by Flavia Bujor
“Thank you again,” repeated the hovalyn, at a loss for words.
“It was a good thing you mentioned that casket! I found it in your bag, but I just couldn’t open it no matter how hard I tried. Tell me, is it enchanted? Does it obey only you?”
“I’m not too sure, I found it along the way…”
Elfohrys let the matter drop, but wondered why his friend had asked for the casket from the depths of his stupor, and how it had managed to save him.
“Nameless,” said Elfohrys abruptly, “when we get out of the forest, where do you plan to go?”
“We haven’t got out of it yet,” replied the young man evasively.
“True, the Ghibduls won’t give up easily. You’ve eluded them, so they’ll do everything in their power to take revenge.”
“They’re formidable enemies,” agreed the hovalyn, relieved to see that the conversation was taking a different turn.
But Elfohrys was not so easily put off.
“Be that as it may, you still haven’t told me where you’re going next.”
“I — I was planning on heading for the city of Thaar,” came the reluctant reply.
“Thaar?” repeated Elfohrys incredulously. “The City of Origins? How can it possibly interest you, a hovalyn? It’s a most dangerous city, very hard to get into, and it has no connection with your quest!”
“I don’t know where to go,” confessed his companion, “and Thaar is one of the few places I haven’t visited yet. It’s as simple as that.”
“Have you already been to see Oonagh?” asked Elfohrys, hoping he knew what the answer would be.
“No, never. What do you think that creature could tell me? I know only too well what’s in my heart: questions, worries, but nothing of my past.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. A long time ago, I went to see Oonagh myself. I learnt things I had never suspected, and yet they were written in my heart.”
“I’m almost certain her words won’t help me at all,” insisted the young man. “And anyway, Oonagh lives so far away, in that grotto lost inside a steep mountain… So few people undertake that journey…”
“Trust me. Take my advice: go there. If you don’t learn anything about your identity from Oonagh, we’ll go to Thaar.”
“All right, if it means that much to you, I’ll go and see Oonagh,” the hovalyn agreed.
Far away, in the very centre of the forest, stood the dismal and terrifying lair of the Ghibduls. No one had ever understood them: amongst themselves they behaved in a manner far superior to that of men, for they never waged war among their own kind, they tolerated one another’s faults, and never had family disputes. People mistakenly believed their customs to be backward and their society primitive. The Ghibduls felt love and pity just like any other creatures — perhaps even more so. They lived freely and happily; they made their home in the forest, spent all their time there and never left it. Due to their repulsive appearance many legends had arisen concerning their cruelty, when in fact they were naturally affectionate and loyal, although fierce in battle. They were confident in their own strength, and killed any intruder they found, suspecting them of wanting to take over the forest for themselves.
In their eyes, any intruders were savage beasts, a challenging prey doomed to a violent death. The Ghibduls positively enjoyed the feeling of warm blood running on to their hands and they delighted in its rich, sweet odour. In Ghibdul society, dying at their hands was a privilege and a blessing for these inferior beasts who were incapable of thinking or loving (which, incidentally, was exactly what the beasts in question thought about slaughtering Ghibduls).
Now, the Ghibduls had just suffered the most stinging insult within living memory: there was a man in the forest, and that man had outwitted them. They had attacked him after he had defeated their friends, the Bumblinks, when he had valiantly defended himself and managed to wound most of his attackers. He wielded an apparently enchanted sword with uncommon skill and, above all, he did not fear death. Until then, the Ghibduls had encountered only men who clung desperately to life. They had been forced to admit that this hovalyn was different, and they had retreated in humiliation. Their pride had been wounded, and they were set on taking revenge, but somehow they could not suppress a grudging feeling of admiration, at odds with the hatred they had now sworn on the hovalyn. They had even tried to overthrow him using the powers of the mind, and they usually only resorted to this against their most valiant enemies, but the human had triumphed again.
Mortified, the Ghibdul warriors sought counsel with their wise men, the strategists and councillors in charge of matters of the utmost importance. These wise men were themselves taken aback by the warriors’ reports, but one of them came up with a clever solution that astounded everyone. There was violent opposition at first, but the plan eventually won everyone over. That human being who had beaten them had no idea whom he was up against, and the Ghibduls had more surprises in store for him, they could promise him that!
PARIS, PRESENT DAY
I was frightened by the impenetrable, unchanging silence. All I could hear was the constant hum of the machines to which I was connected, to which my flickering life was connected. I had always been scared of the dark. Why pretend otherwise? And to me, that’s what death was: complete darkness, eternal and unfathomable. I imagined myself falling into an abyss without anything to hold on to, I saw myself engulfed by nothingness, in a world without feelings, thoughts, colours, lost for ever in a void. There would be no more pain… I would dissolve in this emptiness, forget everything, lose everything, every trace of my existence. If that was what death was, then perhaps I had already left this life. But no, I was still lying here, motionless, pale, trembling convulsively, awaiting the end. I was afraid, so afraid that I thought my fear might triumph and kill me before my illness could. I had more or less accepted the pain, understood that it would remain until the end, slyly gnawing away at me, but I had never been able to forget this fear always lurking inside me, relentlessly devouring, haunting, and overwhelming me. I was frightened of silence, darkness, time, oblivion, eternity. Death. I wished that I could stop time, order it to halt in its tracks. I pleaded with it to go backwards, to give me back my life, my future. I had nothing left that could help or comfort me. There was only anguish, growing ever worse.
Then the dream had come. It had disrupted my waiting, hurled me outside time, outside the life I’d been leading or the absence of life that was my world. I wanted the dream to go on for ever, to make me forget everything else, to wipe it all from the face of the earth… I believed I could live in my dream, making it my reality and turning my sad reality into a distant and impossible dream. Without knowing it, I had timidly begun to hope again. But in the end, it was only a dream, and this grim realisation destroyed all my illusions.
Even my dream wouldn’t stay with me. I had to face facts: it was just an illusion. So I took a deep breath. And I faced the truth, the one I could see in the furtive glances of the nurses, the desperate truth that hid deep inside me. I could not continue to believe that I could ever have my old life back again: I had neither the right, nor the strength, to hope for that. Joa, always spoilt by her parents, the successful accomplished girl with so many friends — Joa had ceased to exist.
I reined in my fear, I shattered the shell of fantasy I had tried to construct around myself thanks to that dream. And I said out loud, so I could hear the truth I was trying to escape from:
“I’m fourteen years old. And I’m going to die.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Fairytale
WHEN SHE WOKE up, Amber was disoriented and panicked for a moment. Where was she? What had happened? Then the events of the previous day, so charged with emotion, came flooding back to her.
She took her time getting up and had a nice hot bath in a small private room adjoining her own. She sniffed the delicate scents lined up on a shelf and dabbed some perfume behind her ears. Then she dressed, combed her hair, and set off down the
corridor outside her bedroom without any idea where she was going. She passed several ornately carved wooden doors without daring to open them, went down many corridors that all looked alike, and finally realised that she was walking around in circles. At last, to her great relief, she met a woman of about fifty who laughed heartily when Amber explained her dilemma.
“My dear girl,” she replied, “this manor isn’t big enough for you to get lost in! Come along, follow me, I’ll show you the great hall, where you can have a bit of breakfast.”
“Actually,” said Amber timidly, “I’d like to find Jade, Adrien and Opal. We arrived together last night…”
The lady’s face suddenly looked serious.
“So you’re the ones,” she said thoughtfully.
“Sorry?”
“No, no, it’s nothing. Come, I’ll take you to your friends.”
As Amber followed her, she noticed that the woman was not walking: her body glided along an inch or so above the ground.
“Are you — are you working magic?” she asked awkwardly.
“Magic? That’s what I dreamt of as a child, actually, but I couldn’t do it. I didn’t have the gift.”
“But your way of walking without walking…” said Amber in confusion.
“That? But my dear girl, I’m a Dohnlusyenne. How else would I get around?”
“Oh, right. Sorry,” replied Amber, utterly befuddled.
Just then the Dohnlusyenne opened a door and ushered Amber into a room where she found Adrien at Opal’s bedside with Jade and Owen of Yrdahl.
“Amber!” cried Owen.”There you are! How about coming on a ride around Fairytale with us?”
“Wonderful!” she replied eagerly.
“I’m staying behind,” announced Adrien. “If Opal wakes up, I want her to find me right by her side.”
Jade, Amber and Owen left the manor. Three horses were tied up in the courtyard, and as the girls drew closer they noticed subtle differences between these horses and the ones they were used to: these animals had a soft, rather thick brown coats, golden manes that almost seemed to be made of glistening flames, and blue eyes gleaming with intelligence.
“Here are the horses we’ll ride,” said Owen. “They’re real thoroughbreds, you won’t find a more magic beast anywhere.”
“Magic?” said Amber, disconcerted. “Do they fly, shoot fire from their nostrils, or something like that?”
“Of course not,” laughed Owen. “I didn’t say that a wizard had enchanted them!”
“Then how are they magical?” asked Amber.
“You’re disappointed? If you like, I can give you a more ordinary horse,” said Owen with a hint of mischief.
“No, it’s all right,” said Amber quickly.
They mounted and rode out, Owen leading the way. The two girls were soon puzzled to find there was nothing extraordinary about the landscape of Fairytale: an endless sky of immaculate blue above a few distant peaks crowned with everlasting snows. Amber looked around at the white-capped summits and rolling hills.
“Over there,” said Owen, “where those mountains are, that’s where Oonagh lives. If you didn’t really need to go there, I would advise you against it, but, well… And never go to the city of Thaar. Don’t even try; it’s the last thing you should ever do.”
“Why?” asked Jade, intrigued.
“It’s more than dangerous,” continued Owen. “It’s just plain deadly. That city is cursed. They’ve renamed it again and again, but nothing helps — that city won’t change, not ever.”
“But why?” repeated Jade.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Owen curtly, suddenly uneasy.
Amber had been only half listening to the conversation; she was stroking her horse’s coat, and was surprised to find it rough instead of smooth, as she’d expected.
The thought had hardly crossed her mind, however, when the texture of the hairs changed beneath her fingertips, becoming silky and pleasant to the touch, exactly as she had imagined it. Curious, she stared down at the animal’s coat. “White would have been so pretty,” she thought — and her wish came true: she saw the horse’s coat grow paler until it reached the colour she’d had in mind, a dazzling, pure white.
“Owen,” cried Amber, “I get it! The horse guesses the wishes of his rider, and then does what he wants! It’s magical…”
“Imagine that!” said Owen teasingly. “Does it bother you? These horses have always seemed like excellent mounts to me…”
“They’re fantastic!” cried Amber happily. “I just can’t believe it, that’s all!”
The three young people were travelling along a dull road past ordinary houses and meadows of no interest, and Amber’s suggestion that they run a race was immediately seized on by her companions. Amber concentrated on wanting her horse to gallop as fast as possible — and felt giddy with speed as the wind whipped her face and the ground flew by beneath her horse’s hooves. She had never felt anything like it. After a few fantastic minutes, she looked back to see Jade and Owen lingering far behind. She mentally ordered her horse to stop, and waited for her friends.
“I’ve never seen that before!” exclaimed Owen. “It usually takes a while for the horses to get used to their riders, and long months of training before they will carry out their wishes — and even then the riders must have lots of experience with them. I had to work hard with the horse you’re riding before he understood me as well as he does you!”
“Does he have a name?”
“How would I know it? Obviously, he must have one, but naturally a horse never speaks to a person, even if he’s able to.”
“And you haven’t given him a name?” asked Amber.
“No, he wouldn’t be pleased, that’s not their custom.”
“Ah,” was all Amber said, because she’d run out of words to express her astonishment.
Since the ride was becoming tiring, the girls readily agreed with Owen’s suggestion that they turn back. On the way, Jade questioned their host about the way the citizens of Fairytale lived.
“We’re free,” he said simply. “We have responsibilities, of course, but we are all individually responsible for our own actions. We work, we amuse ourselves, we live…”
“But the fairy creatures?” insisted Jade.
“They live among us.”
“But then, what’s so magical about life here?” asked Jade, who was running out of patience.
“It’s just a name, Fairytale — a vague idea, not a life. It’s a word, it doesn’t illustrate reality or try to represent it. Unreality ends up becoming our daily life, we get used to it. And our existence isn’t a fairy tale — we all have sorrows, problems, even though we live among magic creatures…” Owen broke off. “Wherever there’s life,” he said softly, “wherever there are men, there is also evil.”
Soon the manor was in sight. The three riders took their horses to a small stable. While Amber fondly admired the stallion she had ridden, a graceful animal whose golden mane stood out against the creamy white of his new coat, his lively blue eyes observed her without a flicker of emotion. Amber left him with regret to follow Owen and Jade.
There was a great disturbance inside the manor, and the three young people had barely set foot inside when a man rushed over to Owen. Jade and Amber recognised him: it was Lloghin, the healer they’d met the night before.
“Something serious has happened,” he announced, visibly upset.
“Calm down, Lloghin. What has happened?”
“I can’t… A messenger arrived after you left.”
“A messenger? The news must have been important!”
“Oh, yes,” signed Lloghin miserably. “Owen, the worst has happened.”
“What has happened? Tell me!”
“The city of Thaar has fallen.”
“What!” shouted Owen of Yrdahl, thunderstruck.
“The messenger is in the great hall,” added Lloghin. “I advised him to await your return.”
Deeply worri
ed, Owen went off with the healer. The two girls had no trouble finding the room where Adrien had been watching over Opal, but they stood outside in the corridor for a moment.
“Thaar,” murmured Amber thoughtfully. “What’s so dangerous about that city? Who has taken it?”
“It’s very strange,” said Jade. “Owen and the healer look really terrified. And I thought war didn’t exist in Fairytale.”
“I feel as if I’m living in a dream,” mused Amber. “So many things seem unreal to me.”
“Well, I’ve had enough! I want to know what these Stones are, what I am, and why I was chased out of my home,” declared Jade. “I want someone to explain to me what the Council of Twelve can possibly have against us. I want to live in a world where things are definite, where I’m not surrounded by mysteries and impossible dreams! As soon as Opal wakes up, we’re leaving to go and see Oonagh.”
Opal was alone in the room and shaking violently. The two girls rushed over to her. She was still unconscious, but was muttering vague sounds — none of her babbling made any sense. Abruptly, she fell silent and lay motionless.
“Where is Adrien?” cried Jade crossly. “He just goes off without any warning, and here we are, with Opal out of her mind, stuck in some manor in the middle of blasted Fairytale!”
“Adrien must have had a good reason to leave the room,” replied Amber quietly. “We can go and get Lloghin.”
“Where is he? I feel lost here! I’m out of my depth, it’s all too magical for me!”
“There’s nothing magical about the manor,” said Amber, “and surely we can manage to find the great hall!”
Suddenly Adrien appeared, wearing a kind of blue and gold uniform. He looked particularly determined, but his face was pale.
“Adrien!” cried Jade indignantly. “Where were you?”
“Thaar has fallen,” replied the young man.
“Yes, we know,” said Amber.
“So there’s a war?” asked Jade.
“Yes and no,” answered Adrien gravely. He sat down in a wooden chair before continuing. “I’ll tell you everything — you ought to know, so that you can tell Opal why I abandoned her.”
