The Prophecy of the Gems (21 page)

“I know,” replied the knight.

“Be careful, for the fiendish raptors of fear rule where Oonagh lives. Take this to protect yourself.” The Ghibdul handed him two green vines from which hung small black spheres. “These are amulets,” he explained. “One is for you, the other for your friend. Do not place them around your necks until you see the birds of prey. For one hour, these enchanted pendants will protect you from fear, and then will vanish.”

“I thank you,” said the hovalyn sincerely.

“You do not yet know what your true role is,” continued the Ghibdul with a sigh. “But do not forget
that when you tell others that you are the Chosen One, you will provoke as much hatred as you will happiness.”

The young man nodded.

“A few of our warriors will accompany you to the edge of the forest,” said the Ghibdul. “We will also give you two wild horses. Alas, they are not magical, but you will find them strong and sturdy.”

The Chosen One thanked him on behalf of himself and Elfohrys, with whom he left the Ghibduls’ lair the same day. They set off into the forest carrying provisions given to them by the village women and accompanied by Ghibdul warriors who flew alongside them.

The travellers had to halt frequently to allow their escort to rest. The deeper they went into the forest, the narrower grew the paths, and dry branches sometimes whipped across their faces. The Ghibduls tried to make the time pass agreeably, but they could do nothing about the forest.

“You’re still quite a distance from Oonagh,” said one of the magic creatures. “Once you leave here, you’ll be at least two weeks’ journey from your destination.”

“I think I know the route we must follow,” replied the hovalyn.

“It isn’t dangerous. That’s the safest part of Fairytale, and it harbours the least magic.”

“Nevertheless, watch out for the Army of Darkness,” warned another Ghibdul. “Even here, we know it has returned. And you must keep in mind how powerful and savage it is.”

At sunset, they reached the edge of the forest.

“Our paths separate here,” said a Ghibdul. “Do not forget, Chosen One, that we await your return.”

Then one of the warriors took from his pack the pearl-encrusted casket the hovalyn had forgotten to reclaim.

“Take back what is yours.”

As he put away the casket, the Chosen One reflected ruefully that he still didn’t know what it was for.

“Farewell,” he said to the Ghibduls. “Thank you for everything.”

“Goodbye,” they replied.”We will meet again soon!”

Elfohrys and the Nameless One emerged from the forest. Exhausted by their journey, they stretched out on the cool grass and went to sleep.

After awaking, they ate hurriedly, remounted, and swiftly rode off.

“Well, Nameless,” said Elfohrys, “now that you’ve learnt you’re the Chosen One, what do you think about it?”

“I know that I have a role to fulfil, even though I’m not yet sure what it is. But I feel different. I’ve found a new meaning to the days that lie ahead.”

Elfohrys smiled to himself.

The surrounding countryside was still asleep. Far in the distance rose the snow-capped peaks where Oonagh dwelt.

The two companions talked at length, discussing their remarkable stay with the Ghibduls and the uncertain future before them.

The Nameless One had finally found a friend in his companion and spoke to him with easy familiarity.

“But what about you — what are you seeking?” he asked him suddenly. “Why did you decide to help me?”

“I think that I can tell you now,” replied Elfohrys. “Many people despaired of ever seeing the Chosen One appear. They are waiting for you. You are
important. So I decided to find you, to lead you to discover who you are. And I succeeded.”

“But wh—” stammered the dumbfounded hovalyn “—exactly what is expected of me?”

“Oonagh will reveal that to you.
The Prophecy
says that you must not find out until then. You know, Néophileus, the author of that famous book, was a Clohryun, like me, and I believe in his words.”

“He’s been dead for centuries! You’re not going to take everything he says literally!”

Again Elfohrys smiled, but said nothing.

After a few hours, a small town appeared on the horizon, veiled in a blackish fog.

“A town sealed by the Army of Darkness,” said Elfohrys softly.

“We have to go there and save the people!”

“No,” replied Elfohrys. “We can’t do anything for them. It’s too late. The Seal is unbreakable. I know that place, it’s a town of merchants: good, simple, honest folk. The Army of Darkness only attacks those too weak to defend themselves.”

Elfohrys restrained his companion, who wanted to rush to the town, but the hovalyn soon realised that he
could not help its inhabitants. The young man felt guilty and useless, and Elfohrys was unable to comfort him.

They rode on for another hour. Then the hovalyn spotted clouds of smoke rising from a distant castle, and this time he and Elfohrys instantly whipped on their horses to dash to the rescue.

It was only when they arrived that they realised their mistake: the smoke was not from flames but from the Seal of Darkness settling around the town.

Lined up before them were hundreds of black-clad warriors on dark horses. They surrounded the casde and seemed united by a single force, a single thought. Their lips barely moved as they recited the spell of the Seal.

The Chosen One now faced part of the Army of Darkness. He acted without thinking and, as Elfohrys uttered a piercing cry, the hovalyn drew his sword. He swiftly attacked a soldier of Darkness and cut off his head, which rolled along the ground, its bulging eyes staring reproachfully at the young man.

A few soldiers of Darkness turned their attention away from the Seal, which began to fade almost imperceptibly.

“How dare you attack one of us!” roared a deformed-looking creature.

“And how dare
you
destroy innocent lives!” shouted the hovalyn.

“Who are you?”

“The Chosen One.”

With that, a dozen soldiers of Darkness advanced on the knight, and Elfohrys joined in the fray. Seriously outnumbered, the Chosen One turned to the casket in desperation, hoping that its mysterious power would aid him in this unequal battle. He instantly felt imbued with an unheard-of strength: he had always been an accomplished fighter, but this time he wielded his sword with unparalleled skill. He moved gracefully and with flawless precision as he rapidly and efficiently cut his way through enemy flesh, while his opponents barely wounded him.

Nevertheless, the soldiers of Darkness were powerful, well-trained, and vastly superior in number. The tide of battle was about to turn in their favour when a tall, imposing man called a halt to their attack. The soldiers surrounding the Chosen One and Elfohrys immediately sheathed their swords and stood to attention.

Although he was astride an enchanted black stallion that breathed flames from its nostrils, the tall authoritative man was human. His splendid uniform was jet black and the scabbard of his sword encrusted with sapphires. His craggy face was riddled with gashes and two pitiless eyes glittered like steel-blue jewels beneath his bushy brows. It was an unsettling, arrogant face, thin-lipped, with a straight nose and strong chin. His hair was black.

“Step forward, man,” he ordered in a deep voice.

The Nameless One did not move. The tall man seemed not to notice.

“You know how to fight better than only the weakest among us, but that is already quite an exploit.”

Silence.

“I am a soldier of Darkness, in command of this regiment of incompetents.”

Elfohrys glanced nervously at his companion, who remained stubbornly mute.

“You are clearly a hovalyn,” continued the soldier. “Where did you learn how to fight?”

The Chosen One said nothing. Still seated on his horse, he stared into his enemy’s cruel eyes.

“Why did you oppose our army? No one dares to do that. Which means you are brave.”

A soldier of Darkness spoke up: “He says he’s the Chosen One.”

“The Chosen One?” repeated the soldier icily.

“I am he,” affirmed the knight quietly.

“You’re no more the Chosen One than I am.”

With a wave of his hand, the soldier lifted the young man from his horse and suspended him a few yards above the ground, but his captive still did not flinch.

“Do you recognise the sign of the Army of Darkness?” asked the soldier.

Without waiting for a reply, he uncovered his left ankle: several numbers were inscribed on the skin, and beneath them, a black moon. The soldier waved his hand again, bringing his captive floating towards him, and with a snap of his fingers, he laid bare the skin of the young man’s left ankle. There was no sign of Darkness.

“Oh!” exclaimed the soldier sarcastically. “So, what you are is a deserter.”

Unsheathing his sword, he drew the tip of the blade across the hovalyn’s left ankle, and to everyone’s
amazement, a trickle of black blood formed the image of a moon and several numbers.

“I was right. A deserter,” he sneered.

It was difficult to say who was more appalled: Elfohrys or the Nameless One.

“According to the numbers, it’s been two years since you fled our army.”

The Nameless One could not believe his ears.

“Ah! Now I remember,” crowed the soldier of Darkness. “At one time everyone knew about you. Your parents had died a few years earlier, you were living with your grandparents, but one night you decided to leave your humdrum little existence behind. You wandered from village to village until we took you in, even though you were only sixteen. Within just a couple of months, you deserted. But you didn’t get far. Deserters from our army are punished by death. Since you were so young, however, we simply erased your memory. All of it. The rest of you, we spared.”

At a sign from the soldier, the Nameless One fell to the ground. He got to his feet, bruised and blinking back tears of pain and dismay.

The soldier began to laugh mockingly.

“Ordinarily, I would have you killed. But Death is so inconveniently on strike. Therefore I will let you continue your loathsome and insignificant existence.”

Alive, the Nameless One was condemned to bear his shame. Hope would vanish and all eyes turn away at the sight of him. Meaningless, dishonoured, his life would be one of endless wandering.

The soldier of Darkness knew that such a life was worse than death.

“And you wanted to make me believe you were the Chosen One?” he exclaimed, bellowing with laughter.

Then, with a disdainful gesture, he dismissed Elfohrys and the Nameless One.

They had no choice but to obey.

THE THREE GIRLS
rode through the countryside without encountering any obstacles or any sign of the sinister horseman. During the day they kept heading for the snowy mountains in the distance, asking for directions from the people with the long, silvery hair. At night the girls rested out on the pleasant meadows. They had seen no more sealed towns and had found only peace and prosperity along their way.

As the days went by the girls saw fewer villages and fields of crops, and after travelling for a week they arrived one morning at the foot of the mountains
capped with everlasting snow. Now that they were so close to their goal, they needed to find out exactly where Oonagh lived. Fortunately, they met an old man riding along on a donkey.

“Hello!” said Amber. “Could you please tell us where to find Oonagh?”

“I’ve just come from there,” replied the man, with a toothless smile. “I had a lot of trouble avoiding those accursed birds, but I made it!”

“How do we get to her?” asked Amber eagerly.

The old man pointed to a mountain whose peak was lost in the clouds.

“Oonagh lives over there, but don’t worry, not on top of the mountain. All you need to do is follow this path. You’ll see, the birds are the only problem. Luckily, if you manage to get by them on the way there, they don’t bother you when you leave.”

The girls thanked the man, then set off for Oonagh’s mountain. The winding path was not too steep and led them at first through a hardwood forest. The birds were nowhere to be seen, but when the slope grew steeper and the lovely forest gave way to lofty evergreens, the horses became skittish, balking
and neighing in panic. Trying to read her horse’s thoughts, Amber sensed fear but could not discover its cause. Finally, she made contact with the animal’s mind.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

It was some minutes before her frightened horse was able to reply, but when he could, he ignored his custom of not speaking to his riders and said distinctly, “I will go no further. If I do, the birds of prey will kill me. Leave. I will wait for you here.”

Realising that any argument was useless, Amber explained the situation to Jade and Opal, who resigned themselves to proceeding on foot.

“Let’s just take essential things with us, like food,” suggested Jade. “We’ll pick up the rest when we return.”

Each girl packed a small bag of provisions, and they continued on their way.

Now that they were no longer on horseback they quickly felt tired, but they hurried on, resting only when necessary. They did not talk, so as not to waste their breath. Their excitement grew as they drew closer to Oonagh, and their burning curiosity drove them on faster and faster. They no longer thought of
anything but that magic creature and what she might reveal. Remembering the symbol the Stones had transmitted to them, Amber first recalled Jean Losserand, who had interpreted it and advised them to consult Oonagh, and then she thought back over everything she had experienced in the short time since meeting Jade and Opal.

Night fell at last over the evergreen forest. Jade felt they would get lost if they tried to go any further, so the girls made camp in a large clearing and began to eat supper. Their nerves were on edge, for the darkened forest had become spooky and hostile. Amber thought she heard chilling cries in the distance. Wolves. She started to shake. Shadows were creeping all around them. Amber imagined shining yellow eyes behind the trees that ringed the clearing; evil eyes that stared at her, glinting ferociously.