The Prophecy of the Gems (2 page)

The duke did not reply. Jade’s spirits fell again. “And now, Papa,” she said gravely, “tell me why you
don’t think my birthday is at all important. In a few days, I shall be fourteen years old!”

“You are quite mistaken, Jade. I am very concerned about your birthday. But …” The duke bit his tongue. He had already said too much. She was not to know anything before it was time. Afraid that he might betray secrets he was not free to explain, he turned on his heel and left, going upstairs to his private suite where he began to pace back and forth. Every second was bringing him closer to the moment when he would have to reveal everything.

Puzzled, Jade wondered briefly about her father’s exceedingly strange behaviour, then shrugged her shoulders and decided not to fret about it. Her thoughts returned to the festivities planned for her birthday, and a smile returned to her lips.

INSTEAD OF KEEPING
an eye on the sheep in her care, Amber was daydreaming, as usual. Sitting on the grass, she imagined herself living near the sun, enjoying its warmth, chatting to the clouds and birds. The wind carried her along on marvellous voyages; at night, she was dazzled by the brilliance of stars she could reach out and touch, and—

“Briette! Briette!”

She returned to earth with a bump. She had forgotten that she was supposed to be looking after one of her little brothers as well as the flock of sheep. The child was sprawled under a tree, calling out to her at the top of his lungs.

“Briette! Come here! I’m bored … Briette!”

Everyone had always called her Briette even though her real name was Amber, which was probably too pretentious for a country girl and might have better suited a noble lady, someone from another world. She couldn’t imagine why her parents had chosen that name for her, although she’d often wondered about it, but she loved the name for its originality, its air of mystery. It seemed to conceal a secret.

“Briette! Briette! Pretty-please, come here!”

Amber rose and went to rejoin her brother. She sat down beside him in the shade of the tree.

“Whatever is the matter?” she asked soothingly.

“I’m bored, that’s what’s the matter! I want you to tell me a story.”

Smiling, Amber stroked his cheek affectionately. “OK I will, but not right now.”

“Why not?”

“I’d like to be alone. I want to stay perfectly quiet, and try to listen to the silence.”

“I want a story! You’re just saying silly stuff” The boy clung to her arm. “Please, Briette,” he begged.

Tenderly ruffling his hair, she freed herself from his embrace, then kissed him on the cheek.

“Later, I promise,” she said. “You stay here for the moment. I’m going back into the sunshine, I don’t like to be in the shade.”

“But Briette, it’s so hot! How can you stand being out in the sun?”

“I just like it, that’s all.”

Amber returned to the middle of the meadow and sank down into the grass. Nobody wanted to go out in that stifling heat. The cloudless sky was almost too blue, too pure. The sun bathed Amber’s face in light. She loved to feel the sunshine caress her skin, she enjoyed the heat that everyone else found so unbearable. People in the village hoped the dog days of summer would end soon, without bringing on a drought, but Amber wished the hot weather could go on for ever.

A silhouette appeared on the path and caught Amber’s eye: a boy was running towards her. He crossed the pasture and staggered to a stop near her, out of breath.
She knew him well, he was her childhood friend, and she smiled at him, peaceful and untroubled. Her hair was like red gold and gleamed like the sun, framing her lovely face with its tanned complexion. Flecks of green flashed in her hazel eyes, giving them a natural sweetness and serenity.

The boy could not return her smile, and looked sadly at her. Reluctantly, he gasped out his message.

“Briette, hurry — I’ll stay with your brother and mind the sheep, but hurry, run! Your mother … She’s in a bad way.”

Amber thought her heart would stop. Everything collapsed around her. Mist floated before her eyes. Gripped by fear, she felt cold in the scorching sun. She could not move.

“Briette! Run! Go! You haven’t much time — run, Briette!”

His voice reached Amber as if from far away. Her mind was reeling, the whole world quaking. With a desperate effort, she pulled herself together. She had to get there before it was too late. She scrambled to her feet and set out at a run. Fast. Fast. Tears blurred her vision, streaming down her face. She never felt them.
Only one thing still mattered — to avoid the unavoidable: her mother’s death. That must not happen! Her mother was very ill and had been suffering gready for weeks, for months even. No medicine could save her. But she mustn’t die! Amber ran her frantic race against time and death. She could already see the village, and she ran and ran, unaware of how tired she was. She reached the village square at last, and then her house, where she burst into the single room, so dark and silent, and rushed to her mother’s bedside. Kneeling, Amber took her mother’s hand, squeezing it with all her might, cradling it, feeling its warmth. Her mother lay moaning on the only bed, a straw pallet. She was already deathly pale, and her face expressed unspeakable suffering. Her mind seemed to be wandering.

“You’re here, Amber, you’re here,” she murmured weakly in a quavering voice. “I have only a few days left to live,” she went on after a moment, “and I will have fulfilled my mission.”

“Mama, don’t talk any more. It wears you out.”

“No. A few days. But I won’t make it. I’m too sick.” Amber struggled to hold back her tears. As always, she had to be strong. Gripping her mother’s hand even
more tightly, she felt as though she were drowning in despair.

“Mama, Mama,” she stammered helplessly, “everything will be all right.”

She tried to believe her own words, wanted to convince herself they were true. More than anything, she would have liked all this to be just a nightmare, and hoped she would wake up as usual, snuggled up in the straw with her sisters and brothers. But no, the nightmare went on and on, a horrible truth Amber did not want to face. She was used to conjuring up a dream world whenever the one in which she lived became too cruel. She would hide there, refusing to suffer. But her imagination was fragile, giving way easily to reality. Then the pain became even more intense, as if to take revenge on the girl who had tried to deny it.

“Amber … I must stay alive. A little while longer. A few days, only a few days. Soon I’ll be at rest.”

Amber trembled at the sound of her mother s voice and realised that both their faces were wet with tears. Her mother groaned, almost resigned to her fate, but Amber was not yet ready to give up. She was one of those who fight on until the end, even when all hope
is gone and there is no future left. True to her nature, she was still looking for a gleam of light in the darkness.

“Amber. Amber. My mission, Amber …”

“Hush, Mama. Hush. Don’t talk any more. It’s tiring for you, in your condition. But don’t worry, you’ll pull through. It’s nothing more serious than a cold. You’ll be up and about tomorrow. You’ll see, it’s a sunny day. The cherries are ripe. The grass is greener than ever. There isn’t a single cloud. The sky is so blue! It’s worth going outside for. Believe me, tomorrow you’ll be better.”

Amber’s voice broke, and she could barely choke back a sob.

“Amber, I only want to live a few more days. After that, it doesn’t matter to me, but I have my mission, and it’s still too soon. If I die, who will do what must be done? Amber, it’s my duty to stay alive for a few more days. But I won’t be able to — I haven’t got the strength.”

“Mama, calm down. It’s important to rest.”

“Amber, when my last day arrives, and it’s so close now … promise you’ll believe me. Even if my words are those of a weak, sick woman … Promise me.”

“I’ll promise you anything you want, Mama, but now, stop talking, it’s wearing you out.”

Thinking her mother was delirious with fever, Amber did not take anything she said seriously.

“IF I WHERE
her great-aunt, I’d be worried about her. She’s so secretive, so fond of solitude …”

“You’re right. She isn’t normal! She hasn’t got a single friend, and no one can figure out what goes on inside her head.”

“She never smiles, it’s unbelievable! And her downcast eyes … She has a way of being so cold and stubborn — it’s disturbing.”

“Yes, there’s something very unusual and puzzling about her. It makes you uneasy.”

The two gossips stopped chatting at the approach
of one of the oldest women in the village. No one knew her age, not even the woman herself: she no longer had the strength or the desire to count the years. Nobody paid attention to what she said any more; people often thought she talked nonsense. However, in spite of appearances, she was still lucid. Her back was bent, her face marked with a wrinkle for every path she had ever taken in life, and each of her slow steps seemed to cost her considerable effort.

After a moment, she reached the two busybodies. She could not possibly have overheard them, because they had stopped talking as she drew near. They greeted her with hypocritical smiles. The old woman stared at them contemptuously. “Of course Opal isn’t normal,” she said firmly. “Yes, she is different. And she will accomplish things you would never even dare imagine.”

With that, she hobbled slowly away. Speechless, the two village women noticed for the first time how dignified and strong-willed Opal’s great-great-aunt was.
For as far back as she could remember, Opal had always lived with Great-great-aunt Eugenia and her daughter, who bore the same first name but was called Gina, to distinguish her from her mother. Opal had never known any home beside the luxurious house where the three of them lived. In spite of her advanced age, Great-aunt Gina was still a vigorous woman. She had always managed the housekeeping as well as Opal’s education and had taught the girl everything she knew about literature and history. She had also passed on to the child her knowledge of plants and remedies.

Opal was a diligent and thoughtful student who never asked herself whether she liked learning things. Her tastes, feelings and ideas were all rather vague, often even nonexistent. Many boys found the girl beautiful, but she was as cold as marble, and her stony indifference rapidly cooled any ardour she inspired. She was frail, a trifle too thin, with milky skin and the face of a china doll whose delicate features made her seem fragile. There was an absent look in her large, pale blue eyes, which sometimes appeared almost grey. Thick curls fell about her shoulders, accentuating her
ethereal appearance. Her hair was blonde, each strand seemingly of a different shade: flaxen, honey-coloured, ash-blonde … She usually walked with her head down, staring at the ground. She wasn’t shy, but did not care for the company of others. No one really loved her and she didn’t really love anyone either. Although Eugénia and Gina showered her with attention, she had never known true warmth or affection.

Opal was looking for something to draw. She drew a great deal, neatly and precisely, striving to create an exact copy of her subject. She had once heard that art was a different way of looking at reality, but that didn’t mean much to her. She liked to reproduce what she saw, and above all, she wanted to excel, so she was constantly hunting for ever more difficult subjects. That day, she had rummaged through her entire room without finding anything that suited her.

On a sudden impulse she went to Gina’s room, which she never entered even though she had permission to do so. Once inside the room, she
shivered and felt as if she were doing something wrong. “This is ridiculous,” she thought. “I’m allowed to be in here! Gina has gone to the village, but if she were here, she’d be perfectly happy for me to come into her room!” Still, Opal felt ill at ease. She crossed the room and sat down on the bed. There was a wealth of complicated objects in the room she could have chosen to draw, but, moved by a strange desire, she tried to open the drawer of the bedside table — only to find it locked.

Opal was amazed at what she had just done. She had never felt such curiosity before. “Something’s happening,” she muttered. “I can’t control myself.”The peculiar feeling persisted. “What is it about this room …” she wondered. Then, as if following some instinct, she pulled down the bedspread, looked under the pillow, and found a tiny key, which she slipped into the lock of the bedside table. Then she stopped and took a deep breath. “What am I doing?” she thought — and quickly opened the drawer.

The first thing she saw was a large, heavy book, its title written in letters of gold:
The Prophecy.
Opening the volume to the pages indicated by a bookmark, Opal
read a few lines, found them uninteresting, then slammed the book shut. She tried to make herself see reason: what was she expecting to find? Annoyed, she continued searching through the drawer and came across a black velvet purse. “There’s something inside, and it’s calling out to me,” she thought, untying the drawstrings. It was a smooth object, warm to the touch.

Opal had never felt this way before — it was as if she were experiencing a different reality. She took out the object and examined it. It was a precious stone — a gem — round, of modest size and a very pale green colour, glossy and smooth. Opal held it tighdy. “It isn’t a stone,” she murmured to herself; “it’s something else, something powerful. A message.” She did not know why she was so certain of this, but she was sure she was close to the truth. She was in a trance, as though she were spellbound, oblivious to everything around her. She felt that there was a connection, an almost palpable link between her and the stone, which was trying to tell her something.

Opal tightened her grip — and the stone grew cold, its surface roughening. A vast feeling of emptiness overwhelmed the girl, plunging her into melancholy. In a few seconds the stone was icy cold. Shaking, Opal
was forced to let go of it. The connection she had sensed was brutally broken. She felt her forehead: it was burning.”I should never have opened the drawer,” she reflected ruefully. “I wasn’t supposed to discover this stone.” She knew this, felt it with certainty. Hastily slipping the stone back into the purse, she returned it to its hiding place. She took the book lying on the bed and also replaced it in the drawer, which she locked. She then concealed the key under the pillow and carefully smoothed out the bedspread. Just in time.