The Prophecy of the Gems

  But the dream dredged up the past — the three girls reminded me of how I had once been — and at the same time began sketching out the future. I thought I was strong enough, tough enough to resist the dream. I was wrong. Although I wouldn’t admit it to myself, I felt stirrings of renewed hope. And yet, this whole story was only a dream — this tale that was bringing me back to life was something my tormented mind had invented from nothing. I was almost afraid to think about it, as if my memories, my thoughts, my feelings might change the sparkling colours of the dream, muddling them until they grew pale, faint, and faded away. The dream seemed so important to me that I dreaded feeling it slip away from my memory. I wanted it to continue, for ever. Although I wouldn’t let myself admit this, unconsciously I believed the dream was true, I felt it was true, I wanted it to be true.

  But my illness continued to destroy me. I was in pain, and the dream, which carried me far from my reality, renewed my pain whenever I left it and returned to my hospital bed. The more I wished to live, the more I suffered in my struggle against death. Once again I began to reject that fate and to believe in the illusion of hope; naïve, perhaps, but I was happier that way.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The Chosen One

  THE NAMELESS ONE opened his eyes and quickly regained consciousness. His injuries had disappeared. He no longer felt any pain or saw any trace of the deep wounds he had sustained. He realised that he was in the same room as before, a narrow room with bare walls. And though he was still sitting on the strange chair of green moss, his limbs were no longer restrained by bonds. Next to him, Elfohrys seemed unhurt as well, although he was still tied up.

  “Ah! Nameless!” he cried. “Finally, you’ve come round!”

  “But — the theatre, the agony…”

  “Excuse me? You must still be in shock.”

  “I didn’t dream it,” murmured the puzzled hovalyn.

  “A few hours ago, after Naïlde left, some Ghibduls came.”

  “I know.”

  “They surrounded you and started chanting a strange spell. You fainted, became agitated, and babbled some incomprehensible sounds. Then they stood around you without a word for about half an hour. I was beginning to get really worried! You were still unconscious when they left. I shouted, I tried to help you. At last, after two hours, the vines imprisoning you untied themselves and you seemed to become more peaceful.”

  Perplexed, the haggard young man stared at his intact limbs, unmarked save for the old wound on his right arm. He put his head in his hands. Was his memory beginning to play tricks on him? After eradicating his past, was it betraying him anew, conjuring up an imaginary present?

  Before he could think any further, three Ghibduls entered the room. Their monstrous faces were twisted into affable expressions, while their lips tried vainly to form a smile. Approaching the knight, one of the visitors silently held out to him a long object wrapped in an immaculate white cloth. Cautiously, the young man reached for it with a tentative hand.

  “Take it,” said a Ghibdul encouragingly, in a harsh voice tinged with humility, respect and admiration.

  Unwrapping the object, the Nameless One was astonished — it was his enchanted sword!

  “If you will accept them,” continued the Ghibdul, “we would like to offer you our apologies, honourable hovalyn.”

  Elfohrys hooted with laughter, which drew scowls from the Ghibduls.

  “Perhaps you could let us go now,” suggested Elfohrys gaily. “We’re quite touched by your sudden change of heart, but—”

  “Quiet, wretch!” ordered the Ghibdul who had returned the sword and who clearly had the most authority.

  “I forbid you to treat Elfohrys like that!” protested the hovalyn indignantly.

  “If such is your wish,” mumbled the disconcerted Ghibdul.

  “I think that you might offer us some explanation,” continued the young man, still bewildered but determined to take advantage of this unexpected development.

  “We entered your mind and staged a simulated experience, using images that were already in your thoughts but of whose existence you were unaware. And we added a few elements of our own.”

  “So everything I thought I saw and felt was false?”

  “From the moment you thought you had left this room,” confirmed the Ghibdul. “It was a necessary and effective test. We are particularly gifted at this sort of painless manipulation.”

  “Painless,” sighed their victim. “That word may not mean the same thing to everyone, but personally, I did not consider the invasion of my mind to be either pleasant or harmless!”

  The Ghibdul was so close to him that the young man could smell the creature’s fetid breath, and he turned his head aside when his visitor spoke again.

  “There were some doubts about you. What we had at first suspected seemed unlikely, but we were determined to settle the question. And in entering your mind, we were able to confirm our initial suspicions, our hopes…”

  “Oh, so you are actually capable of hoping?” said Elfohrys sarcastically. “Well, we learn something every day.”

  “Hovalyn, you are the one we have long awaited. What is your name?”

  “I don’t have one,” confessed the knight. “I am the Nameless One.”

  The Ghibduls did not seem troubled by this news.

  “You are the only one to have stood up for so long to the, uh, mental torture we inflicted on you. We are truly sorry to have put you through that.”

  “Well you certainly weren’t very subtle about it.”

  “But it was necessary,” said the Ghibdul earnestly. “Even amongst ourselves, no one has ever lasted that long under such a trial. And it’s the choice you made that is especially unbelievable. No one, until you, had opted for that solution. No one had had the courage to do so. Except you.”

  “You think it’s fun to practise mental torture on one another?” asked Elfohrys. “That’s really… entertaining!”

  “And why do you think I am the one you have ‘long awaited’?” asked the hovalyn.

  “For centuries we have lived a secluded existence. We have created a civilisation that is still in its infancy. But since the dawn of time, a tradition, a belief has been passed down: that one day a man would come and we would recognise him. He would change our way of life, create fellowship between us and other creatures. And we would follow him, obey him, help him when he asked for our assistance. That man, Nameless One, is you.”

  “That’s impossible,” protested the hovalyn. “How could I bring you together with other peoples? And besides, I have no intention of leading you!”

  “We are going to show you our village, and then you will leave. But one day soon, you will call on us for aid,” announced the Ghibdul calmly. “For so it is written.”

  Seeing that the sceptical young knight was both confused and unconvinced, another Ghibdul spoke up.

  “There is no reason for you to believe us, hovalyn, except for the fact that, some centuries ago, Néophileus himself prophesised the same event. He wrote in The Prophecy that one day, after a victory, a man would discover a hidden civilisation living in the depths of the forest. He would endure a trial that would reveal his identity to the creatures holding him captive. Then the man would leave. When Darkness came to blot out the Light, he would return. He would ask these forest people for help and would bring them forth from oblivion. Hovalyn, this is your story. And ours.”

  The Ghibdul paused. One of his fellows now addressed the young man.

  “We know who you are. You were not to learn your identity before that day, for the Prophecy affirms that we are the ones who will reveal it to you.”

  Trembling with emotion, his heart pounding wildly, almost choking with anxiety, the young man waited. Would he finally find out who he really was? The Ghibduls stood gravely before him, and in a solemn voice, one of them announced to him at last:

  “Nameless, you are the man who has long been expected by everyone, everywhere. You are the
Chosen One.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The Seal of Darkness

  AMBER SPENT THE rest of the night teary-eyed and unable to sleep. How could Janëlle have betrayed her! Amber had thought she was her friend, and in the short time that the illusion had lasted she had trusted her, opened her heart to her.

  At dawn, Jade and Opal came running over, for they had both strongly sensed a terrible threat to Amber. All their hatred had vanished, so they were eager to hear what had happened, and to comfort her. The girls felt uneasy when they remembered their fury of the previous day, and Amber’s swollen lip showed them how badly they’d behaved.

  After exchanging hasty apologies, the girls finally realised how close they had grown since the liberation of Nathyrnn. Even Jade and Opal, once so hostile to one another, had been getting along much better.

  They ate in silence, then mounted their horses.

  In the distance, snow-capped mountains veiled in mist rose into a sky still streaked with the light of dawn.

  The three girls rode on towards Oonagh’s grotto, which was no longer very far away. Jade told Amber that they might reach it within a week if they hurried, and Amber gently asked her horse to quicken his pace.

  “I just remembered something,” Amber said. “Last night I thought I saw a man on a horse. I was probably mistaken, I know, but I thought I should tell you.”

  Jade shrugged, but Opal, who was sitting behind her on the same horse, spoke up as if what she had to say were the most natural thing in the world: “Me too — I saw a shadow before I fell asleep.”

  “Who could be spying on us?” wondered Jade. “I’m sick of all these mysteries. The last thing we need is some phantom horseman bothering us! If you see him again, tell me, so I can give him a good swift kick!”

  Amber laughed weakly and Opal gave her a fleeting smile. Opal was recalling the moments she had spent with Adrien before relapsing into unconsciousness, and remembering the terrible feeling of waking to the realisation that he was going away to risk his life. Her heart sank at the thought. Would she ever see him again? She slipped into a melancholic reverie.

  Amber, too, was feeling gloomy, and tried to distract herself by observing the countryside. Once again she noticed that no one was working the fields. Men and women with long silvery hair were indeed out amid the crops, but they had no farming tools and were simply laughing and singing. Curious, Amber asked her companions if they might stop and question these people, and the other girls readily assented, eager for a distraction. They dismounted and made their way through a field of sunflowers, welcomed by the peasants’ beaming smiles. The farm folk were won over by Amber’s open face and friendly greeting, and one of them, a short, stocky fellow, exclaimed, “Your eyes are made of gold, the sky, and flowers!”

  The other farmers laughed in agreement, looking at her with teasing expressions. Nonplussed by this unusual compliment, Amber gamely launched into her questions.

  “Do you work the land? I don’t know Fairytale at all, and I’d like to know how peasants live here, if that’s what you are.”

  Her audience laughed again good-heartedly; these people seemed simple but hospitable, with a joyful gleam in their eyes.

  “Since the beginning of time, we have understood the earth,” explained one of the women. “Our songs, our rejoicing nourish it, make it happy. When the plants begin to sprout, we reap our reward. We live in harmony with plants and the earth. If that means being ‘peasants’, as you say, then that is what we are.”

  “Are you a magic people?” asked Jade admiringly.

  “No more than others, or yourselves,” replied the woman. “There is magic in every one of us. Each seed is unlike any other.”

  Seeing the girls’ quizzical expressions, the farmers laughed again, and the woman who had spoken to them murmured, “We’re pleased to have met you.”

  Sensing that it was time for them to go, the girls said goodbye to these jovial people, who bade them farewell with melodious songs and merriment.

  Once the three companions were on their way again, Amber announced, “When we were leaving, the man who said those strange things about my eyes whispered something to me, something like: ‘Nature works miracles that magic can only dream about’.”

  “Those people were strange,” said Opal.

  “But nice,” insisted Amber.

  “Well, they certainly seemed to like you,” said Jade decisively.

  “Me?” replied Amber. “Maybe that’s because I feel close to them, as if I understand them…”

  The girls rode on, stopping briefly from time to time. After a few hours a town wreathed in a blackish fog appeared on the horizon. In spite of their growing distrust of anything unfamiliar they decided to go through the town, because going around it would have taken too much time.

  They entered the town that afternoon. Dismounting, they led their horses by the bridle and the animals moved forward confidently.

  “Is there any danger here?” Amber asked her horse.

  He did not reply but seemed to sniff the air before sending her a feeling not of peril, but of poverty and desolation.

  The town was silent, and all the houses were shut tight.

  “A few homes have burnt down recently,” remarked Opal.

  At the end of the first street several houses had been reduced to a heap of ashes and charred objects.

  Amber shivered. Suddenly a fat man wearing something like an elegant silk toga came rushing out of a house and fell to his knees in front of the girls. His face was vivid with terror, he was shaking violently, and the despair in his eyes was close to madness.

  “Whoever you are,” he begged, “help us! I implore you, don’t let us perish.”

  Because she was learning to be wary of everything, Opal was convinced that this was some new trick and wanted to continue on their way, but Amber held on to her arm and Jade nodded briefly to show her approval.

  “What happened?” Amber asked the man.

  “You don’t know?” he moaned. “Come inside what’s left of my home, and you’ll understand.”

  The three girls looked at one another. Amber and Jade decided to investigate, one from compassion, the other from curiosity, and Opal was forced to go along with them. Amber paused to tell her horse to wait there for them, then followed the others into a modest stone house, closing the door softly behind her.

  Inside, a weeping, dishevelled woman and a swarm of children huddled together, terrified and in a state of shock. The place had been torn apart: broken objects and furniture littered the floor and the unassuming but pleasant pictures on the wall had been slashed to ribbons. The once comfortable home was now nothing but ruins.

  “Just look at what they did!” said the man. “What can we do now? No one — except you — has dared set foot in our town. No one will sacrifice their lives to help us.”

  “But what happened?” repeated Amber.

  “They came back,” hissed the man, eyes wide with fear. “Ever since the fall of Thaar, they have been showing up everywhere.”

  “Who?” demanded Jade.

  The woman cowering at the back of the room let out a shriek.

  “Just ignore her,” cautioned the man. “She’s a madwoman who wanders our streets. When they arrived I took her in to save her, in memory of my wife, who was killed by them a long time ago.”

  The woman continued to shout hysterically.

  “Béah Jardun, be quiet!” ordered the man, clamping his hands over his ears.

  The woman obeyed him promptly, reassured by the sound of her own name.

  “So you don’t know who they are?” marvelled the man, turning back to the three girls. “We’ve always dreaded them. There were periods when they reigned over almost all of Fairytale, and at other times we heard nothing more of them for centuries. They have returned, and now they are more powerful than ever! A hundred soldiers of Darkness are leading them — they have always wanted to rule Fairytale, that’s why they have joined the Council of T
welve, which has promised them this territory in exchange for their support and their obedience. They’ve almost certainly pledged their loyalty so that they can betray their masters after they have conquered us.”

  “Aside from these soldiers of Darkness,” interrupted Jade, “who are they?”

  “Wicked creatures of all kinds,” he replied, “including some men, who have chosen the side of evil because they all have one thing in common: the desire to destroy. Some of them even know how to breathe hatred into pure souls — they have the Gift of evil.”

  “Like Janëlle,” thought Amber bitterly.

  “Ever since Thaar fell to them and the Council of Twelve,” continued the man, “they have again been running wild in Fairytale. They pillage, slaughtering those weaker than they are. Most of our army, the one that protected us, is mobilised around Thaar. As for the sorcerers of Light, people say that they never existed and are only a legend. Many of us are ready to fight, of course, but the Chosen One has still not come, so we’re losing hope and beginning to give up.”

  “The Chosen One? Who’s that?” asked Jade.

  The man stared at her in disbelief. Then he seemed struck by something obvious and coughed, recovering his composure.

  “I don’t know what I’m talking about any more — I must be raving, like that poor lunatic Béah Jardun. Pay no attention to what I said.”

  “Don’t expect me to fall for that!” scoffed Jade. “Do these evil creatures have a name?”

  “Not really, just the Army of Darkness.”

  “And who are the sorcerers of Light?”

  “If they exist, they’re the only ones capable of opposing the soldiers of Darkness. Soon, when the Army of Light is assembled…”

  “What? What army?” asked Jade. “Why would it assemble? Is there going to be a war?”

  “I’ve said too much,” sighed the man. “I don’t want to talk about this any more.”

  While Jade was questioning the man about the Chosen One, Amber had approached the woman and children, speaking to them in her soft, gentle voice, hoping to comfort them as best she could. A spark of lucidity seemed to flicker in the eyes of Béah Jardun, who leant forward, tugging on Amber’s arm to make her bend down, and whispered nervously, “When you were born, your mother was overjoyed! Frightened as well, but so happy… I was there — only a maidservant, but still, I was there. Many people were. Even Jean Losserand, the traveller, who was going home after his many adventures, was passing through that night. He helped your mother to flee, to hide you safely in the Outside. And when he tried to bring her back to Fairytale, before going back to his home, they were arrested. Jean Losserand remained out there, in prison, but your mother — she was killed by order of the Council of Twelve. I went with them too, but, thank goodness, I was luckier; I managed to come back and find your father again, who was waiting in vain for his wife. Later the Army of Darkness killed him as well.”