The Princess and the Captain (36 page)

When he came round he was lying on the fo'c's'le. There was absolute silence in his ears. He spat out water, coughed and retched. ‘Malva, Malva,' murmured an insistent voice in his head. His arms closed on empty air. She had gone.

Unlike Orpheus, Malva had not lost consciousness. When she felt him letting go of her, she had tried to cling to some part of the ship, but the current was too strong. The wave had taken her in its watery arms with a strange and almost gentle power, carrying her far from the
Fabula
at staggering speed.

For a moment Malva felt as if she were flying, riding the crest of foam as if it were a horse. She saw the sky above her race past. She saw the colours of the rising sun as the last morning mists dispersed around her like cotton wool. She didn't struggle. She was not really afraid at any point. Something in her told her that this supernatural wave had not appeared in order to kill her; she wasn't going to drown, she wasn't going to die. Or not yet.

The foam carried her away, propelling her on for a long time. Then the wave seemed to die down, and its crest gradually moved lower. At last the wave washed Malva gently up on a beach, and left her there.

She lay on the sand, eyes closed, feeling dazed. The sun very
quickly dried her clothes. She stopped trembling, stretched her limbs, and let the warmth of the beach penetrate her too. The sound of the ebbing waves lulled her. Now and then she heard the chirping of birds, the rustling of wings and branches. How serene and restful everything seemed here after all that fear and confusion! How good it was to let the sun make you drowsy, thinking of nothing but your own well-being. Malva told herself that the
Fabula
might have sunk, but she didn't really feel anxious. All that mattered to her just now was to feel the sand beneath her feet, her stomach, her cheeks, while a light and slightly sweet breeze tickled her nostrils. Almost in spite of herself her heart was at peace.

After a long time she opened her eyes and stood up.

She was on a white, sandy beach which outlined the perfect curve of a bay. Trees with supple, arching branches on which red and brown fruits hung grew along the shore. A cone-shaped building rose in the middle of the trees.

The next moment Malva turned her back on the sea and, almost forgetting what had just happened, walked towards the building. Plants had grown on its dome, giving it a kind of undulating green hair. The ochre stone of the facade was decorated with a great many small carvings depicting people or animals, which seemed to tell the ancient history of a nation now gone. Was it a temple? A place of worship to the divinities of those people, or just a house, or a king's burial place? Red birds turned in the air, swooped above the treetops, and came down from time to time on the stone gables.

Malva stopped in front of the monumental door marking the entrance to the building. She hesitated for a moment: should she go in? Did she risk disturbing the peace and quiet of this place? She finally decided to walk round it. She would come back later,
but just now it seemed more important to explore the rest of the island.

She left the beach and ventured into the undergrowth of the woods. The only sounds she heard were the calls of the red birds and the wind in the branches.

Malva was not afraid. She walked on without any anxiety. Although she had never set foot in this place, she felt as safe here as if she had known it all her life.

The forest soon opened out into a clearing. In the middle of the clearing, surrounded by trees with smooth trunks, Malva saw a lake of bubbling, steaming water. Her heart leaped. The words of old Bulo, the sailor on the
Estafador
, came back to her: hadn't he mentioned a lake like this one in Elgolia?

Malva went closer, knelt down on the banks of the lake and breathed in the steam. It smelled sweet, of fruits and honey. She dipped her hand in the warm water, and when she took it out she found that her skin had become softer, as fine as the skin of a very small child.

‘Lake Barath-Thor,' she murmured, marvelling.

She stood up, her heart palpitating. How could this miracle have happened? How could that wave have carried her to exactly where she dreamed of going? It was beyond understanding, but Malva was in no doubt now: she really was in Elgolia!

Full of vigour and enthusiasm, she left the clearing and began running along the sloping ground of the island. A path of soft grass appeared at her feet, and although it traced a steep incline she had no difficulty in climbing it. Soon the trees thinned out, giving way to meadows with streams running through them. She raised her eyes. As she expected, on the summit of the island, growing on a flowery mound, a tree with
a massive trunk spread its heavy branches. It was all exactly as old Bulo's story had said!

Malva crossed the streams with ease, brushed through the flowers, jumped over the rocks. When she reached the foot of the tree she was barely out of breath. She burst out laughing and danced in the grass until she felt dizzy. Then she leaned against the trunk of the tree and laid her cheek against its rough bark. ‘I'm on Mount Ur-Tha! I'm on Mount Ur-Tha!' she told herself. She had never felt such intoxicating happiness.

Around her, the island revealed all its majestic beauty. The birds with red feathers soared above the trees, the rivers sang as they flowed between crystalline rocks, the sea crinkled its surface down in the bay, and everything seemed absolutely pure and intact. So this was Elgolia: a place of peace and enchantment, a restful shelter, far from everything that had ever made Malva unhappy in the past. Here no one could make her marry anyone or become the kind of person she wasn't. Anything was possible here.

Remembering the promise she had made to herself, Malva began climbing into the branches of the thousand-year-old tree. She scaled the trunk, clambered to the very uppermost branch, and sat astride it to see the world. If old Bulo had been telling the truth, the magic of the tree was about to start working.

As soon as she was securely seated on the branch she felt a prickling in her eyes, and then a kind of burning sensation. She pulled a face, but she did not close her eyelids. She wanted to see …

‘Galnicia!' she said, turning to look west.

Eyes wide, she saw the familiar outline of the Citadel appear before her: its intimidating walls and towers on top of the cliff, like some great bird of prey, and lower down the silver waters of
the River Gdavir winding its way along. It was such a shock that Malva had to clutch the branch to keep herself from falling off. Dizzy, nauseated, dazzled: she breathed slowly, but she did not close her eyes.

Now she saw the gardens of the Citadel, its south facade, and the first houses of the Lower Town standing in its shadow. The trees in the orchards had lost their leaves, as if it were the middle of winter. No fountains played in the basins, and no one was walking along the terraces. The whole place looked grey, dull, lifeless. The bells of the Campanile were pealing out at the top of the Upper Town.

Someone's dead, thought Malva, shivering. She turned her head slightly and saw a funeral procession going down to one of the bridges. A small, shivering crowd was following a cart covered with a pall. A Holy Diafron drove this jolting vehicle, and behind him, surrounded by armed soldiers, walked …

‘The Coronador!'

As if her cry had scared it away, the vision blurred, and Galnicia dissolved into a kind of cold fog.

Malva felt a lump in her throat. If the Coronador was leading the mourners in this funeral procession, it must be someone dear to him under the pall … the Coronada?

‘Is … is my mother dead?' cried Malva.

A peaceful silence was all the reply she had to this question. She put a hand over her eyes, caught her breath, and turned feverishly in another direction.

‘I want to see Philomena!' she said in a voice that shook slightly.

The magic of the tree began again: the prickling, the brief burning sensation, then that strange feeling of being carried through space …

A vast plain of short, windswept grass sprinkled with snow appeared before Malva's eyes. She immediately recognised the Great Azizian Steppes where she had ridden so far in the company of the Baighurs. Her heart leaped again. When the vision became clearer, she saw a camp of oryak-skin tents with swirls of black smoke rising from its centre. Armed horsemen had gathered around a fire. They were rolling the handles of spears between their hands while the points glowed red in the embers. Malva recognised Uzmir in the middle of them. The Supreme Khansha's handsome face looked thin and hard.

Malva turned her head slightly. A young woman wrapped in a heavy oryak-skin cloak had just come out of one of the tents. For a few seconds Malva wasn't sure that she recognised her, and yet … yes, it was Philomena! Well, if the tree doesn't tell lies, she's alive, thought Malva with intense relief.

Philomena approached the circle of horsemen and took her place beside Uzmir. At that moment the men pulled their spears out of the fire and began to chant. Uzmir uttered a cry, and all his companions scattered. Only Philomena did not move. She stayed there looking at the flames with her head bent.

She's crying, thought Malva, biting her lip.

The riders mounted their scrawny horses, and set off at a gallop in close formation, following the Khansha, who stood on the back of his mount. He was shaking his spear in one hand. Malva realised that the Baighurs were not off hunting. Philomena's tears told her so. Uzmir and his men were at war.

Malva closed her eyes. Her heart felt heavy. She didn't need to see who the Baighurs were fighting; she knew. The Amoyeds and the forces of Temir-Gai must have formed an alliance after the fire that devastated the harem, and Uzmir's people must now be fighting on all fronts.

Malva moved a little on the branch. All these visions left a bitter taste in her mouth. The happiness she had just felt had melted away, and her heart was drowning in grief. She set her jaw, opened her eyes again, raised her head to the sun and said, ‘The Archont! I want to see where the Archont is now!'

In a painful flash she saw a boat with slanting sails of woven bamboo, very different from any of the vessels she had seen before. Bleeding, lifeless bodies lay on deck. She started as she heard cries. The last scene of a pitiless drama was being acted out at the stern of the boat.

The Archont, standing on a chest, tunic open to show his perspiring torso, was waving two swords at his opponents. He faced two exhausted and bleeding sailors who were supporting each other in a final effort. Hatred distorted the Archont's face. He had a wound on his shaven skull, but he was not weakening. With a great bound, he leaped on one of the two sailors, and Malva almost closed her eyes when he thrust his blade into the unhappy man's belly. The last survivor of the crew fell to the deck in his turn, and dropped his weapon. He was exhausted, but he managed to crawl behind the mast as the Archont retrieved the dagger of the man he had just killed. Horrified, Malva watched as the Archont slowly advanced, a dreadful grin on his lips. The sailor trembled and begged his executioner for mercy, but Malva knew that all pleas were useless. The Archont knew no pity.

He caught the man by the hair and plunged the dagger into his throat. Then he strode quickly over to the bows of the boat and searched under a heap of sails. He brought out something that Malva instantly recognised: a Nokros still containing several Stones of Life. With a victorious gesture he held his trophy up to the sun. Thanks to this stolen Nokros, he could still hope to gain time, cheat Catabea's deadline, and avoid the Immuration!

On the verge of fainting, Malva burst into tears on her branch. The scenes she had just witnessed, helpless to intervene, sickened her. She sobbed for a long time up there in the tree, overcome by anger and distress. She saw Uzmir's face before her, grave and emaciated; she saw Philomena, abandoned on the frozen steppes in front of the dying fire. And then came the images of Galnicia, grey and wintry, the Citadel, the orchards, the streets, all of them a part of the childhood that she had wanted to forget, but that was still fixed in her heart like an arrow-point. Clenching her fists, she pounded them on the branch until her hands were bleeding.

A long time later she found the strength to move. She sat back against the trunk, took a deep breath, and looked at the landscape around her. The sweet valleys and meadows, the calm forests, the cool streams of water, even the splendour of the Bay of Dao-Boa now seemed unreal to her. So much beauty almost made her feel ill. She no longer understood what had made her want to come here. How could she have left the beach without a thought for her companions who were still on board the
Fabula
?

She turned to the sea.

‘I want … I want to see Orpheus,' she murmured at last.

Her eyes widened, their pupils dilated, and the spell of Mount Ur-Tha began working again, showing her the mended sails of the
Fabula
.

The wave had struck the ship with such force that the rails were broken in several places. But all the passengers were there on deck, alive: Orpheus, Lei, Babilas, Hob, Finopico, Peppe, even Zeph, who was padding round in circles yapping hoarsely. They looked distraught and dazed. When she looked at their faces closely, Malva saw that they were crying. Orpheus was looking at the waves, clinging to the sagging rail. The distress in
his face utterly overwhelmed Malva. Peppe and Hob, their faces streaming with tears, called her name: Malva, Malva, Malva.

‘They think I'm dead!' she cried out loud.

The vision immediately disappeared, and Malva was alone in her tree again, unable to move.

‘They think I'm dead,' she repeated.

She felt like howling out loud, but she didn't have the strength. She slid down to the foot of the tree, her legs trembling. Making contact with the ground reassured her a little. She knelt on the moss and looked at the sky. It was such fine weather, the air was so sweet … how could she feel so sad when she had finally reached Elgolia?