Five Skeins a-Spinning

A Fairy Tale

“What is it you’re knitting?” the bard asked, taking a seat beside the pretty maid in the armchair.

“Oh, just a shawl,” she said, blushing in the beam of his attention. “When not required, I like to make things.”

“I know a story about yarn.”

“You do?”

“Yes. Would you like to hear it?”

“Go on then, but only if it doesn’t disturb my knitting.”

“That I cannot guarantee, but it is a good yarn, nonetheless.” He raised an eyebrow. The maid couldn’t help but laugh.

“Go on then. I should like to hear it.”

The bard cleared his throat and looked out at the night sky as he spoke.

---

“Once upon a time, there was a woman who lived with her daughter. The daughter was young, and very beautiful. The mother was poor, and widowed, but they both spun yarn to make their living. One day, the mother heard that the king was passing through the village to oversee the spinners and the weavers at their work. Upon meeting with him, the woman declared that she had the most talented daughter in the world.

‘You have, have you?’ said the king.

‘Yes, sire. She can spin five skeins in one evening!’

The king, who had been worried about the kingdom’s coffers, thought the information very interesting, and demanded that the girl be brought to his court. ‘If she can do as you say, I will make a wife of her. If she cannot, I will take her head for wasting my time. She will have a good life, as a queen, and have as many nice things as she likes for eleven months of the year, but for one month, she must produce the skeins! Is that understood?’

The woman was more than happy to oblige, and sent her daughter forth to the castle.

The girl was greeted by the king, married, and as queen she was given fine gowns, jewellery and anything she desired in the world. The king, although he was taken with her beauty and wit, had not reneged on his promise, much to her disappointment. Even the birth of a son didn’t change his mind.

When she had lived out her grand life for eleven months, he arrived at her bedchamber to remind her of the promise. When she asked if her infant son could come with her, he said no, and left the child with the nursemaid. He brought his wife down to the spinning room of the castle, where she was to live for one month. Each day, she would have to give the king five skeins of yarn, or she would be executed. The queen—to avoid humiliation and of course, execution—agreed, and entered the room. As soon as the heavy door bolted shut behind her, she fell to her knees and sobbed for some time.

Eventually deciding that crying wouldn’t help the situation, she sat down at the spinning wheel and made the best effort to spin the flax that had been provided for her. Remembering her life in the village, she sang a few songs as she worked. It was almost midnight by the time she had finished the second skein. Her hands were sore, her back ached, and she was tired from the day’s work. She began to cry again. Looking up into the night’s sky, she wished for someone to help her.

A voice in the darkness answered.

It was a shadow at first, standing over at the window of the spinning room.

‘Who are you?’ she asked, frightened.

‘You wanted me to help you. Tell me how,’ it whispered. Although the shadow occupied the other end of the room, the softness of its voice nestled itself in her ear, warming her tired and aching body.

‘I need…’ She wiped away her tears and took a deep breath. ‘I need five skeins by morning, or I shall die.’

‘Five skeins I can bring, and I will bring, but not without payment.’

‘What is it that you want?’

‘You.’

‘No.’ She had said it before even taking the time to think. She had been sold already, and wouldn’t be sold again.

It laughed. A chilling, unsettling laughter that echoed around the room, leaping off the stone walls and into her soul. ‘If only no were that simple. I am powerful. You cannot simply say no to me.’

‘Please,’ she said. ‘Something else. I’ll make another deal.’

Enticed by the prospect of a deal, the shadow paused for a moment. ‘Guess my name, and you can have your freedom. You have three days. I will provide whatever you need until then.’

The next morning, the queen woke to the sound of the bolt shifting on the heavy door of the spinning room. She rubbed her eyes, and looked about the room, unable to tell if the meeting with the shadow the previous evening had been a dream, or a real occurrence. The king stood over her. ‘Well? Did you do it?’

As she sat up to make her apologies, she gasped when she saw the skeins on the table. ‘Excellent.’ The king patted her on the head. ‘The maid will bring you breakfast, and you can do the same tonight.’

‘Can I see my son?’ she asked.

The king said no, and left her again, alone in the spinning room. Over the course of the day, she saw only a maid who brought her food, and a labourer who brought her flax. Neither said more than two words to her, before they left again.

The second night fell, and she waited for the shadow to return. This time, the spirit had taken the outline of a man, with glowing eyes. She could barely see him in the corner of the room, but she knew he was there.

‘Have you guessed my name?’ he asked.

‘I cannot guess your name. You are not a man, and therefore will not have a man’s name. This isn’t a fair challenge. I only know the names of men and women.’

The shadow thought for a moment. ‘Very well. Here is a hint: I am more than any man. I have been with you for as long as you can remember. I am bound to you, but I am the destroyer of worlds. What is my name?’

‘I do not know. I am a mere mortal.’

‘Then tomorrow, you will be mine.’

The queen woke again the next morning, and the king was so delighted with her productivity, that he offered to join her for breakfast in the spinning room. The maid and the labourer entered and exited as the king and queen dined, without any word.

‘I say, I was out hunting yesterday, and an old hag stopped me in the wood.’

‘She did?’

‘Yes. Handed me a flower and told me if I don’t take care of it, it will die. I said, “yes, obviously–what of it, woman?” She said those who cannot cherish all that they have in the world will succumb to the void–and… er, all they know and love will be destroyed… something or other.’

‘Then what happened?’

‘One of my men killed her. It was a threat. No one threatens the king.’

That night, the shadow creature came again, and she was not afraid. This time, he took the full form of a handsome man. ‘You need not fear me,’ he said. ‘I am here to help.’ He placed a single rose on the table beside her bed.

‘Your help will no longer be required,’ she said, looking at the rose. ‘I know your name.’

‘You do?’ He laughed. ‘I doubt it.’

‘You doubt it because you have no name,’ she began. ‘You were never given one, but I know you. You are a stranger to me and yet, you are my most intimate friend. You are the shadow that never sleeps, even in night’s embrace. You are the blackness that waits for the waifs and strays. You are the emptiness. You are nothing, and you are hated for it. No matter how much despair you eat, you are always hungry.’

The creature spread out his wings and cowered beneath them in defeat, for she had guessed right. It sank to the floor.

‘My dear shadow,’ the queen said, not knowing what else to call him. ‘You did say that you are bound to me. This means I can free you if I wish, does it not? Here’s what I will do—I will not be your possession, but… please take this offering, as a symbol of my gratitude.’ She thought of her baby boy, and how much she missed him. ‘I could give you…” She paused.

‘Yes?’

She stepped aside to reveal the body of her husband, bound and gagged with her own yarn.

‘Why do you do this?’ the creature asked.

‘I haven’t a friend in the world. I am much like you. You did not just take, like everybody else has done. You gave, at least for a time. I would like to say thank you. I would like to give you a name. You can have his name.’ She looked down at her husband, who was barely conscious. ‘Can you make use of my gift?’

The creature came forward, and looked into her eyes. He saw pity first, but then something else that he could not name, and it humbled him. ‘No one has ever…’ he tried to say, but she placed a finger on his lips, and kissed them.

The next day, the king and queen emerged from the spinning room—the king, joking heartily about the trick he played on his wife, and the queen, resting her head on his shoulder in adoration. They raised a family together and lived happily ever after.’

---

The maid said nothing for a moment. “I’ve never heard that one before.” She looked down at her knitting—she had barely knit a stitch during the story.

The bard laughed and said, “do you like it?”

“It’s different, that’s for sure.”

“Indeed.”

“Is this tale… based on true events?”

The bard laughed again at the charming girl and sipped some mead. “Not that I know of. How could it be?”

The maid laughed too, albeit nervously. “It was a silly notion,” she said, thinking for a moment. “You know… the king always gives the queen a bunch of… no, take no notice of me.” She shook her head. “It matters not!”