The Secret Room (18 page)

Arnim
, I thought.
Arnim, I'm here
.

I haven't forgotten you
.

I'm coming
.

“I can't find them,” I said and put the key back in my pocket.

“No,” answered the knife. “The Nameless One is still guarding them. But now we have to hurry because he won't guard them forever. He knows that you're here.”

I looked back at the palace.

And there, in the approaching night, a thunderstorm was brewing, bigger and more powerful than all the storms I had ever seen—much bigger than the storm when he had caught me with his lightning.

“He's on his way,” said the knife.

I wanted to run to get away from the Nameless One's terrifying storm. But just then the knife's horsehead scabbard began to change. It stretched, slipped away from me, and grew and grew—and then a gray horse was standing in front of me. It shook itself as if it had been sleeping too long.

I climbed onto its back.

“Hold on tight,” said the horse that had been a knife the moment before. It unfolded two gray wings and climbed into the air, like the recently freed birds, but much faster and more powerfully.

We raced ahead of the storm as if we were nothing more than a crazy part of the weather itself. The wind whooshed around my ears, and I had to cling to the horse's gray mane so I wouldn't get blown off.

“Like that's good,” murmured the horse, “now we'll leave him behind, the Nameless One, that old thief. Let him try to catch us. He won't catch up with me.”

I nestled my face against the horse's neck and was astonished at how warm and alive it felt.

“Who were they?” I asked. “The two birds? Spinach Luggage and Yellow Pea of Santorini? Why did they help me? You know why, don't you?”

And despite the roaring wind and the rolling thunder, the gray horse understood what I had said.

“Didn't you ever wonder where your parents were?” he asked back.

“They died,” I answered. “Maria from the orphanage told me. It was an accident, like Arnim, but they were sitting in an airplane, not crossing the street.”

“So they died,” said the horse.

He didn't say anything else.

But I understood. “You mean—the two small birds—the yellow one and the green one—they were once my parents? And—they remember? They recognized me? After such a long time?”

“Details,” said the horse. “Details change. Hearts don't change.”

“And I,” I whispered, “I lost them!”

And if I hadn't already used up all my tears that afternoon in the flower shop, the horse's gray mane would have gotten wet, so wet that the birds in their nests below us would have thought it was raining.

It was almost dark when we saw the prison tower looming before us in the distance.

I turned around and immediately wished that I hadn't. The towering clouds were so close behind us that they were almost touching the gray horse's tail.

We raced ahead of it to the tower and around us the first bolts of lightning began to strike the plains. But they missed their target.

In the middle of the blackness behind us I had seen something blacker and more threatening than anything else. Something that was soaring on wide wings, coming closer and closer, flying as fast as we were. It was the Nameless One. His yellow eyes burned holes in the darkness.

Then we reached the tower. The vine's white and black flowers glowed in front of us like big, round stars—yes, even the black ones were glowing though I didn't understand how it was possible.

The horse's gray coat of hair was also shimmering brightly, and fine, silver steam rose from his nostrils into the icy night.

“When we land,” said the hose with his silent voice, “you can't waste any time. I'll turn into a knife again, then you'll pull me from the scabbard and use me to cut the plant's stem. One slash will have to do; any more will take too much time. No matter what happens, act quickly. He's really close already...”

Yes, he was close. So close that the horse couldn't say anything else. Because at that moment, the Nameless One caught up with us.

I think I screamed, but the roar of the storm drowned out every sound.

The horse spun around, rose up on his front legs, and whinnied with a voice of thousands of silver bells and millions of clinking glasses. I saw his moon-colored hooves flash. I saw the Nameless One racing toward us, his talons extended and his sharp beak open with an enraged cry.

And I felt the impact as the giant eagle's body crashed into the horse in midair. They were both big, and their powerful, outstretched wings glowed like torches in the night.

I don't really know what happened next.

I just know that I clung to my companion's mane desperately and that I couldn't tell what direction was up and what was down. Sparks flew around me in the night and the smell of my own fear mingled with the red smell of unleashed rage—a rage that had built up over thousands of years and had become enormous. It had been waiting, this rage, lying in wait, and now its time had come.

The battle between the two animals lasted an eternity, and at the same time, it just lasted a matter of seconds.

Maybe that battle was the only thing in the world. Maybe it didn't even happen. I can't really say.

I closed my eyes so that I wouldn't have to watch, and fear rang through my ears.

Arnim
, I thought,
Arnim
. That was my single thought.

Then it was over.

There was a cry, a terrible cry, and it took me a little while to realize that it was the gray horse that had made it.

His throat, the one I was clinging to, jerked to the side. Between my fingers I felt something sticky.

Blood? Could the horse bleed? I licked my finger, and it tasted salty.

Salty like tears.

I lifted my head to look for the Nameless One in the blackness of the night. I couldn't see him.

“He's dead,” said the horse, and even though he spoke without a voice, I could barely hear him. “But I'm dying too. I can feel it. This is the end. Let's take the final step.”

We landed at the foot of the tower. The horse's movements had lost their smoothness, and he landed in the grass like a broken kite. I had just slid off his back when he fell to his knees and then rolled onto his side. I wanted to throw my arms around his neck. “Wait!” I wanted to cry. “Don't leave me!”

But there was no longer a gray horse next to me. However, lying there in the tall, damp autumn grass was the silver knife. The storm had broken up into individual clouds, and a pale moon was shining over the strange spectacle.

A short distance away, a large, white body was lying in the grass, glowing faintly. I didn't have to go any closer to know that it was the body of a lion. But he wasn't dead—I didn't know if it was possible for him to die at all. I saw him breathing, and I suspected that he was just gathering his strength.

“When we land,” the horse had said, “you can't waste any time. I'll turn into a knife again ...”

I swallowed and lifted the silver object from the grass. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the lion move.

“One slash will have to do, any more will take too much time. No matter what happens, act quickly...”

I looked into the eyes of the horsehead carved in silver. “This is the end,” the eyes seemed to say. “Let's take the final step.”

And I did it.

I slid the knife out of the scabbard, pulled my arm back, and slashed the vine's stem, right where it was growing out of the earth.

Then the old walls started to crunch and groan, and in the pale moonlight, I saw the plant wilting. Its leaves dried before my eyes and rolled up, brown and lifeless. The heads of its flowers hung down and began to disintegrate.

The large, roughly cut stone blocks that the tower was made of began to shift and then I realized that the plant had been holding it together.

I looked up at the five barred windows.

“Arnim!” I cried. “Arnim, I'm here! I'm coming!”

I looked down at the knife in my hand. I wanted to thank him, but before I could say anything, it shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. And I remembered the horse's last words: “I'm dying too. I can feel it. This is the end.”

But not for me, it wasn't the end for me yet.

I grabbed the first branch of the withering plant that I could and started to climb up the wall. I couldn't waste any time—its tendrils were all loosening themselves from the wall and the stones were starting to fall.

The tower wouldn't be standing for much longer.

When I reached the first of the five windows, I saw that there was a small oil lamp burning inside. Its flickering light revealed a set of bars that was no longer anchored in the wall. They were melting like chocolate, and I grabbed the window sill and pulled myself up with my last ounce of strength.

Behind me I could hear the lion's furious roar.

I had just dropped into the room through the window when he pounced. A giant leap carried him from the ground to the once-barred windows like a white arrow, and his roar made the crumbling walls tremble.

He threw me to the stone floor with such force that I thought I heard my spine crack. I felt the small silver key pop out of my pocket.

Helpless as a beetle, I lay on my back and looked up into the Nameless One's glowing yellow eyes. They were full of pain and furious destructiveness.

I saw the black stripes of the open wounds he had gotten from the battle with his opponent, even though apparently, like the horse, he just didn't bleed.

“So,” he growled, “so he said, ‘This is the end.' Is that what he told you? Well, then I'll take the final step.”

The white lion bared his teeth as he had done once before, but this time I couldn't move to get my inhaler.

Where was Arnim?

The world around us was collapsing.

The walls cracked, the oil lamp suddenly blazed brightly.

And I saw that I couldn't defeat the Nameless One. He was immortal; he would always exist. People would keep dying and other people wouldn't be able to let them go. The Nameless One's palace would keep growing till the end of time, and people's tears would keep nourishing him because there can't be a world without tears.

That's why I couldn't win this battle, that's why I wouldn't be able to keep living. I was standing in the way of sadness—and in all its beauty and all its horror, sadness was stronger than anything else.

I closed my eyes.