by Flavia Bujor
“I know that,” said Jade promptly.
She’d been going to add that she was the daughter of the Duke of Divulyon, but caught herself: she was not to reveal her identity to anyone. She smiled at the knight again. The man seemed rather disconcerted by her appearance; he could tell she was rich and belonged to an influential family. He had his orders, however, and could not let anyone enter without a pass.
“The Duke of Divulyon is my uncle; my name is Coralie of Mordorais, and these two girls are my servants.”
Jade had a cousin of that name, the daughter of the duke’s sister, a girl of about her own age.
“I have heard of your illustrious family, Lady Mordorais,” replied the knight in a more gracious tone. “But without a pass, I may not allow you to enter.”
“You will feel the wrath of my father,” declared Jade calmly.
“The Count of Mordorais?”
“The very same. You must surely be aware that he is under the command of the Duke of Divulyon. He has great influence with him, and thus with the Council of Twelve as well.”
“I do not doubt it.”
“My father asked me to come to Nathyrnn to see someone, a certain Jean Losserand. He is to return an object belonging to my father, a book of great value.”
“Why did the Count of Mordorais not send a page on this errand, or else have you accompanied by an escort?” asked the knight doubtfully.
“I wanted to see Nathyrnn, and I do not like to saddle myself with an escort. My father did indeed give me an entry pass, signed by the Duke of Divulyon, but I seem to have mislaid it. He will be seriously vexed if I return empty-handed.”
The knight was very suspicious, and said nothing.
Jade spoke coaxingly. “How can you doubt my words when you see my jewels? Aside from me, the only person in this entire dukedom who may wear such gems is the daughter of the Duke of Divulyon. They prove that I am Coralie of Mordorais and that you should let me enter the city.”
“I cannot.”
Now Jade lost her temper.
“Let me enter Nathyrnn immediately or I swear that my father will drag you through the mud until you beg for mercy!” she hissed, her eyes spitting fire. “He’ll have you tortured in the public square like a common criminal, and you will suffer a horrible death. If you do not open this gate right now, you will regret it!”
“I … I really cannot, Lady Mordorais.”
“Obey me!” yelled Jade.
“Ja– uh, Coralie,” suggested Amber in a low voice, “perhaps you should offer one of your jewels to this knight so that we could enter…”
The knight’s eyes gleamed. “Your servant is not such an idiot after all, Lady Mordorais.”
“You shall have nothing!” fumed Jade. “I do not have to pay to enter.”
“Then you shall not enter,” concluded the knight.
“That’s what you think. Open this gate.”
“No.”
“Open it!” roared Jade.
The knight instinctively placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. That was when Opal stepped forward majestically, pushing aside Jade, who stumbled in surprise. Opal turned her icy gaze on the knight and addressed him in a determined voice.
“Enough lies. This girl is not Coralie of Mordorais, and I am not her maid.”
Taken aback and impressed by Opal’s self-command, the man asked her, “Then who is this so-called Lady Mordorais?”
“She is my own maid. We exchanged roles to ensure my safety.”
“Your safety?” exclaimed the knight, growing increasingly bewildered. “But who are you?”
“My family is too noble for its name to be pronounced before you,” replied Opal coolly. “The Council of Twelve has entrusted me with a mission of the gravest importance. I must keep it secret and travel with the greatest discretion.”
The knight gazed at Opal in admiration.
“Why do you not have a pass to enter Nathyrnn?” he asked. “And what is your mission?”
“Alas! We have come a long way and were travelling with a guide, who unfortunately betrayed us. He stole our pass and fled. By the time we realised this, it was too late to do anything about it. As for my mission, I ought not to speak of it, but since you have proved so understanding, I will reveal something to you…
“I’m listening,” replied the man eagerly.
“My mission concerns the Prophecy and three enemies of the Council of Twelve.”
A light dawned in the knight’s eyes.
“So it’s true? The rumours do speak of… the subject you mentioned.”
Opal shivered. So, her intuition had proved correct.
“You understand,” she continued, “that it is vitally important that you assist me in my mission. The Council of Twelve must not be thwarted in such an urgent enterprise!”
Opal had spoken solemnly, her big blue eyes staring without blinking at the knight.
“I understand completely,” he stammered.
He summoned the other two knights, and together they opened the gate of Nathyrnn.
Without a word of thanks, Opal walked with great dignity into the city, followed by Jade and Amber.
“Good luck!” the knight shouted after the three girls.
And the heavy gate of Nathyrnn swung shut behind them.
CHAPTER NINE
The Bookseller
FOR TEN YEARS, Jean Losserand had tried desperately to hold on to his thirst for life and adventure, but as time wore on, he became bitterly aware that he was losing interest in his quest for a perfect reality. He had long dreamt of escaping this city that was like a prison, but as his hopes faded, so too did the strength to struggle against his fate. Now and then, he thought sadly of his ageing mother and reflected that he would never see her again. His monotonous existence had stifled even his love of freedom, and his beloved books had finally lost their charm. Fairy tales, fantastic stories, and all novels had been forbidden. Only biographies or technical works were allowed, because they did not offend the Council. Jean Losserand could no longer find comfort anywhere; he was under constant surveillance and now lacked the willpower to fight back in any way. His life had been reduced to an endless, helpless sigh. Until the day he heard a knock on his shop door.
Since he had few customers, he did not bother any more to take care of his bookshop, which looked neglected. Dusty, torn volumes were stacked everywhere in untidy piles, and the shop door was always closed, so he was surprised when someone came knocking. He shuffled slowly to the door, opened it, and stood gaping in astonishment at the three girls, who gazed back curiously at him.
“Are you Jean Losserand?” inquired Jade.
The bookseller studied her for a moment, noticing the liveliness and determination that danced in her eyes. “The colour of jade,” he thought…
“Excuse us for disturbing you,” said Amber softly, “but are you really Jean Losserand, the son of the old woman who lives in a remote farmhouse?”
“With a disgusting stable,” added Jade.
“I am indeed Jean Losserand,” said the startled man. “Do you know my mother?”
“Yes!” said Jade gaily. “She’s very hospitable.”
“My mother?” he repeated in disbelief.
“Yes,” replied Jade. “We’ve come here to ask you for help. May we come in?”
“Of course.”
Jean Losserand led the unexpected visitors to an adjoining room, where he invited them to sit down in some very worn, red velvet armchairs. He fussed around them, offering them biscuits, preparing mint tea for them, all the while studying them intently. Their clothes seemed quite ordinary, of good quality but not luxurious. In all other respects, however, the three girls were most unlike one another. When he looked into Amber’s face, he seemed troubled, and his left hand began to shake the way it always did when he was overcome with emotion. Amber noticed that he had trouble setting the teapot down on a low table, and she served the mint tea for him, pouring it into chipped china cups.
“Thank you,” he murmured gratefully. “And now, tell me what I can do for you.”
“It’s a long story,” replied Jade.
Then she quietly and carefully inspected their surroundings. Taking a sip of steaming hot tea, she spilt some on her trousers. Her sumptuous attire had been attracting unwelcome stares of amazement from the citizens of Nathyrnn, and Amber had finally convinced her to agree, albeit reluctantly, to sell her dress and some of her precious jewellery. Jade had used some of the money to buy more suitable clothing, and Amber had used a few small copper coins from her black velvet purse to purchase a simple outfit, because even her peasant clothes had been attracting attention. She had also washed her face at a public fountain to get rid of the smudges of dirt, straw, and tears. She felt better, refreshed, even though she was exhausted; their communication with the Stones had sapped all her energy. She nibbled a biscuit unenthusiastically. She was relieved to have arrived at last at Jean Losserand’s shop, which had been hard to find in the dark and narrow street. Amber had regretfully concluded that she did not like Nathyrnn: the people appeared surly and uncommunicative and the streets were too quiet, without many shops. Everything was shabby and deserted. She felt reassured to be in the bookshop, with this man who seemed friendly and attentive. She had observed him closely, as was her habit. He was impressively tall, but his shoulders drooped a little, as if he carried a heavy burden. Amber guessed that he was between thirty and forty years old. His face was stamped with wisdom and kindness, yet his eyes expressed a kind of resigned despair and regret.
“Explain how I can help you,” he repeated. “Who are you? What are you doing in Nathyrnn?”
He seemed to be speaking to Amber, but it was Jade who replied.
“We come from the area around the palace of Divulyon, and we are here to see you. We were able to enter Nathyrnn thanks to a brilliant lie Opal told.”
Jade jerked her chin at Opal with a hint of disdain, and Opal returned the favour with an icy look.
“We know you are on our side,” continued Jade, “and we have enemies in common.” In a low voice, she added, “It seems the Council of Twelve are meeting to talk about us. And what they have to say is not good…”
“If you are enemies of the Council of Twelve, then welcome to Nathyrnn. This city is really a prison where those who have visited Fairytale are held captive,” explained Jean Losserand.
“We don’t have any idea why the Council is concerned with us,” confided Amber, “and we have enemies whose identity we don’t even know. Just today Opal received a terrifyingly powerful telepathic message that was full of evil. Do you know who could have done this?”
“Only members of the Council of Twelve know how to practise telepathy. In Fairytale, of course, many magicians can perform it as well, but they could never have sent a message from such a great distance.”
“Then the Council of Twelve really is against us,” observed Jade. “I can’t believe it. I’ve never heard anything bad about the Council of Twelve. My own father was chosen to govern a territory and was made a duke by the council. He obeys the laws and the orders of those twelve old men.”
Seeing Jean Losserand’s puzzled expression, Jade explained herself.
“I am Jade of Divulyon. I shouldn’t really tell you this, but I trust you. I found out just recently that I’m not the duke’s daughter after all, and I’ve been driven from the palace.”
The bookseller was beginning to understand. So, the rumours already circulating in Fairytale ten years before had been well-founded. All his doubts about Amber suddenly became certainties. He had recognised her — she was indeed who he thought she was. He had studied every feature of her face, and everything confirmed his suspicions. Jean Losserand was filled with joy: she was alive! The sun rose in his heart, as hope and an infinite love of life flooded back into his soul, and he told himself once more: She is alive! He was burning to shout out those wondrous words, but he knew that he must not, and managed to hold his tongue.
Meanwhile, Jade was looking in her bag for the paper on which she had drawn the symbol. When she finally found it, she gave it to Jean Losserand, who examined it with interest.
“What is it?” asked Jade breathlessly. “Can you understand it?”
“It’s a sign written in one of the ancient languages of Fairytale,” he said immediately.
“Really!” exclaimed Amber. “And what does it mean?”
“It’s rather complicated — it concerns wisdom and the power to read what is hidden deep within the heart, but at the same time, the symbol can be read as a name: Oonagh.”
“Oonagh?” repeated Amber, instantly enchanted by the lilting sound of the name.
“Oonagh is someone who lives in Fairytale,” continued the bookseller, “someone whose people have been largely decimated by the Council of Twelve. Oonagh is a magic creature renowned for her wisdom, and she can read the secrets of the heart. She is spoken of with the greatest respect.”
“Oonagh lives in Fairytale!” breathed Amber, her imagination catching fire.
“Yes, in a crystal grotto.”
“I think we’ll have to go and visit this Oonagh,” observed Jade. “But tell us a little about Fairytale. I thought it was a legend.”
“Not at all,” Jean Losserand assured them. “I really did go there.”
“Well, so — what’s it like, this place?” asked Jade.
“I’ll tell you everything I know. But, most importantly, to be able to cross the magnetic field surrounding Fairytale, you must believe wholeheartedly in the impossible. You girls are no longer naïve children trusting in fantasy, so this may be difficult for you.”
“I’ll manage it,” said Jade haughtily, because she couldn’t conceive of anything in the world that she would not be able to do.
“Who lives in Fairytale?” asked Amber. “Damsels in distress, knights in shining armour, wizards?”
“Among others. A long, long time ago, when the Council of Twelve did not yet have the power it wields now, hundreds of people with magic powers lived freely in the world. Human beings were merely one of many advanced species, and everyone respected their mutual differences. Yet despite the many advances humankind had made — technological progress, huge towering cities, travel to the stars — the Council of Twelve was fearful of the immense power these kindly magical creatures held. The council gained power by sowing hatred in men’s hearts against the other races. Gradually, by abusing the trust of those peoples who were so different from us, the council succeeded in destroying them. It was a lawless time, and a shameful one, too.”
A shadow of fear passed over Amber’s gentle face.
“What happened next?” she asked haltingly. “Why didn’t anyone rise up and try to save them?”
“No one really understood what was going on. People trusted their neighbours and were used to living in harmony. It all happened in confusion and secrecy. Finally, the magic creatures, who were peaceful beings, decided to avoid further bloodshed. Their survivors withdrew into a distant land, rich and fertile but far from civilisation. There they combined their powers and created magnetic fields to protect themselves. Thus was born Fairytale, which has now become a prosperous country of entrancing beauty, where humans and creatures endowed with supernatural powers live side by side with the same tolerance as before. Unfortunately, evil does rage there as well. Wherever there is life, there cannot be only goodness. But at least the Council of Twelve is unable to impose its law there. It is a free place.”
“That story is so beautiful,” murmured Amber, deeply moved.
“Yes,” said Jade matter-of-factly. “Is Fairytale far from here?”
“No, it’s actually very nearby,” replied Jean Losserand. “Nathyrnn marks the limit of the dukedom of Divulyon. The border is less than fifteen minutes away, but heavily guarded. Few succeed in crossing it. And just beyond lie the magnetic fields surrounding Fairytale.”
“That close?” cried Jade. “Then it will be qui
te easy to get there.”
“No, it won’t. To begin with, you need an exit pass to leave Nathyrnn. Then comes the hardest part: crossing the border.”
“Getting out of Nathyrnn shouldn’t be a problem: Opal thought up a very plausible lie,” remarked Jade acidly. She was still disgruntled at failing to win over the Knight of the Order herself.
“Yes,” agreed Amber enthusiastically — “Tell him, Opal!”
Reluctantly, Opal did.
“Some instinct led me to say that I was working for the Council of Twelve,” she related in an indifferent voice. “I was suddenly convinced that the telepathic message had come from them. I knew, I sensed, that we were their enemies.”
At these words, Jean Losserand shivered.
“It is true that for a message to be sent telepathically, the mind of the person sending the message is linked to the mind of the person receiving it. However, that does not mean that they can read each other’s thoughts,” he said. “Unless — unless the purpose of the message is to instil fear or inflict pain.”
There was an uneasy silence.
“The voice also spoke of a prophecy,” said Amber faintly. “And an enormous book covered with blood. Do you know what that’s all about?”
Jean Losserand weighed his words carefully, afraid of revealing what it was vital to conceal. Before he replied, he considered Amber for a moment, with her sweet face and kind eyes.
“The Prophecy was written centuries ago by a philosopher named Néophileus, who was a member of a strong and unconquerable fairy race called the Clohryuns. Néophileus had the gift of seeing into the future, and he had a premonition that many of his kind would be destroyed, a few hundred years later, by the Council of Twelve. Unfortunately, no one believed him, because everyone thought that they had learnt to live in peace for ever.”
The three girls were transfixed by his words: Jade’s eyes gleamed with curiosity, Amber’s reflected interest and understanding, while Opal’s remained inscrutable.