The Secret Kingdom (5 page)

Timoken sat up. The shadows held voices. He stood and approached the wall. He touched the rough surface and felt the rock throb, as though it were alive.

‘Who are you?’ Timoken whispered.

A thousand voices rushed out at him. He couldn’t tell one voice from another, there was such a babel of sound. He glanced at Zobayda, expecting her to leap up in fright. But she slept on, oblivious to the noise.

Gradually, Timoken began to make out the different
voices. He found that he could listen to one and block out the rest. The owner of the first voice described a fine city where he lived with his wife and ten children; the next spoke of a market where gold and silver trinkets, exotic fruit and rolls of cloth lay on tables, shaded from the sun by canopies of hide; another voice told of wolves in a dark forest; another of his escape from a giant sea creature that swallowed his boat.

Timoken realised that the voices belonged to travellers who had rested in the cave and written about their lives on the cave wall. Somehow the voices of those travellers had reached Timoken through the marks on the rock. He was excited by the notion that he could tell his own story to future travellers, and he took out the pearl-handled knife his father had given him and began to carve pictures into the rocky wall.

He had hardly begun his story when he became aware of another presence in the cave. Someone was watching him. He felt that the images he carved were spinning forwards, travelling beyond him as he scrawled and scraped in the firelit cave. His spidery lines were reaching through the years; a message sent into the future to someone he would never know.

But suddenly there he was, staring out from the cave wall: a boy of thirteen or fourteen, with skin paler than Timoken’s, and lively brown eyes. His dark hair was thick and unruly, his smile irresistible. Timoken smiled back.

The boy was wearing unusual clothing. A red garment stretched tight across his body, and dirty trousers of some rough blue material.

‘There you are!’ The boy’s voice was so clear that Timoken had to take a step back. He found that he could understand the boy, even though he spoke a foreign language.

After a moment’s hesitation, Timoken asked, ‘Who are you?’

What was that? Did the boy say, ‘Charlee'? A difficult name.

Timoken frowned. ‘Where are you?’

‘I’m here,’ the boy replied. ‘I couldn’t believe that this would happen.’

‘It is astonishing,’ Timoken agreed.

‘I’ve tried so many times to reach you,’ the boy went on, ‘but always that other one has stopped me. Now, at last, he’s gone.’

‘Who?’

‘You must know. But then, perhaps you haven’t met him yet. I can see that you are only ten or eleven years old.’

‘I am eleven,’ said Timoken. ‘Tell me, who is “that other one”?’

‘The shadow. A powerful enchanter. Hark–’

A cry from Zobayda cut through the boy’s next words.

‘Timoken, you’re talking to a wall,’ said Zobayda, rubbing her eyes. ‘Are you sleepwalking?’

‘No,’ Timoken retorted, staring at the wall. The boy had disappeared. ‘I wish you hadn’t done that.’

‘What?’

‘You broke the link.’

Zobayda yawned. ‘You’re not making sense.’

Timoken remained staring at the wall. He studied each line, hoping for the boy to return. But he never appeared. At length, cold and shivering, Timoken slipped under the web and lay beside his sister. He wanted to tell her about the boy and the voices, but did not know how. He could not even begin to describe the emotion that had gripped him when he saw the boy’s smiling face.

‘What is it, Timoken?’ murmured Zobayda. ‘Something is troubling you.’

‘I’m not troubled. I’m … I don’t know. I heard voices coming from the cave wall, hundreds of them. And then I saw a boy. I think he is special to me. It sounds odd, and you probably don’t believe me.’

‘I can believe almost anything of you, my brother,’ Zobayda mumbled sleepily.

In the morning Timoken spun on the sand, whirling the web in the dawn air, and rain fell, just as he had predicted. The goatskin bag was filled with water and offered to Gabar. The camel showed no surprise. He emptied the bag, belched and asked for breakfast.

‘I’m sure you’ve never seen anyone else bring rain like that,’ Timoken said to the slightly ungrateful camel.

‘You are a rare human,’ Gabar replied, munching his breakfast grain. ‘And that is that.’ The camel had obviously ceased to be amazed by human behaviour.

Timoken heaved the heavy saddle on to the camel’s back, but before they replaced the merchant’s bags, Zobayda wanted to know what they contained. Opening the first bag they discovered dried fruit and meat, and more grain for the camel. The second bag was packed with rolls of silk; the third was by far the heaviest, and it
was difficult to open. When the children finally managed to untie its leather strings, they found another bag inside it, and another inside that, and then a fourth.

The stiff leather hide cut their fingers, and Zobayda would have given up, but Timoken was, by now, impatient to find out what lay inside such well-protected bags. He used his pearl-handled knife to cut through the leather strings and the last bag fell open. A long carved chest inlaid with ivory was revealed, the lid secured with a golden clasp. Carefully Timoken undid the clasp and lifted the lid.

Zobayda gasped at the brightness that lay within the chest. Timoken gazed, unable to believe his eyes. The chest was filled with precious jewels: gold bangles, necklaces, strings of rubies and pearls, diamond rings and emerald clasps all lay heaped together in a glittering mass.

‘Gabar’s master was more than a merchant,’ Timoken murmured. ‘He must have been a prince.’

‘We are rich,’ breathed Zobayda.

Why did the viridees ignore this chest?
Timoken wondered. He asked the camel for his opinion.

‘They don’t need human treasure,’ Gabar replied.

‘But they want what we have,’ said Timoken. ‘They
want it so badly that they sent a sandstorm, and they killed your master for refusing to help them.’

The camel grunted his agreement.

Zobayda took a handful of jewels from the chest before they closed it. ‘It will pay for our suppers, when the food runs out,’ she said.

As long as we can find an honourable tradesman
, thought Timoken.

With some difficulty they managed to put the chest back into the four bags.

When all the bags were secured, the children climbed on to Gabar’s back. Zobayda wrapped the scarf around herself and her brother, and tied the ends to the saddle. Timoken shook the reins and the camel stood up. It was up to him now. He had crossed the desert many times; he knew the trade routes. Timoken asked Gabar to take them to the nearest habitation.

‘And what will you do there?’ Gabar inquired, rather surprisingly.

Timoken did not know how to answer. ‘What will we do when we find a village, or a city?’ he asked his sister.

Zobayda had no doubts. ‘If we like it, we shall make our home there.’

‘And if we don’t like it?’

‘Then we shall move on,’ Zobayda said cheerfully. ‘And one day we will find a home.’

‘But not a mother, not a father.’

Zobayda was silent for a moment, and then she said quietly, ‘It’s just you and me now, Timoken.’

‘And Gabar,’ said her brother.

‘If you can count a camel as family.’

‘Three is better than two,’ said Timoken.

And so they began the long, long journey across the desert. Sometimes they would come upon a group of nomads travelling with their goats. The strangers would eye the children with suspicion. What were they doing, all alone, on a camel decked out in finery? And then they would remember that the desert was full of tricks: phantom voices, wavering lights and often a mirage of trees and water. And the nomads would begin to smile, believing the children must be a sign, sent from a star, to bring good luck.

One night, as the children lay in the shelter of an outcrop of rocks, Timoken gazed up into the sky and saw a narrow sliver of light slicing the velvet darkness. ‘The new moon,’ he exclaimed. ‘Remember what our mother
said? The Alixir!’

Zobayda lit a candle and searched the bundle of possessions. When she found the bottle of Alixir she poured one drop on to her finger and licked it. She put another on to Timoken’s finger and he did the same.

‘And now Gabar,’ said Timoken.

Zobayda frowned. ‘Why?’

‘Who knows how long the journey will take? We don’t want our camel to grow old before we find a home.’

‘This liquid is precious,’ she argued. ‘It should not be wasted on a camel.’

‘Gabar is precious,’ Timoken insisted. Seizing the bottle, he took it over to the camel.

Gabar appeared to be dozing. He half-opened one large eye when Timoken approached.

‘Gabar, I wish to put something on your tongue,’ said Timoken.

The camel was silent. His mouth remained closed.

‘See, he doesn’t want it,’ Zobayda called.

Timoken ignored her. ‘Gabar, open your mouth.’

The camel shifted his leathery knees. ‘Why?’

‘I want to put the smallest drop, the tiniest speck …
a driblet, a dot, if you like …’

‘What is it?’ asked Gabar.

‘A liquid that will stop you from growing old,’ said Timoken.

‘I shall never be old,’ said the camel. ‘There are old camels and young camels. I am young and will always be so.’

Timoken scratched his head. It seemed that aging did not enter a camel’s field of understanding. ‘Perhaps you could open your mouth, just for me?’ said Timoken.

Without another word, or even a grunt, Gabar obediently opened his mouth.

Timoken stared at the huge teeth jutting out of the shadowy hole that was the camel’s mouth. He tilted the bottle and let a drop fall on the camel’s tongue, and then, because it was dark and his hand was unsteady, a second droplet slipped out.

The next day the camel seemed to have an extra spring in his step, but the Alixir appeared to have had no other effect on him.

Little by little their surroundings were changing. Almost without noticing it, they had left the barren desert and were travelling through a landscape dotted
with clumps of grass and low, windblown shrubs.

As evening approached, Timoken saw a cluster of white buildings on the horizon. Both children had the same thought. Could this be their new home? They were so tired. Their minds were bruised by the punishing sweep of the brown desert, their eyes sore from the relentless sun, and their limbs aching from days in the camel saddle. They thought of the fountains in the secret kingdom, the breeze from feathered fans and their mother’s gentle hands.

Full of hope, Timoken urged the camel towards the town.

Gabar gave a nervous grunt. ‘I do not know this place.’

‘Nor do we,’ said Timoken, ‘but we are eager to find out what sort of place it is.’

It had once been a fine town, but the wall that had protected it had crumbled away. Great stones lay buried in the sand, and wind had ravaged the place. Doors had caved in, roofs had collapsed and piles of sand lined the streets.

There were plenty of people about, however, and in the centre of the town they came upon a market square filled with stalls. Goats, donkeys and camels nosed at the
earth for scraps. Many of the animals were pitifully thin, their flanks scarred by constant beatings.

‘Bad place,’ Gabar snorted. ‘Let us go!’

Timoken thought of the pitiless desert. He longed to sleep beneath a roof, to speak to a kind family. But there was no friendship in the glances that were thrown at them. He could see only suspicion and hostility.

‘There will be another place,’ Zobayda whispered. ‘A better place than this.’

Timoken nodded. ‘Let us leave,’ he grunted to the camel.

Gabar needed no encouragement. With a toss of his head, he whirled around and made for a street leading out of the square.

A loud voice called out. The language was strange, the sound deep and burbling. Timoken could make no sense of it. Other voices followed, and a group of figures ran out and barred the camel’s way. Timoken clutched the reins; he was beginning to understand that these were not men. They were creatures, green and sinewy.

‘Viridees!’ said Gabar, snorting with fear. He shook off one of the creatures that had grabbed his harness, and bolted past him. The creature fell, screaming. Others
yelled their fury. Gabar raced down a narrow alley, while the crowd of viridees roared behind him. A wall loomed at the far end of the street.

‘We’re caught!’ cried Zobayda. ‘There’s only one way out. Timoken, we must fly!’

‘Not without Gabar,’ Timoken said grimly.

Zobayda screamed, ‘Camels can’t fly!’

‘Who knows?’ Timoken spoke through gritted teeth.

‘He’s too heavy. We must leave him. They’ll kill us, Timoken. I can see it in their eyes.’

‘I will not leave our camel in this miserable place!’ Timoken shouted. ‘But I will have to lighten his load.’ He took out his pearl-handled knife and slashed at the strings that held the heavy bag of treasure. It crashed to the ground, and some of the viridees gathered around it, tearing at the straps. Others, however, were still intent on catching the children.

‘Wall!’ bellowed Gabar. ‘No way out.’

Timoken leant over the camel’s neck. In a quiet, firm voice, he said, ‘Jump, Gabar, and you will fly.’

‘Camels do not fly,’ Gabar snorted.

‘Believe me, you can,’ said Timoken.

‘Then I will believe!’

The camel’s trust in him was unexpected. Timoken had hardly believed his own words. Now he must make them come true. But what an absurd idea this was. How could he carry a camel into the sky?

The wall was now only a few metres away. Timoken closed his eyes. With one hand, he held the reins tight against his chest. He could feel the wild thumping of his heart and he trembled. He leant down and, with his free hand, grabbed a tuft of the camel’s shaggy hair. With his mind and with his soul, he leapt for the sky.

The pull of gravity was immense. It took his breath away. It dragged at his body and thundered in his scalp. ‘
Up! Up!
’ He felt his lungs would burst and his body break apart. But just when he began to think that he had tested his power too far, the camel’s jolting stride changed into an unfamiliar swaying motion. The saddle stopped sliding. Timoken opened his eyes. He could see nothing but sky.