by Jenny Nimmo
But the wizard slept on. Timoken eased the door open, just wide enough to allow him through, then he hooked it shut again.
Creeping over to the camel, he stroked his nose. Gabar snorted and lifted his head. ‘What?’ he said.
‘Sssh!’ hushed Timoken.
It was too late. Enid, snuggling beside the camel, opened one eye. ‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘Go back to sleep,’ said Timoken.
Enid closed her eye.
‘Gabar, get up. We’re going to work,’ Timoken bleated softly in the camel’s ear.
Gabar sighed, lifted his rump and then stood.
Enid opened both eyes. ‘What are you doing?’ she grunted.
Bending close to the dragon, Timoken murmured, ‘We’re going to work, Gabar and I. But you mustn’t move or make a sound. And don’t tell the wizard.’
‘I can’t. He doesn’t understand me like you do.’ Enid spoke in a whispery kind of croak.
Timoken patted her head. ‘Go to sleep, Enid. We’ll be back before morning.’
The dragon obediently closed her eyes.
Timoken fetched the two willow baskets. Joining them together with long creepers, he hung them, one each side of Gabar’s hump. With a small leap, he flew up and landed between them. Regretting he’d left the fur-lined saddle in Eri’s possession (the wizard was using it as a pillow), Timoken made himself as comfortable as he could on the bony hump.
He had purposefully left the reins still attached to Gabar’s head-harness and, wrapping them round his wrist, he tugged at the hair on the camel’s back. ‘Shall we fly?’ he whispered.
Gabar turned his head to look at Enid.
‘What’s it to her,’ said Timoken. ‘Anyway, she won’t see.’
‘She might,’ said Gabar.
‘So camels can fly as well as dragons. She’d be proud of you, Gabar. Come on, let’s go.’
He gave another tug on Gabar’s rough hair and, slowly, the camel rose into the sky.
Chapter Twelve
Spirit Ancestors
The night was crisp and cold. A pale blanket of frost covered the trees and fields. Rivers and streams sparkled like melting silver. Timoken breathed deeply, inhaling the pure air of freedom. Sometimes, when he and Gabar were alone in the sky, he longed to stay in the air forever.
At last they came within sight of the town. Timoken told his camel to land on the battlements of the nearest of the castle’s eight towers.
‘I’d prefer grass,’ said the camel. ‘Why the roof?’
‘Because it’s where we need to be,’ Timoken told him.
They flew on until they were above the castle. To Timoken’s dismay, there was a guard on the battlement of every tower.
‘Now what?’ snorted Gabar, rather too loudly.
The guard on the nearest tower looked up, lifting his spear.
There was nothing for it. Timoken instructed Gabar to fly above the tower and drop on to the roof.
‘Not wise,’ grunted the camel. ‘Soldier.’
‘We’ll have to make the best of it. Hurry up. We want to surprise him.’
Obediently, the camel plummeted like a stone, or perhaps a very large rock, down on to the tower.
The soldier gasped. He dropped his spear and his lantern. ‘Monster!’ he murmured, and fainted clean away, which was exactly what Timoken had hoped for. Quickly, he bound the man’s arms and legs with a few thin cords from his baskets. He hesitated before making his next move and then, having made up his mind, he tore a strip from the hem of the soldier’s tunic and, removing the man’s helmet, tied the cloth tightly round his head and over his mouth.
This gave Timoken an idea. He pulled off the soldier’s chain-mail shirt, and placed it in a corner with the helmet and the spear.
‘Is this what we came for?’ asked Gabar.
‘No,’ said Timoken. ‘It’s extra.’
The camel yawned. ‘I hope the rest won’t take too long.’
‘So do I.’ Timoken looked around him at the high walls of the battlements. There were deep openings at intervals all along the wall. Embrasures, as they were called.
Archers would loose their arrows from the embrasures, then dart behind a section of the wall before the enemy could hit them.
Timoken climbed into an opening and reached up. He could just touch the top of the wall. Running his fingers along the base of the highest block of stone, he felt the line of mortar that bonded it to the block below. Closing his eyes, he dug gently into the mortar. It moved beneath his fingers and he began to chant in the language of his homeland. The mortar turned to dust and trickled on to the roof. Timoken was so pleased, his chanting became a song.
The block wobbled. Timoken pushed and the great stone crashed on to the paved roof. Congratulating himself, Timoken set to work again. He paid no attention to the drum-beats filling the air. He thought the sounds were in his head. Behind him, Gabar made an odd, strangled sound, but Timoken took no notice. He carried on, pushing and singing, until at least a dozen red sandstone blocks lay scattered over the battlements. A whole section of the wall had now disappeared. With a whoop of joy, Timoken turned from his task – and almost fell back into the air.
He was surrounded by tall, white-robed figures. They stood, shoulder to shoulder, against the wall; each one carried a spear, and their long brown arms shone with golden bracelets.
‘My people,’ Timoken breathed.
They gazed at him, their wide, dark eyes glistening with life. And yet they showed no emotion. They stood silent and still, as if they were waiting.
‘Spirits,’ groaned the camel. ‘Family, what have you done?’
‘My voice must have called them,’ Timoken said in a hushed voice. ‘Perhaps it was the song, but I never asked . . . My father sometimes spoke of our spirit ancestors, but I never saw them.’
‘You have now,’ the camel grunted.
They stood looking at each other, the twelve spirit ancestors, and Timoken and his camel. After several minutes had passed, Timoken ventured, ‘Why are you here?’ Husky with reverence, his voice could hardly be heard.
In answer to his almost inaudible question, the twelve ancestors laid their spears against the wall and approached the blocks of sandstone. Timoken watched, his mouth agape, as each man lifted a block and placed it on his head. Balancing the stones with one hand, they took up their spears with the other, and stood as before, waiting.
‘Now what?’ muttered Gabar.
Now what, indeed? Timoken had no idea what he was supposed to do next. Slowly it dawned on him that the ancestors intended to carry the blocks of stone wherever he wanted. If that was the case, then he and Gabar could carry more. Timoken set to work again, feeling and pushing, easing and pulling, until another six blocks lay at his feet. Putting three stones in each of the baskets hanging either side of Gabar, he jumped on his back, saying, ‘Down to earth this time, Gabar!’
‘If you’re sure!’ Gabar sailed over the wall and dropped to the ground. Fortunately, they landed outside the castle. A few lengths further on, lantern light could be seen beside the great entrance, but the guards on watch neither saw nor heard the camel’s swift descent.
‘And now?’ asked Gabar.
‘Hush!’ warned Timoken. He didn’t know what to expect. He could only guess, and hope.
As he stared up at the battlements, he saw a movement on the wall, and then they came. One by one, the spirit ancestors fell through the air like a column of white birds, their bracelets and spears picking up the light from the stars like tiny fireflies.
‘West,’ Timoken whispered in the camel’s ear. ‘Where the thin moon sits on the forest.’
Gabar began to walk down the hill. ‘Houses, Family?’ he grunted.
‘The town’s asleep,’ whispered Timoken.
‘If you say so.’
Timoken looked behind him. The spirit ancestors were following. They walked in a line, their heads held high beneath the blocks of sandstone. When the camel reache
d the base of the hill, he walked on towards the town. The houses were dark and silent and the cobbled road already dusted with frost.
The camel’s feet padded on the cobblestones, but the spirit ancestors made no sound. In single file they walked through the town and out into the forest, following the camel and the boy from the secret kingdom. The ancestors left no foot-prints, no trace of a scent, but now and then a thin sprinkling of red dust could be seen on the leaves and branches that they passed . . .
The forest was a tangle of roots and thorns, and Timoken imagined that a long, long journey lay ahead; and then Gabar asked, ‘Why don’t we fly? The stones are not too heavy for me.’
Timoken smiled to himself. He waited for a break in the trees and then tugged the hair on the camel’s back. Up they went, past the trees and out into the starry sky. One by one the spirits followed, their white robes forming a long, floating veil.
Gabar sailed over the forest, and when Timoken looked back he could see the spirit ancestors running through the sky, their feet treading air as though it were as smooth as desert sand.
They reached the cliff-top that Timoken had chosen for his castle. Down went the camel and his rider, and down came the spirit ancestors. They landed in a row – and waited.
Gabar knelt on the hard rock. Wearily he grunted, ‘Sleep, I beg. Do what you want, but leave me out of it.’
Timoken lifted a block of stone out of the willow basket. Measuring seven paces from the edge of the cliff, he laid the stone on the ground. One by one he put the blocks in a straight line, then stood back and regarded his small wall with a frown of concentration. What next? Where to begin building a castle?
The ancestors had been standing as motionless as statues. Now they came alive and placed their blocks side by side, continuing Timoken’s line. When they stood back, their wide mouths were closed, their lips didn’t move, but a sound came from them; a deep humming and, from somewhere beyond the hum, drumbeats.
Timoken had always multiplied with his hands. Why not his feet? Leaping on the first stone, he began to sing. He ran along the line and back again, still singing. Eighteen blocks became thirty-six; thirty-six became seventy-two. The line grew longer, the song became louder, and the drumbeats crescendoed.
‘One hundred and forty-four,’ Timoken sang. ‘Two hundred and eighty-eight; five hundred and seventy-six; one thousand, one hundred and fifty-two . . .’
The thousand blocks multiplied, their line snaked along the cliff-top; it edged through the sparse trees and disappeared into the shadows. The line became a wall, two blocks, three blocks, four blocks high. The thin moon descended and Timoken rested beside his camel. He laid his head against Gabar’s warm flank, and fell asleep.
When he opened his eyes again, the sun was up, but Timoken sat in shadow. He was staring at a red wall. His gaze travelled up the wall, higher and higher. His eyes widened so much, he thought they might pop out of his head. For, standing before him, was a great, red castle.
Timoken stepped back; back and back until he nearly fell off the edge of the cliff. The castle loomed above him. It didn’t resemble any that he’d seen on his travels through Europe, and it was not at all like Castle Melyntha.
Dizzy with astonishment, Timoken followed the great red wall as it stretched towards the sun. Facing south, he found two broad pillars, one each side of a massive wooden door. Hardly believing what he saw, Timoken walked out into the trees. When he had gone some distance he looked back, half expecting the castle to have vanished. It hadn’t. What he saw kicked at his heart like a giant’s foot. He was looking at a building with a domed roof and four steeply pointed towers. Apart from its colour, the building was an exact replica of the palace where he’d been born.
He ran back to Gabar, his heart pounding. When he saw the camel, idly munching dry grass, Timoken cried, ‘Look! Look! Can you see?’
‘I’m not blind,’ said Gabar.
‘Did I build this in my sleep?’ Timoken pointed at the great red wall.
‘Hardly,’ said the camel. ‘The spirits made it.’
‘My ancestors,’ – Timoken sank to his knees – ‘from the secret kingdom.’
The spirit ancestors had gone, leaving him with a home fit for a king. But who would live in it?
Timoken rocked back and forth. His dream had come true. The dream he had held for more than two hundred years; and now he knelt before his dream, too amazed and too fearful to enter it. ‘I must,’ he told himself.
He got to his feet and walked round to the massive doors. He pushed and they opened. Inside was a courtyard paved with coloured stones. Timoken crept across the glassy floor. Ahead lay five arches. He took the centre arch and walked down a long passage. At the end was a room bright with painted walls and patterned carpets. A gold couch stood on a raised platform and, in his mind’s eye, Timoken saw his parents sitting on their golden couch, just as they had before their kingdom was invaded.
Timoken brushed away his angry tears and ran out of the palace. He wanted to tell someone, he wanted to share his wonderful new home.
Leaping on Gabar’s back, he urged the camel into the air. ‘We must find Eri!’ he cried. ‘And Sila and Karli.’
‘Your family,’ snorted Gabar.
‘Yes,’ said Timoken, happily realising the truth. ‘But they could never replace you, Gabar.’
‘No,’ said the camel.
They flew above the forest, and Timoken peered down through the trees. He saw the clearing, or thought he saw it, but the shelter had gone. ‘Down,’ he told the camel.
Gabar landed in an empty clearing. There was no sign that anyone had ever been there. No charred remains, no cut wood, no chewed bones.
Timoken slipped off the camel’s back. A twig snapped; a bush rustled. Timoken swung round as a boy emerged from the trees. He was tall, with matted blond hair and a broad forehead lined with scratches.
‘Shrivel my soul,’ said the boy. ‘It’s the one with the fire in his fingers!’
Chapter Thirteen
A Ruin
‘You!’ said Timoken.
‘Thorkil,’ snapped the boy. ‘Rightful Earl of Holfingel.’
They stared at each other, both frowning, and Thorkil’s sister, Elfrieda, emerged from the trees behind her brother. She was followed by several of the children Timoken had seen before.
‘Why are you here?’ asked Timoken.
‘Why shouldn’t we be?’ Thorkil retorted. ‘This isn’t your forest.’
‘But your homes are in the trees,’ said Timoken. ‘Have you left them for good? They were so well hidden.’
‘Leaves fall,’ said Elfrieda in her hard, disdainful voice. ‘We always abandon the tree-houses in autumn.’
‘We can be seen in naked trees,’ added Thorkil. ‘You hadn’t thought of that, I suppose.’
Timoken noticed the dagger in the boy’s belt. Thorkil’s hand rested on the hilt.
The sight of it made Timoken’s fingers itch. ‘There were many more of you,’ he said. ‘Are you all here, somewhere in this forest?’
‘The others were caught,’ Thorkil said bitterly. ‘Edwin’s brother was taken.’
‘My twin,’ said a boy with a long, narrow face. He had small dark eyes and his thin hair was cut in a crooked line just below his ears. ‘Conquerors!’ He spat the word.
‘They were looking for you.’ Elfrieda stared accusingly at Timoken. ‘They saw us in the trees.’
‘When they began to throw their spears we had to come down. Some of us didn’t stand a chance.’ This was said by a boy with long dun-coloured hair. He wore a cap made of straw and feathers that looked very like a bird’s nest.
‘But you stood a chance, for you are here,’ Timoken said bluntly.
‘Wyngate is speaking of the younger ones,’ said Elfrieda. ‘We have longer legs and we can run. The soldiers didn’t bother to follow us.’
‘They caught enough children to work for them,’ Thorkil added bitterly. ‘My friends were too badly wounded to
move. I had to leave them.’ It was clear that this distressed Thorkil, although he tried hard not to show it.
Timoken didn’t know what to say. He wondered what had made Thorkil come to this particular forest when there were so many other directions he could have taken.
‘We followed the coast,’ Thorkil said, almost as if he’d read Timoken’s thoughts. ‘Now and again we saw the camel’s footprints. Wyngate is an excellent tracker.’ He nodded at the boy with the bird’s nest cap. ‘I had heard about the Deadly Sands and we avoided them. At the edge of this forest we heard laughter . . .’
‘And singing,’ said Elfrieda. ‘I thought I recognised the tune. We followed the sound. It came from this very spot.’
‘But there was no one here.’ This was said in a quiet voice by a girl who peeped over Elfrieda’s shoulder.
‘Except you,’ said the boy beside her, grinning at Timoken.
They looked very alike, with their thick, dark hair and wide-set hazel eyes.
Timoken judged them to be about twelve and thirteen.
‘I’m Esga,’ said the girl with a smile. ‘He’s Ilgar.’ She gave the boy a friendly poke.
‘I’m called Timoken.’ He was about to introduce his camel when someone laughed, very close to his ear. He stared at the others. They had heard the laughter and looked equally baffled.
‘What’s going on?’ Thorkil demanded.
‘I’m not sure.’ Timoken looked up at Gabar.
The camel blinked. ‘Small family-boy,’ he grunted.
Timoken thought he recognised the laughter. Now he knew it was Karli. But Karli was nowhere to be seen. The others were peering into the trees. Thorkil strode about, kicking the undergrowth. ‘It’s that laugh again. We hear it, but we can’t see it. Why?’
Eri’s wall, thought Timoken. It had to be. He hadn’t expected it to be so powerful. He was impressed, and then uncertain. What was he supposed to do? Somehow the spell-wall of leaves and flowers had made Eri, Karli, Sila and the shelter invisible.
