The Secret Kingdom (3 page)

‘Timoken!’ Zobayda screamed. ‘Leave here! Whatever
lies below will kill us.’ She could feel icy claws clutching at her heels.

Timoken wished himself away from the fearful world of water. He felt his feet skimming the surface of the sea, but he could not rise above it. The claws were now clinging hungrily to his feet. The cold made his head spin and he could not fly any more.

‘I cannot fly!’ Timoken moaned.

‘You must,’ cried his sister. ‘Timoken, you
must
fly!’

Zobayda’s desperate voice roused Timoken. He knew he must make an extra effort. With all the strength left in his weary head, he willed himself away from the water. There was a deep gurgle, a furious groan and the icy claws slowly released their grip. Below the surface of the water, two giant crabs sank to the bottom of the sea.

Timoken and his sister floated across the waves until their feet touched a bank of sand. Timoken gave a happy sigh and let himself fall on to dry land. Zobayda rolled beside him and, holding hands, they fell fast asleep.

The children had fallen on to sand that was still warm from the sun. But, as midnight approached, the air began to freeze and the earth became colder and colder. The children woke up, shivering. They had left the secret
kingdom in thin clothing and had brought very little with them.

Timoken frantically pulled clothes from the goatskin bag. Every garment was made of fibre spun to a fine silk. When the queen packed the bag she had been too distressed to think of chilly nights. At last, Timoken came to the moon spider’s web. To his cold hand the web felt warm and comforting. He shook it out. A huge net of sparkling strands unfurled in the air. It fell softly over the children and covered them like a blanket.

‘Our mother said it was magic,’ said Zobayda.

Timoken regarded the gleaming folds of the web. In the very centre, where the threads formed a tight net, he glimpsed an extraordinary face. It had huge saffron-coloured eyes, a long nose and a thin mouth that seemed to be smiling.

‘What are you?’ asked Timoken in a whisper.

‘I am the last forest-jinni,’ said a voice with a musical echo. ‘And you are my creation. Believe in yourself, Timoken. Your road is long and perilous, but keep me safe and you will survive. My gifts are many.’

‘What are you staring at?’ asked Zobayda sleepily. She moved her legs beneath the web and the yellow
eyes wavered, then the small face vanished.

Before Timoken could explain what he had seen, he became aware that they were being watched. The sand behind them slithered and crunched and, all at once, the children were surrounded. A group of warriors stood staring down at the children. Their painted spears glistened in the moonlight, but their faces were shadowed by tall feathered hats. Timoken could see their eyes, eyes that were fearful and amazed.

The men began to murmur to one another. At first, Timoken could not understand them, and then he began to make sense of their strange, mumbled language.

‘It hurts my eyes,’ said one.

‘It burns my face,’ said another.

‘I cannot breathe,’ gasped a third.

The men began to back away, but one pointed his spear towards the children. They screamed and, instinctively, pulled the web up to their chins. The man gave a savage snort and brought his spear closer to their faces. Timoken’s heart hammered in his chest; he waited for the weapon to slice through his neck. But as soon as the spear touched the web, there was a bright flash. The warrior screamed in pain and leapt away,
dropping his spear. ‘Devil children,’ he hissed.

At this, the group let out a wail of terror and fled. The children could hear their feet stumbling over the deep sand until the warriors were swallowed by the great silence of the desert night.

‘The web saved our lives,’ said Zobayda, gazing at the shining coverlet of spider silk.

‘We will always be safe,’ said Timoken, laying his head on the sand.

This time the children slept long and deeply. They awoke to find themselves in a strange landscape of huge, rolling sand dunes. Timoken ran to the top of a dune and looked out. On every side, the desert stretched in golden folds until it reached the horizon. Nothing moved. There was not a blade of grass, not a tree and not even the hint of a stream. The warriors’ footprints had been blown away by the wind, so there was no way of knowing where they had gone. Timoken plunged down the sand dune, stumbling, falling and laughing as his feet sank into the deep sand.

Zobayda had found food in the goatskin bag: dried fruit and meat, beans and millet cakes. But there was nothing to drink.

‘Perhaps we’ll find a stream,’ said Timoken, ‘or perhaps it will rain.’ He chose to ignore what his father had told him – that nothing could live in the desert.

They were careful not to finish the food. It might have to last for many days. Zobayda wrapped what was left in the moon spider’s web; today the web felt cool, in spite of the burning heat.

They had no idea which way to go. Zobayda suggested they fly. From high above the earth they would have a better view, and would surely see a village or a stream, or even a forest.

Timoken slung the bag over his shoulder and Zobayda hugged his waist. Then Timoken bent his knees a little and leapt from the sand. Up and up and up. He flew north for a while, but when he looked down there was still nothing but desert far below him. He flew west and east, only to see the same barren landscape stretching on and on for miles. The heat in the upper air was making him dizzy. He could feel the skin on his face burning. Timoken let himself fall back to earth, but before his feet touched the ground, a great bird swooped out of the sky. Its huge talons sank into Timoken’s shoulders, and it began to shake him.

Timoken nearly fainted with the pain. He could hear
his sister’s voice, screaming at him. ‘The web, Timoken. Use the web!’

He put his hand into the bag, but as his fingers found the web, a voice in his head told him,
No, no, no. That’s what they want. The bird will steal it.

‘The web!’ Zobayda screamed again. ‘It will protect us!’ She slid her fingers around Timoken’s waist, reaching for the bag. But Timoken slapped her hand away, crying, ‘No, Zobayda. Not this time. The bird will steal it.’

‘The bird will kill us,’ yelled Zobayda. ‘What else can we do?’

‘Use your fingers,’ Timoken croaked, weak with pain. He knew he would soon lose consciousness.

‘My fingers,’ Zobayda murmured. Clinging to her brother with one arm, she stuck her ringed finger into the bird’s feathered underside. As she did this, she chanted:

‘
Shrivel wing, Flap and spin, Wither beak, Shrink and squeak.
’

With a deafening screech, the bird let go of Timoken’s shoulders. He opened his eyes just wide enough to see a small feathered thing, no bigger than a mouse, spinning towards the earth.

‘It worked,’ cried Zobayda, amazed by the success of her ringed finger.

‘Just in time,’ her brother grunted as they plummeted to earth. Distracted by the pain in his shoulders, he lost control of his flying and they landed on the sand with an uncomfortable bump.

Zobayda sat up and held out her fingers. A tiny yellow eye, set into the silver ring, blinked at her.

‘Oh!’ Zobayda jumped. ‘The creature on my ring – it blinked.’

Timoken peered at the silver wing wrapped around his sister’s finger, and at the tiny head peeping above it. ‘Did our mother tell you about the ring?’ he asked.

‘She said it would keep me safe,’ said Zobayda.

‘It is an image of the last forest-jinni,’ Timoken told her. ‘I saw him in the web.’

Before they could even think of moving again they ate some dried fruit, hoping to soothe their aching throats. After their snack they took a pair of thin tunics from the goatskin bag and wrapped them around their heads. With their heads covered, Timoken and Zobayda struck north, away from the pitiless sun. They knew, now, that they were surrounded by thousands of miles of dead
earth. And yet the warriors had come from somewhere. Perhaps they lived in caves beneath the sand? Perhaps, somewhere, there were other caves, uninhabited, where fresh water dripped from the rocks, and where they could find shelter from the withering heat.

It was not long before Zobayda sank to her knees, crying, ‘I am dying of thirst, Timoken. What can we do?’

Timoken’s throat was so parched, he could barely reply. Did it never rain here? Did the white clouds passing high above them never consider travellers in the desert, never allow a few of their millions of droplets to fall?
We shall die
, thought Timoken,
if something does not happen.

Perhaps it was this moment that set the course of Timoken’s life. He found that he could not give in. It would have been easy to lie down on the sand and never wake up. But the forest-jinni had told him to believe in himself. And so he would. Human beings did not fly, but he did. What else might he be capable of? He took the moon spider’s web from the goatskin bag and spread it on the ground.

‘What are you doing?’ croaked Zobayda. ‘Save your strength.’

Timoken picked up a corner of the web and turned on his heel. Around and around he spun, faster and faster. The web flew out in the torrid air and a tiny breeze fanned Zobayda’s cheeks. She sat up and watched her brother. How could he whirl so fast in this heat? Timoken had become a spinning pillar, the web a circling wheel of silver.

Second by second the air became fresher. Zobayda stood and held out her hands. She could feel the breeze sweeping over her hot fingers and she closed her eyes, savouring its coolness. The air was filled with a soft humming. Was it the web stirring the air or her brother’s voice?

Something touched Zobayda’s upturned hand: a light droplet, and then, another. She opened her eyes. Rain fell on her head and slid down her cheeks. It splashed her blue robe and trickled into her shoes. She threw back her head and let the rain splatter into her mouth. ‘Timoken!’ she gurgled. ‘You are a magician.’

Laughter came flying out of the whirling figure. ‘Save the water, Zobayda. I can’t keep spinning forever.’

Zobayda emptied the goatskin bag, scattering its contents on the sand. She opened the bag as wide as she
could and let the rain tumble into it. When it was half full, she called to her brother, ‘Stop, Timoken, before you turn into a pillar. We have enough water for days and days. Besides, I am getting very wet.’

Timoken sank to the ground. The rain thinned and pattered, and then it stopped. Timoken lay staring up at the blue sky. ‘I burst the clouds,’ he said, laughing delightedly.

Zobayda tied their belongings in a long crimson robe that their mother had packed. She put the parcel on her head and balanced it with her hand. ‘You can carry the water,’ she told Timoken.

The goatskin bag was now very heavy. Timoken tried carrying it on his head but the water slopped about uncomfortably. He would have to use his arms. Once again they headed north. After a while, a range of mountains appeared, a wavering line of blue on the far horizon.

The rain had woken hundreds of creatures that had been sleeping beneath the dry sand. Lizards scurried over the children’s feet, snakes slithered around boulders, and insects of every size and colour appeared in the sky. They flew in a haze around the children’s heads, buzzing
and clicking. The desert was no longer dead.

Small, mouse-like creatures popped their heads out of the sand. They watched the children, their black eyes round with astonishment. One of them squeaked and Timoken had a feeling that he understood the creature. He stopped, put down the water bag and stared at the furry head.

‘Timoken, come on!’ called his sister. ‘Those ratty things are not going to tell you anything.’

On the contrary
, thought Timoken. He smiled at the creature and its expression seemed to soften. It pulled itself right out of the sand and, sitting on its hind legs, it said, ‘Safe journey!’ Or did it?

‘Thank you,’ said Timoken.

‘Timoken!’ Zobayda was now a good way ahead of her brother. But what was the use of hurrying, when you didn’t know where you were going? There might be more to be gained by talking to someone – or something – that knew the desert.

Timoken knelt beside the creature. It gazed at him in a friendly way. Its companions were emerging from the sand. They turned their heads to look at Timoken, and sniffed the air with interest.

Timoken cleared his throat and asked, ‘What are you?’ He was surprised to hear his words emerge from his throat in a series of soft squeaks.

‘We are us,’ said the creature.

There was no doubt about what it had said. Timoken could understand its language.

‘Other things call us sand-rats,’ the creature went on.

‘Sand-rats,’ Timoken repeated. ‘I am human. My name is Timoken.’ He pointed at Zobayda, resolutely ploughing ahead. ‘And that is my sister.’

The sand-rat looked at Zobayda. ‘She goes the wrong way,’ it said. ‘Do not follow.’

Timoken frowned. ‘The wrong way? How can you tell?’

‘There are bad spirits that way,’ squeaked the sand-rat. ‘Viridees.’

‘VIRIDEES!’ echoed the other sand-rats, and suddenly they were gone. All that remained were several small mounds of sand.

‘Stop, Zobayda!’ called Timoken. ‘You are going the wrong way.’

‘How do you know?’ she called back.

‘The sand-rat told me.’

Zobayda stopped. She turned and stared at her brother. ‘That can’t be true.’

‘It is, Zobayda.’

Timoken’s sister walked towards him slowly. ‘You mean you could understand their language?’

Timoken nodded. ‘And I could speak it. They told me that there are bad spirits the way you were going. They called them viridees.’

He watched the disbelief on his sister’s face turn to astonishment. ‘You really can talk to animals,’ she said, her eyes wide with awe. ‘What else can you do, Timoken?’

‘Who knows?’ Timoken grinned. He picked up the goatskin bag and balanced it firmly on his head. ‘Let’s go east,’ he said, with confidence.

Zobayda saw a pale semi-circle beginning to rise above the eastern dunes. She fell into step beside her brother, and together they walked towards the moon.