the wind. Now he could hear music, too; the sound of flutes and fiddles and distant voices raised in song; the soft, persistent rhythms of drums; the distant chirp of silver bells.”

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“Are you with Vanessa?' said Tom. He wasn't sure why he'd asked that, but there was something about them that reminded him of Vanessa's friends. Something vaguely theatrical; a shout of color against the grime. A shine, which was more than the warmth of their skin or the luminous quality of their eyes. Just as Charissa and her friend had seemed to be creatures of the night, these people were the opposite. Light seemed to radiate from them somehow, reflecting against the sooty stones. The little girl smiled. 'I'm Swallowtail. This is Argus. We're friends of Vanessa's. We'll take you to her.' And, catching Tom's hand in hers, she and Argus led him through the silent streets of King's Cross, towards his doom and his heart's desire.”

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“The young Prince arrived in this world, lost and very frightened. The thread he had followed was broken, and he had no means of spinning another. His friend, the Spider Mage, was too far away to hear his cries, and this world of cruelty and noise was too much for him. Even the air was unbreathable. And so he crept into World Below, and wept to himself in the darkness. As he wept, his grief was so great that he broke into a cloud of butterflies and moths, each one a fragment of himself, that scattered into the darkness of the tunnels beneath the city. Some of them found their way to the light. Others stayed in the darkness. Some slept. And they became two separate groups-- one living underground, one in the light, both yearning for the world they had left, and for the chance to be whole again.”

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“Tom followed her gaze. Above them, the narrow ribbon of sky was starting to show the first signs of dawn. Out of the London smoke, it came-- blush pink, absinthe green, ice blue, lemon yellow--- 'That isn't the dawn,' said Tom. And now through the colors, Tom thought he could see figures and patterns against the sky: patterns like magic lantern shapes against a screen of vibrant silk. The Daylight Folk.”

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“You were always the King of Much Too Late.' 'And you were always the Queen of my heart,' said Burnet, and held out his arms to her. For a second, Vanessa said nothing. Her angry profile was turned away; her dark hair shimmered silver. Burnet put his arms around her, and for a moment, she turned her face into the curve of his shoulder... Then the air gave a giant sob, as if rushing in to fill a space, and the interlaced pair dispersed into dazzling fragments. Millions of butterflies and moths exploded into the turbulence, fluttering madly to escape; bright wings torching the London smoke into a cacophony of colors. Golden-winged and orange-tipped; peacock-eyed and painted; speckled, stippled, spotted; striped; fretting the kaleidoscope air. And then, they slowly began to dissolve like smoke into the atmosphere.”

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“This story isn't over.' He pulled again at the loose thread, winding it around his thumb. The thread was long and silvery, like a thread of moonlight. Spider's skillful fingers teased and pulled on the delicate thread. And as they did so, the Daylight Folk gradually became aware of the cloud of butterflies and moths returning. Softly, they settled onto the stones and terracotta tiles of the roof. Softly, they settled onto the stones of the parapet where Spider sat. Softly, they clustered and blossomed and bloomed, hanging like grapes in the luminous air-- and soon the onlookers started to see a figure-- no, two figures-- taking shape among them. For a moment, it was impossible to see more than an outline. But as the shapes became clearer, the Daylight Folk were able to see a man and a woman, hand in hand. Their faces were almost familiar, and yet not quite the same as before: the woman small-featured and freckle-faced; the man dark-haired and soulful. Each of them was staring at the other in amazement. 'Tom?' said Charissa. 'Charissa?' said Tom.”

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“He had become aware of the eyes of the Daylight Folk on him. Hopeful, expectant, suspicious or dazed, they watched him from the parapet and from the crenellations of the Natural History Museum, their wings spread like banners against the sky. And now he could see the Midnight Folk, too, drawn by whatever mystery had been at work on these rooftops: Atlas, and Luna, and Diamondback, and Cinnabar. For a moment, Cinnabar stood aloof on the parapet. Then Brimstone held out his hand to her, and she went to join him. My people, Tom thought to himself, and put up his hand to cover a smile. It was ridiculous, of course, and yet it felt so natural. As natural as being in love. As natural as flying. Spider pulled at the silver thread again. Between his fingers, Tom now saw an intricate cat's cradle of light that seemed to extend in multiple directions. 'With this, you can go anywhere,' said Spider, lifting the cradle of light. 'You could stay here, in London Before. You could go back to the London you know. Or you could reclaim your Kingdom, and lead your people home. Your choice.' He passed the cat's cradle over Tom's head. As it touched him, the net of light settled over Tom's shoulders, becoming a kind of mantle: golden, soft as spider silk, light as woven thistledown. He made the same gesture over Charissa, and she too was draped in gossamer. And with the mantle came a scent of green woods and of summertime; of distant spices, unnamed blooms, and blackberries, and honeycomb.”

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“The Mage's powers were almost gone, and his web, which had once spanned the worlds, had shrunk to little more than rags. And yet he clung to the hope that somehow the lost Prince could be found; his Aspect made whole, his inheritance restored. Using his web of dreams, he found fragments of the Prince that had been forgotten and overlooked, cocooned in the darkness of London Beyond. And he placed each one of these cocoons with a human family, good folk oblivious to their origin, unmindful of their destiny. Thus were these royal hatchlings kept far away from the two warring tribes until it was time for their coming of age, and for the plan that the Spider Mage had formed to be put into action.”

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“Tom Argent had once loved fairy tales. When he was very young, he had loved to read about princes, and kings, and queens, and fairies, and goblins, and magic. He even liked to pretend that he was the son of a fairy queen, or a pirate king, who had been adopted by humans, and one day would claim his kingdom. His parents had grown concerned at this. They had never hidden the fact that Tom was adopted, and they knew that all children liked to pretend. But Tom's imagination was especially vivid. He loved his parents very much, but they were afraid that this daydreaming might lead him to reject them one day. And so, they had both gone out of their way to discourage his love of fairy tales. Whenever they saw him with his books, they would tell him: 'Stories aren't real. Magic is just an illusion. Fairies don't exist, Tom. Only trust what you can see.' Then, on his seventh birthday, they had given Tom a camera, and the books of fairy tales had vanished swiftly and silently overnight, to be replaced by magazines devoted to different types of lens, in which the young Tom Argent had found another kind of magic. But looking at these images of the mysterious girl, he felt as if he had returned to the world of those long-ago storybooks, and it felt both exciting and wonderful, and deeply, darkly dangerous.”

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“But Tom was no believer in fairy tales and miracles. He could walk through a bluebell wood and not see a single fairy--- not that there were any bluebell woods in London, but there were parks with ancient trees, and markets filled with spices and fruits from countries a thousand miles away, and people of all races and types, and cobbled alleys that echoed with ghosts, and ships that only appeared by night, and secret plague pits under the ground.”

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“Long ago and far away, the Moth King, known for his jealousy, uncertain temper and melancholy, courted the frivolous Butterfly Queen. They were very different. He was nocturnal; she loved the sun. He was sullen and taciturn; she was filled with merriment. Even so, they fell in love, and their wedding was held at sunset on the edge of a bramble wood, with all of their folk in attendance, and with dancing throughout the night and day.”

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“What he found was astonishing. Every wall was plastered with posters and flyers. Some were like the ones he'd seen on the brick wall at King's Cross; others seemed to advertise specific market traders. Some were old and faded; some seemed much more recent. Some sounded quite ordinary-- Cocksfoot & Sable: Fine Ales and Cheeses; Clancy's Rustic Furnishings-- and some were more unusual. Tom frowned over Yellow Belle's Night-Woven Yarns, and felt his heart beat faster at Spindle Ermine's Love Spells. What kind of a market was this? He thought he understood Bird-Cherry's Flowers and Fruits, or Straw Dot's Most Accurate Timepieces, and even Scarlet Tiger Sleeve Tattoos-- but what was he to make of Pretty Pinion Wing Repairs or Mother Shipton, Laundress of Dreams, or Pale Eggar's Glamours and Charms, or Dusky Sallow's Evercoats?”

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“Now, beauty is not a size or a shape, an outfit or a color. Real beauty is something that shines. The rest is only glamour. This girl was both dark and luminous, like a copper beech in the sun. Luminous was her brown skin, and her eyes were every shade of leaf, from guinea gold to forest-floor black. She was wearing a yellow dress. Her hair was a crown of autumn fire. And yes, she was very beautiful. But her beauty was none of these things. And although by the time she had left, Tom could barely remember her clothes, or the shape of her face, or the color of her eyes, or the exact shade of her skin, he knew he would always remember that shine.”

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“In this new and luminous world, words like 'glamorie-glass' made sense, and daylight names were shields, designed to hold back the approach of night. The thought of this girl at night conjured up pictures of Van Gogh's Starry Night, and comets, and lightships, and the taste of her skin, torched to silver in the moonlight--- The girl looked amused. It occurred to him that she must be used to men being fools around her. 'I'm Vanessa.' 'Vanessa. Vanessa. I'm Tom,' he said. 'And where are you from, Vanessa?' It was an excuse to keep saying her name, which sounded to him like a cat's-paw of wind across the bright surface of a lake.”

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“And in among all of it was the light, reflecting against the sooty stone; a light that looked like sunlight shining through cathedral glass; a light that danced like marsh fire over the rooftops and houses. That was what Charissa called their glamour, Tom thought; the strange and marvelous energy that all the Daylight Folk possessed. Whatever the glamours the Midnight Folk used were focused on hiding and camouflage; but the enemy's charm and flamboyance drew him like--- A moth to a flame.”

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“There once was a girl of the Moth Folk, dark-winged, strong, and fearless. Her eyes were like the starlit sky; her footfall soft as shadow. And although she was lovely, love had no place in her heart, for hers was the tribe of the Moth King, who had waged a war on love, for ever and ever. But love, like all forbidden things, was fascinating to her. Every night of the clear full moon, she would go to the Moonlight Market and watch the traders sell their wares: printed books of every kind; pomegranates of the south; wines from the islands; gems from the north; flowers that bloomed only once in their lives. But she only had eyes for the sellers of charms and glamours. Here, there were spells for a broken heart, or to spin dead leaves into gold, or to rekindle a memory, or to summon the western wind. Most of all, there were love spells: tiny bottles of colored glass with stoppers worked in silver filled with potions made from the heart of a rose, or the tail fin of a mermaid. Here were glamours to melt a lover's heart: candles of every color; tokens of remembrance; silk-bound books of poetry. But among all the love-knots and bonbons and pressed flowers and handkerchiefs, the Moth girl never truly saw the nature of her enemy, for it seemed to her that Love was weak, and simpering, and faithless. She told herself she was too strong to fall for its blandishments. Until one day, at the Market, she saw a boy with a glamorie-glass in his hand, standing by a display of books, and stories, and legends, and memories.”

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