by Jenny Nimmo
For a fraction of a second Timoken was afraid. Could he grab the gazelle before the arrow reached him? As the hunter lifted his bow, the boy had his answer. Pointing his ringed finger at the treetops he cried out to the sky.
The answering crack of thunder startled the hunter, but it did not deter him. He fitted the arrow to his bow and drew it back. The second crack of thunder came with a blinding flash. A shaft of lightning struck the tree beside the viridee. Before he could move, the tree crashed to the ground, crushing the viridee beneath its flaming branches.
Fire snaked along the fallen tree and crackled in the undergrowth. Seizing the gazelle, Timoken carried it through the forest, while the fire snapped and hissed behind him. He heaved the length of meat towards the cubs’ hiding place and laid it before them. Three small heads appeared between the hanging creepers. Cautiously, the cubs crept from beneath the moon cloak and sniffed the meat. Excited by the smell, they began to eat, tearing, chewing and whimpering with hunger and delight.
‘Look! Look, Gabar,’ Timoken said joyfully. ‘I got the meat. I’ve fed them, and they will live!’
Gabar had taken several paces away from the scene. What he saw worried him. He had never liked the smell of raw meat, and it unsettled him to see these three dangerous creatures tearing at it.
‘Aren’t you proud of me, Gabar?’ Timoken asked. ‘I wish you had seen those hyenas slink away.’
‘There is a fire,’ the camel grunted. ‘Soon we will all be burnt to death.’
Timoken leapt up with a gasp. ‘I forgot!’ Seizing the moon cloak he whirled it in an arc above his head, again and again. His calls rose through the forest and the rain answered him. It poured through the leaves and splashed against the trees, extinguishing the fire in seconds.
Timoken wrapped the moon cloak around his wet shoulders and laughed with pleasure. The rain stopped, but the cubs, now wet through, continued to eat. Even when their bellies were full they went on gnawing, their fear of hunger driving them on. When their sleepy eyes began to close, Timoken pushed the carcass into the hollow beneath the tree, and the cubs crawled in after it. In a few minutes they were fast asleep. Timoken covered them with the moon cloak and went in search of Gabar, who had wandered off.
He found the camel drinking from a stream. Timoken untied the bag of food hanging from the saddle, and pulled out some millet cakes.
Gabar turned his head and looked at the boy. ‘You will have to kill,’ the camel said. ‘Those cubs will grow. They’ll eat you and me, unless you feed them.’
‘I’ll steal more carcasses,’ said Timoken. ‘I’m not afraid of hyenas.’
‘Hmf!’ The camel chewed a long twig. ‘It won’t be enough. And what about milk?’
‘Milk?’ Timoken looked at Gabar. ‘Do you mean …?’
‘Don’t look at me,’ said Gabar. ‘I shall never be a mother.’
‘But those cubs might need someone’s mother, that’s what you’re saying. They might need milk as well as food.’
The camel blinked in agreement.
‘I will find a goat,’ Timoken said blithely. ‘There’s bound to be a goat somewhere.’
Unconvinced, Gabar pursed his rubbery lips.
While the cubs slept, Timoken lay on the fallen tree above them. In more than a hundred years of travelling he had never saved a life. The experience had changed him. If he had lived like an ordinary mortal, he would be dead by now. And so, it followed, would the cubs. Fate had brought them together, and now he felt bound to the small creatures he had saved. ‘Forever,’ he murmured to himself.
Timoken closed his eyes and began to devise a way to carry the cubs. Nomads had given him a small bag for water, and now the big goatskin bag hung empty from the saddle. The cubs could be carried in it.
Timoken chewed a millet cake, and then drifted off to sleep. He woke up to find Gabar’s nose in his face.
‘Family,’ said the camel, ‘you have forgotten something.’
‘What?’ Timoken answered drowsily.
‘You never sleep without a cover. The viridees will come back. The forest is not safe.’
Timoken smiled. ‘You are right. But first, the cubs.’ He lifted the curtain of creepers and looked into the dark hollow where they slept.
The moon cloak now covered the cubs completely. It had wrapped itself around them, and billowed gently with their heartbeats. The shining threads seemed to embrace the cubs, as though the web was claiming them for its own. One cub lay on his back; the others were curled on each side of him, their heads pressed against his. Seen through the veil of spider silk, the markings on their fur appeared like a scattering of stars.
Timoken drew in his breath and sat back.
‘What?’ asked Gabar.
‘They have become …’ Timoken didn’t know how to describe what he saw to the camel.
Gabar waited patiently for the rest of Timoken’s answer.
‘Enchanted,’ said Timoken, hoping that the camel would understand.
He did.
Chapter Seven
Sun Cat, Flame Chin and Star
There were five of them now. ‘A family of five,’ Timoken liked to say. But the camel did not agree. He was not entirely comfortable when the leopards were close.
They were travelling through grassland that was neither forest nor desert. Gabar was happy on the dry, flat earth. There were waterholes and streams and sometimes a low, tasty tree. And the camel knew that Timoken could keep dangerous animals away with the loud sounds he made, in languages that Gabar couldn’t begin to understand.
The cubs enjoyed riding in the big goatskin bag. Sometimes, they would peek above the rim and watch the world go by. But as soon as they caught the scent of a big cat, they would duck down into the bag.
Whenever they passed a group of nomads, Timoken would exchange dried fruit for a bag of goat’s milk.
The first time the cubs tasted goat’s milk, they pronounced it very good.
‘As good as your mother’s milk?’ Timoken asked the cubs.
‘No,’ said the biggest cub. Timoken called him Sun Cat. His coat was darker than his brothers', the markings larger and closer, and in certain lights his spots took on a shade of sunset red. One of his brothers had a hint of orange beneath his chin, like a small flame. Timoken named him Flame Chin. The smallest of the three had a coat as pale as a star. He was always the last to approach Timoken, but it was this cub that he loved best. He called him Star.
Every night, Timoken slept under the moon cloak with the cubs curled beside him. In the morning, he would tie the goatskin bag to Gabar’s saddle and lift the cubs into it. But one morning, they struggled when Timoken lifted them, and begged to be set free.
‘We will follow,’ said Sun Cat.
‘We will watch,’ said Flame Chin.
‘We will listen,’ said Star.
Reluctantly, Timoken climbed on to the camel’s back and left the cubs to run beside them. After a while they fell behind, and when Timoken looked back they had vanished. He didn’t know what to do.
‘Stop, Gabar,’ he commanded, pulling on the reins. ‘The cubs are lost.’
‘No,’ grunted the camel. ‘You cannot see them. They are not lost.’
‘How do you know?’ Timoken demanded. ‘Can you smell them, hear them, sense them?’
Gabar gave a grunt that was more like a sigh of impatience. ‘Leopards are not seen,’ he said. ‘They must not be seen. You should be proud that they have learned this so quickly.’
‘Oh!’ Timoken was always being surprised by the camel’s vast knowledge. ‘I am proud,’ he said. ‘Very proud.’
Timoken did not see the cubs again all day. But that night, while he lay sleepless with anxiety beneath the moon cloak, three shadowy forms crept out of the long grass and crawled in beside him.
They continued in this way for several days, but one night the cubs did not return. The moon was, once again, a thin splinter in the sky, but Timoken forgot the Alixir. The new moon had almost d
isappeared when Gabar said, ‘Family, do you want to grow old?’
‘The Alixir!’ Timoken found the bird-shaped bottle. He gave the camel a single dose, and then poured a drop for himself.
It would take three weeks for the cubs to reappear.
Timoken and Gabar had reached a range of tall, seemingly impassable mountains. For several days they had been travelling north across a stretch of inhospitable, stony ground. The nights were growing colder. Darkness was falling fast and Timoken decided to light a fire. Gabar settled himself close to the flames and began to doze. Timoken leaned against the camel and closed his eyes. How long, he wondered, and how far would he have to roam before he found a home? Gabar was very dear to him, but he sometimes longed for the companionship of another human being. He thought of his sister and tears welled up in his eyes. Timoken pressed his fists against his lids. He was more than a hundred years old, so he should not cry.
A voice, close to his ear, whispered, ‘North.’
Timoken looked at the ring on the middle finger of his left hand. The small silver face wore a frown. ‘North,’ it urged again.
‘I have come north,’ Timoken said irritably.
‘Further,’ the voice implored. ‘Now.’
There was a sudden, loud rumble from the camel: a nervous warning sound. Timoken jumped up and searched the rocky scrubland before him. Nothing moved, but it was dark and he could not see what lay beyond the firelight. The grasses beside him rustled and a dreadful stench came out of them. Timoken froze. He knew that smell. He leapt for the moon cloak, lying behind him, but he was too late.
Long, sinewy arms grabbed the web and tossed it away. Timoken could see them now: three tall figures, twisting and bending, one to his left, another on his right, and the third a few feet in front of him, waving the moon cloak like a banner.
‘I have it,’ one of the viridees shrieked, and his laughter filled the air like the tuneless scream of a hungry hyena.
The web was not easy for the viridee to hold. It fought back, stinging his root-like fingers and burning his boneless arms. But he would not give it up. As Timoken reached for the web, the laughing viridee tossed it to another. They raced away from Timoken, shrieking and gurgling, as they threw the web from one to another.
Timoken’s anger swept every thought from his mind. Forgetting the storms he might bring, or the swift flight he could make, he stumbled over the rocky ground while the viridees sped ahead. Blind with rage, Timoken was not aware of the rock that lay in his path until he ran full pelt into it, and crashed to the stony ground.
Beating the stones with his fists, Timoken cried. ‘No! No! No!’
For a moment he did not notice the change of tone in the viridees’ voices, and then, suddenly, he realised that their gleeful cries had become wild with fear.
Staggering to his feet, Timoken saw three dark forms leap upon the viridees. Their cries crescendoed to deafening shrieks and then died to a single moan, until the only sounds were the deep growls of the three leopards as they sniffed their victims’ lifeless bodies.
As Timoken cautiously approached, Sun Cat carried the moon cloak over to him and laid it at his feet. The other cubs joined him and they stood, all three, before the boy. In a sudden blaze from the fire, Timoken could see that, in three weeks, the cubs had grown. Their shoulders were wide and strong, their tails thick and heavy and the fur on their big feet hinted at powerful claws.
‘Thank you, my friends,’ said Timoken. He lifted the moon cloak and threw it around his shoulders.
‘You must go,’ said Sun Cat.
‘North,’ said Flame Chin.
‘Now,’ said Star.
‘Now? But my enemies are dead. Can we not sleep, Gabar and I? We are so weary.’
‘No time,’ said Sun Cat.
‘Fly,’ said Flame Chin.
‘Over the mountain,’ said Star.
‘But –’
‘NOW!’ said all three. ‘It is not safe here.’
The leopards’ voices were so grave, Timoken ran to his camel, crying, ‘We must go, Gabar. Now. At once.’
‘Now?’ grumbled the camel in disbelief.
The bags were still all in place and, after quickly dousing the fire, Timoken climbed into the saddle. ‘Up, Gabar, up!’ he cried.
‘Up?’ Gabar slowly got to his feet.
‘We must fly.’
‘Where?’
‘Over the mountain.’
‘Oh no,’ the camel moaned.
‘Fly!’ yelled Timoken, and he pulled on the camel’s shaggy hair, willing him up the steep side of the mountain.
They passed jagged ledges and rough, crumbling stones, where no man or beast had ever walked, and there was nowhere to rest. Up, up and up. The camel bellowed in fear and pain, gasping for air. Timoken looked for sky above the mountain, but saw only the rugged wall of rock, rising into nowhere.
‘Rest!’ grunted the camel. ‘Family, I beg.’
‘There is nowhere to rest,’ croaked Timoken, the cold air filling his lungs. ‘Up, Gabar, up!’
For a moment Gabar hung in the air, unable to rise any further, and Timoken, feeling the dead weight of the camel, cried with the pain in his arms and chest. ‘We must fly up,’ he groaned. ‘We must, Gabar.’ He gave an almighty tug, and this time the camel came with him, further and further into the white drifts of clouds and out again into a radiant, starlit sky.
They flew a little way beyond the mountain peaks, and then slowly descended into another country entirely. From below came the distant murmur of waves breaking on a shore.
Chapter Eight
The House of Bones
They landed in darkness on a small island in the centre of a vast lake.
Timoken led Gabar over a beach of rattling shells into the shelter of some trees. There, exhausted by their flight, they both fell asleep.
When he woke up Timoken ran on to the beach. The shells looked valuable and he put some in his bag before venturing further.
How could they know that, for hundreds of years, the viridees had lured travellers and fishermen to this solitary island? There they were robbed of all they possessed and left to die. When the island viridees saw Timoken and the camel flying towards them, they could not believe their luck. How pleased Lord Degal would be when they presented him with the web of the last moon spider. For this time they had a trap from which Timoken would never escape.
Timoken left the beach and wandered back into the trees. The ground was covered in a thick blanket of flowers and broad-leaved shrubs. The island appeared to be deserted, he couldn’t even hear a bird. Timoken decided to explore. Leaving Gabar to rest, he picked his way through the undergrowth.
A building appeared through the trees and Timoken made his way towards it. The building was circular, with a white domed roof and walls veined with gold that shimmered in the sunlight. The pillars on either side of the arched entrance were decorated with strange symbols. Timoken could make no sense of them.
What was inside the building? Who had built it? Timoken hesitated. Something told him not to go any further, but his curiosity got the better of him. He mounted the three marble steps leading to the entrance and went in.
He was immediately engulfed by an overwhelming darkness. There was not the tiniest scrap of light anywhere, even though the sun had been shining through the open doorway. Timoken turned around. He could see nothing. The doorway had gone. He walked forward and touched a cold stone wall. Feeling his way along the wall, he was sure that, sooner or later, he would find a doorframe, a crack – anything to indicate an opening. He began to stumble on twigs or pebbles underfoot. Bending to find out what could be lying on the floor, his hand gripped a long, smooth object with a rounded, knobbly end. Timoken dropped it and felt for another. There were many similar objects, like twigs, jagged and bony.
It was when he touched the skull that Timoken knew, beyond any doubt, that the crackling, crunching things beneath his feet were the bones of human beings. And there was defi
nitely more than one. The floor was littered with bones.
Timoken opened his mouth and screamed. But there was only Gabar to hear him. And what could a camel do? Timoken tried to think of a power that could help him. He could fly, he could bring a storm, he could speak to any animal in the world, but how could he escape from this terrible house of bones? He did not even have the moon cloak to protect him.
But he had the ring. He ran his fingers over it. A frail light appeared on his ringed finger, and the forest-jinni’s tiny face looked out at him.
‘What can I do?’ begged Timoken. ‘Can you help me?’
‘Their power is very strong here,’ the forest-jinni said sorrowfully.
‘The viridees?’
‘Indeed.’
‘You said you would help me,’ cried Timoken. ‘But you cannot.’
‘They drain me.’ The tiny voice was not much more than a breath of air. ‘They are too strong.’ The ring’s light began to fade.
‘Fight them, forest-jinni. I beg you. Be strong.’
The jinni’s eyes were closing, but suddenly they blinked open. ‘Call the leopards,’ he whispered.
‘I can’t!’ wailed Timoken. ‘They won’t hear me. And how can they reach me?’
‘The web has made them different from other creatures: marvellous, amazing, immortal …’ The weak thread of the tiny voice ran out. The light faded and the silence that followed was so thick and so absolute it forced Timoken to his knees. He swept his hands over the rubble of bones, and a huge anger burned inside him. How many people had the viridees tricked and killed in this dreadful place? He refused to be one of them.
He remembered the language of the leopards and a roar rose in his throat. Such a huge roar, it made him shake. It burst out of his mouth and filled the darkness.
Again and again, the voice of a furious leopard echoed to the roof and bounced off the walls. Gabar heard the sound and stumbled to his feet. He was already worried. Timoken had been gone too long. That sound was like no other. It was a leopard’s roar, but Gabar knew Timoken’s voice by now.
