The Secret Kingdom

by Jenny Nimmo

  Timoken looked at his sister, still only thirteen years old after more than a hundred years of travelling. He regarded his own small fingers and said, ‘If we had grown like ordinary people, they would leave us alone.’

  Zobayda shook her head. ‘Remember what our mother said. We mustn’t start to grow until we find a real home.’ She spoke so sternly Timoken couldn’t argue.

  They decided to avoid the cities for a while, and travelled through the rough scrubland that bordered the desert. The nomad tribes had taught them how to bind their heads and faces with cloth to protect them from sandstorms, and they had learned how to survive the heat and discomfort. They often came within sight of a forest, but, although Gabar would go as far as the streams that trickled from the trees, he would go no further. He was afraid of the darkness, the fleeting shadows and the eerie sounds of birds and monkeys. Perhaps he sensed the strong presence of the viridees.

  The viridees never lost track of Timoken and his sister. They tried every trick they knew to steal the moon cloak. They bribed merchants, beggars, and even beasts to destroy the children, but the moon cloak had a power of its own, and all their efforts failed.

  Lord Degal had an idea. If the girl could be prevented from using her fingers, she could be captured. And for her safe return, surely the boy would hand over the web and the bottle.

  ‘It is her ring,’ said Lord Degal. ‘That is what protects her. We must steal the ring.’

  He called for his best singer, a viridee whose voice could not be resisted. Lord Degal told the singer to practise the sweet tones of a bubbling stream.

  Then, one achingly hot and tiring day, Timoken managed to urge the reluctant Gabar further into the cool shade of a forest. The viridees were delighted. The singer could now lure Zobayda towards a stream. There she would dip her hands in the water, attracted by a gleam beneath the surface, something pretty – flowers like diamonds or pebbles like pearls. As soon as her fingers were underwater, a viridee could draw off the ring, rendering her fingers harmless.

  And then we can catch her, they whispered with a chuckle.

  After a night in the forest, the children were eating by their fire when Zobayda gave a little start, as though a mouse had run across her knees.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Timoken, licking his fingers.

  ‘I felt something.’ Zobayda clutched her ringed finger. The ring seemed heavier today, and the little face looked anxious. Zobayda sensed that it was trying to warn her. ‘Timoken, you must never speak of your powers, never. No one must know that you can fly, that you can speak to animals, and change the weather … no one.’

  ‘But some are bound to guess. They have seen us flying on Gabar.’

  ‘True,’ Zobayda murmured. Her dark eyes looked distant, and her next words were spoken as though she were receiving them from someone else. ‘You must not use your powers unless there is no other way.’

  In spite of the fire, Timoken felt suddenly chilled. His sister’s tone was so solemn.

  ‘But why?’ he said.

  Zobayda gave her brother a wide smile. ‘Don’t worry, little brother. I know you will do your best to keep your secrets. Your place in the world is already foretold.’

  Timoken shivered with apprehension. He stared into the small flames, willing them to cheer him. ‘What do you mean?’ he whispered to his sister.

  ‘I hardly know myself.’ Zobayda stood up and brushed the creases from her robe. ‘It is just a sense I have. I’m going to fetch some fresh water. I can hear such a sparkling, rushing stream.’ She turned a full circle, gazing through the trees. ‘It’s somewhere very near.’

  ‘Let me come,’ said Timoken.

  ‘No. I can find it.’ She picked up their small clay jar and ran through the trees.

  A little way off, Gabar had been standing in grumpy silence. Now he gave a loud grunt, and then another, and another.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ called Timoken.

  ‘Bad,’ said Gabar. ‘Worse and worse. Don’t like forests.’

  All at once, Timoken agreed with him. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘We’ll leave this forest when Zobayda gets back.’

  Zobayda followed the sound of the stream. It made an enchanting tinkle, almost like music. She had an overwhelming thirst now, and longed to feel the trickle of water over her tongue.

  The stream, when she found it, was all she could have wished for. It bubbled and rushed over glistening pebbles, deep in one place, wide and gleaming in another. She ran beside it, further and further, drawn towards an even greater sound: the thunder of a waterfall. Before she reached the falls, she stopped at a deep pool. She could see a bright sparkle among the swaying river-weeds, so bright it must be something precious. She knelt on a flat black rock beside the water and put out her hand. A sharp pain travelled up her arm. If she had looked at her ring she would have seen a grimace of fear on the small face, its mouth wide open, its eyes shut tight.

  ‘No, no, no,’ came a tiny whisper.

  Zobayda heard nothing but the pounding of the falls. Ignoring the pain, she dipped her hand in the water, reaching for that captivating sparkle. But as her fingers felt their way through the water, so the weeds began to wrap themselves around her hand. They clasped her wrist, her arm. She put in her other hand to rescue the first, but that too was gripped by the dark weeds, and Zobayda cried out as the ring was slowly, very slowly, dragged from her finger.

  As soon as the ring was gone, Zobayda’s arms were released and she fell back on the rock. When she got to her feet and turned to run, she was certain that the trees behind her had moved closer. She stood, uncertain, on the rock. The trees began to bend and twist, snake-like. They dipped and shivered and became tall green forms. The forms moved closer and closer. Zobayda could see the hint of a red eye, and then another. She saw arms, like vines, rippling beneath the shining leaves, and she guessed what those wicked forms wanted.

  ‘You mean to exchange me for the moon cloak!’ Her voice shook but it carried, loud and fierce, above the noise of the falls. ‘And that you will never do.’

  The viridees stretched their sinewy green arms towards her, and Zobayda backed up to the very edge of the flat black rock. ‘The moon cloak belongs to my brother,’ she cried. ‘And it always will!’ And turning swiftly, she jumped.

  Burbling triumphantly, the viridees watched her black hair floating in a circle of silvery bubbles as the current dragged her to the roaring falls. And then she was gone.

  Timoken paced around the dead embers of the fire. The sun was rising; the forest was already steaming with damp heat. The sound of birds and beasts grew louder. Where was Zobayda? She had been gone far too long.

  ‘I’m going to find my sister,’ Timoken told the camel and, draping the moon cloak around his shoulders, he set off.

  Gabar would not be left on his own. He followed Timoken through the trees. The camel’s feet moved awkwardly over the forest floor; he stumbled on creepers and leaves, and twigs kept entangling his head. He grunted unhappily.

  Ignoring the camel’s distress, Timoken bounded towards the sound of water. He found the stream and began to follow it. The stream became a river, and Timoken heard the roar of a waterfall. He halted and called his sister’s name, but he found that his throat was choked with dread. Moving slowly now, he came to the flat black rock. He knew, somehow, that Zobayda had been standing there. He could almost see her.

  Timoken walked to the edge of the rock. His hands were shaking, and the sound of his heart drummed in his ears. What had happened here? He knelt down. Beneath his hands the rock told its story. Zobayda’s feet had been planted on its wet black surface. And then they had gone. They had leapt into the fast-flowing river. Why?

  Timoken peered into the weeds that writhed under the surface of the water. Something shone there, on a narrow ledge that jutted from beneath the rock. Sweeping his hand across the ledge, Timoken touched a small object. When he brought it out, he found himself looking at Zobayda’s ring. The forest-jinni’s face
was contorted with remorse.

  ‘I could not stop them,’ came the whisper.

  Tears of anger welled in Timoken’s eyes. ‘Who?’ he demanded.

  A featherlight sound came from the ring. ‘Viridees.’

  That name again.

  ‘Why?’ roared Timoken. ‘Why her and not me?’ He closed his fist around the ring and made to hurl it into the river.

  ‘No-o-o-o-o!’ screamed the ring.

  Timoken gritted his teeth and growled, ‘Why should I keep you? You couldn’t save my sister.’ He opened his fist, expecting the ring to drop into the torrent. But the ring clung to his finger and its voice carried, clear as a bell, over the roar of water.

  ‘I tried to save her, Timoken. But they were too strong. I wouldn’t let them take me, though. I belong to you now.’

  ‘You’re no use to me,’ cried Timoken, shaking his hand, trying to rid himself of the ring.

  ‘You’ll see! You’ll see!’ wailed the little voice.

  There was a sudden rush of sound behind Timoken. It was as if every creature in the forest were echoing the words of the ring. You’ll see! You’ll see! You’ll see!

  ‘Keep me! Keep me!’ cried the ring.

  And a thousand chattering, screeching, howling voices chanted, Keep the ring! Keep the ring!

  Timoken’s hand dropped to his side. He turned and looked at the forest in astonishment. ‘Did you hear that?’ he asked the camel.

  ‘Keep the ring,’ Gabar advised.

  Timoken muttered, ‘I suppose I will.’

  He slipped the ring on the middle finger of his left hand. An expression of weary relief appeared on the little face. Gently, it closed its eyes.

  Timoken stepped off the black rock and leant his head against Gabar’s shaggy neck. ‘What shall we do without her?’ he sobbed.

  Gabar did not entirely understand human emotion, and yet Timoken’s grief-stricken sounds echoed deep inside the camel and, to his surprise, he felt a tear trickling from one of his large eyes. Nevertheless, he had his own interests at heart. ‘We should leave the forest,’ he snorted.

  ‘Not yet,’ sobbed Timoken. ‘Not yet.’ For, in the secret kingdom, those who grieved went into the forest and there they stayed until the grieving was over. That could be any time between one year and ten.

  Wiping his eyes, Timoken began to stumble through the trees. Gabar followed obediently. They walked until nightfall, Timoken unable to stem the tears that streamed down his face. He could not rest. He could not eat or drink. Grief sat on his shoulders like a flat black rock, and he couldn’t escape it.

  They walked through the night. The cloud bats that Timoken had once found so entrancing, now seen through swollen eyes, appeared as insubstantial as floating dust. The calls of the owls that he had once listened to with such delight now sounded no more than a muttering of leaves.

  They walked until dawn. As light and birdsong began to fill the forest, Timoken became aware that something was wrong. He looked over his shoulder.

  Gabar was not there.

  Chapter Six

  The Hunter

  ‘GABAR!’ Timoken’s desperate voice lifted through the trees and anxious monkeys leapt along the branches.

  ‘Help me!’ Timoken called up to them. ‘Help me find him!’

  His grief forgotten, Timoken was like a creature launched from a spring. Bounding and flying through the trees, he called to his camel, the only family he had left.

  Birds and monkeys took up the call. ‘Gabar! Gabar! Gabar!’

  The answering grunt that Timoken longed for didn’t come. It wasn’t until nightfall that a weary, reluctant sound drifted towards him.

  The camel was sitting in a patch of moonlight. When Timoken approached, Gabar batted his long eyelashes, but gave no hint that he was pleased to see the boy.

  ‘Gabar, are you ill?’ Timoken sat beside the camel and patted his neck.

  Gabar chewed on a thick leaf. He didn’t like the flavour, but everything in the forest tasted bitter. ‘My head throbs,’ he said, ‘my stomach churns and my feet hurt.’

  Timoken sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Gabar.’

  ‘Sorry?’ queried the camel.

  ‘I am sad for you,’ explained Timoken.

  ‘No,’ said the camel. ‘You are sad for your sister who is gone. But you are not sad for me. If you were, you would leave the forest.’

  ‘I can’t,’ moaned Timoken. ‘It is the custom of my people to grieve in the forest. I can’t leave just yet. I am grieving for my sister.’

  ‘Custom?’ snorted Gabar. He got to his feet. ‘It is my custom to walk on sand, and so I shall leave you and find the desert.’ He began to walk away.

  ‘Gabar, no,’ wailed Timoken, running beside the camel. ‘Please stay with me.’

  ‘If I stay here, I shall die,’ Gabar snorted.

  ‘You are my family,’ cried Timoken. ‘I thought I was yours.’

  ‘Goodbye, Family,’ said the camel.

  Timoken realised that he had no choice. If he didn’t want to be alone he would have to follow Gabar. All the camel’s senses were leading him back to the world he knew. Timoken promised himself that he would grieve for his sister another time. ‘I will never forget you, Zobayda,’ he muttered. ‘But Gabar is all the family I have.’

  The forest was beginning to thin. The heat of the sun intensified. Soon they would be out of the trees. The animal noises were changing. Not so many monkeys here, not so many birds. Even so, the silence, when it came, was very sudden.

  Timoken was aware of a sound slicing through the air above his head, so fast it could hardly be heard. There was a strangled roar of pain and then a profound hush.

  The forest held its breath, and the skin of Timoken’s neck prickled with fear. Caught in the silence of the trees, he could hardly breathe. All at once, he was running.

  The camel trotted after him.

  They came to a clearing and Timoken scanned the undergrowth. Was it here? Was this where he was meant to come? That muffled, desperate roar had led him here. Or was it fate? A movement caught his eye, in the shadows behind the sunlit trees.

  Timoken gasped. The rotting branch resting against a tree was, in fact, a creature. Tall and reed-thin, its green hair dangled in vine-like strands over its slimy body. A quiver of arrows hung from the belt around its waist, and its root-like fingers rested on the end of a large bow. A viridee.

  Sounds reached Timoken at last. The forest had woken from its trance. He could hear snarls and whimpers and the crunch of bones. Behind the viridee hunter, a pack of hyenas was tearing at the carcass of a small gazelle.

  Timoken felt the viridee’s gaze upon him. Its eyes were red, like embers without the black dot of a pupil, without a heart. Pitiless, they bored into his very bones.

  Timoken took a step back and, as he did so, he glimpsed another body: a female leopard lying on her side. There was an arrow sticking out of her neck, the tip deeply embedded. The leopard’s eyes were glazed. She was obviously dead.

  Anger and disgust made Timoken’s stomach lurch. The viridee hunter had killed the leopard, and yet he was prepared to let hyenas eat the leopard’s prey. One of the animals carried a piece of meat to the hunter, but the tall green figure did not take it. Still gazing at Timoken, he caressed the hyena’s head.

  This was no place for Timoken. The hyenas repelled him, and the rotting, green figure gave off an overpowering scent of evil. The boy turned his back and began to run.

  With the dreadful scene still burning in his mind, Timoken was blind to the creeper strung across his path. He tripped and fell, landing in a tangle of undergrowth. There was a weak hiss, and a tiny growl. Timoken turned his head and looked into the eyes of three small leopard cubs. They were huddled together behind a tangle of vines hanging from a fallen tree, only an arm’s length from his face.

  The cubs gave tiny defiant cries and, instinctively, Timoken put out a warning hand. ‘Hush!’ He used a leopard’s voice. ‘You are safe!’


  The cubs stared at him with troubled eyes and then, one by one, approached and rubbed their heads against his cheeks. As Timoken stroked their dappled fur, he was consumed by a rage that he had never known. He felt it, almost before he knew the reason for it.

  These small cubs would soon die. Without their mother, they were helpless. She had been carrying the dead gazelle when she was shot. And it was her prey that the hyenas were gorging on.

  Timoken pulled the moon cloak from his shoulders and wrapped it around the cubs. They gazed at him, but did not attempt to shake off the web. Their wide grey eyes followed the boy as he stood up and took out his pearl-handled knife.

  ‘What are you doing, Family?’ Gabar asked nervously.

  ‘Shh!’ warned Timoken. ‘I am going to get some meat.’

  ‘I hope not,’ grunted Gabar.

  ‘Shh!’ Rage filled Timoken’s throat.

  Gabar had never known the boy to use this kind of voice. Never. The sound puzzled him. Afraid of what would happen next, the camel fell silent. Motionless, he watched the boy creep soundlessly through the trees, back to the hideous scene from which he had just fled.

  The viridee had already seen him. Red eyes tracked the boy’s movements as he stepped into the glade. Two of the hyenas looked up from their feast and snarled. Facing those long teeth, Timoken knew his little knife could not protect him. But he did not lower it, and he did not stop or back away. The hyenas were all looking at him now, their snarls and screams filling the air.

  Timoken began to speak. He hardly knew where the words were coming from, but he was aware that he was using the voice of an animal. He spoke of the hyenas’ children, of horrible pain, of the end of life.

  The hyenas lowered their heads. Meat slid from their bloody jaws and their snarls turned to whimpers. Timoken stepped closer. Any fear he might have felt had been replaced by his unflinching will. All at once, to his astonishment, the whole pack turned their backs and ran, whining, into the trees.

  But the hunter stayed where he was, red eyes flashing. With one fluid movement, his long fingers reached for an arrow.