The greatest kingdom, p.30
The Greatest Kingdom, page 30
Miro flew over the marshes on the back of a tame velecour. He scanned the grassy islands. There was a forest of woolgrass. There was a herd of buvol.
But there was no sign of Marie or Imogen.
Soon after the battle, Zuby had returned to Nedobyt. He’d been dragged there by Fred and Frieda. The poor skret had been in quite a state. He’d explained what had happened on the marshes. He didn’t know the girls’ fate.
Miro had wanted to go straight off to find them, but his grandmothers said it wasn’t allowed. They forced him to have some food and water, to get a few hours of sleep, and to have his injured arm bandaged before he was permitted to leave.
Then Miro took off, riding Frieda, with Fred tethered at his side.
In some ways, the search would have been easier as a falcon – his eyes were much sharper in that form. But falcons cannot fly with one wing bandaged, nor ride velecours.
Every evening, Miro returned to Nedobyt, exhausted in body and in mind. He didn’t dare spend a night on the marshes, in case he forgot why he was there.
Every morning, he set off before dawn.
On the third day of searching, when the sun hung low, Miro saw a flock of wading birds. They took off from the reedbeds with a flicker of white feathers.
Something must have disturbed them, thought Miro, and he steered the velecours closer.
When the wading birds cleared, he saw two figures on an islet, shouting and waving their arms.
‘Hello! We’re down here!’ shouted Imogen.
Marie was beside her, jumping on the spot. The golden hare was thumping her back legs – her contribution to making some noise.
Miro’s heart lifted at the sight of them. Still holding the reins, he waved back.
The velecours splashed on to the marshes and Imogen saw a boy dismount. In one hand he clutched the birds’ leashes. The other arm was in some kind of sling.
He had far-apart eyes, dark olive skin and a mop of curly brown hair. Imogen liked his face the instant she saw it. She hoped that, one day, they could be friends.
But the boy already seemed to know who they were. ‘Imogen, Marie, I found you!’ he cried. He waded towards them, and the velecours toddled in his wake.
Imogen didn’t know what was happening – not really – not any more – but she had the distinct feeling that they were being rescued and she was very, very glad.
Imogen woke up. The sky was bright above her and, for a moment, she thought she was outside. Her limbs felt very stiff, as if she’d walked a very long way.
Where was she? How long had she been asleep?
She rubbed her eyes and looked again. There was glass between her and the clouds. And she was lying on a big comfy bed.
Memories came rolling towards her with an unstoppable force.
Days spent walking on the marshes …
Anneshka turning into a troll …
Hunting for Maiden’s Kiss, the only known cure for Mark …
Imogen reached for the purse. That was where she’d put the lichen. But the purse and belt were no longer at her waist. ‘The lichen!’ she gasped, sitting upright.
‘It’s okay, Imogen, I’ve got it,’ said a voice.
It belonged to a woman. She was sitting on a chair and she looked like she’d been reading, but she’d glanced up when Imogen spoke.
Imogen recognised the woman. She knew her hair and her eyes and her mouth. But her brain couldn’t fit it together, couldn’t summon the name.
It was only when the woman scratched her ear, in the way that a rabbit might do, that it all clicked into place. ‘Mum?’
Mum stood up, not bothering to stop her book from falling off her lap.
They ran to each other. ‘Mum, you’re you!’
Mum smoothed Imogen’s hair and planted kisses on her head. ‘Your friend Miro read out the spell,’ she whispered.
‘Where are we?’ said Marie’s voice, and Imogen turned to see her sister, propped up in the bed. Marie’s hair stuck out at funny angles, as if she’d been electrocuted. But, other than that, she looked okay.
When Marie saw Mum, she hopped out of bed. There was much hugging and squeezing and laughter.
‘Where’s Miro?’ asked Imogen.
‘He’s been very busy,’ said Mum. ‘He turned himself into a falcon and managed to close the ravine, saving the people of Nedobyt. Then he changed into a boy again, without even needing a spell.’
Miro is a real slipskin, thought Imogen. She would never have guessed that the young prince she’d first met in Yaroslav, who lived all alone in his tower and who didn’t know how to make friends, would turn out to be a magician.
There was a tray at the girls’ bedside, with stuffed dates and hot tea. Mum took the crystal teapot and poured the girls a drink each. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘You must be starving.’
Neither sister needed telling twice. They ate dates stuffed with nuts and honey, dates stuffed with herby soft cheese, and they slurped the warm tea, not stopping until everything had gone.
‘I’d better let the others know you’re awake,’ said Mum, and she popped out through the chamber door.
Imogen took in her surroundings – properly this time. Above her was a domed glass ceiling. There were glass lamps around the room, balanced on elegant furniture. They must be inside one of the palaces.
‘How is Konya?’ asked Marie, when Mum returned. ‘Did Miro fix her too?’
‘Yes, she’s a sněehoolark … She’s quite intimidating like that.’
‘She was quite intimidating as a woman,’ said Imogen. ‘What about Kazimira?’
Mum’s smile faded. ‘I’m afraid the spell didn’t work for her.’
They were quiet for a while, all sitting on the edge of the bed. Imogen wondered what was wrong with the princess. She couldn’t imagine that King Ctibor would be happy to have his daughter returned as a frog.
‘What was it like being a hare?’ asked Marie.
Mum scrunched her forehead. ‘I feel much more like myself as a human,’ she said. ‘There were moments, when I was a hare – it was like I had another self – and that self was taking over. The only thing that stopped me from letting it happen was seeing you two girls. I knew I had to stay with you and do what I could to keep you safe.’
‘And how do you feel now?’ asked Imogen.
‘I feel like my old self,’ said Mum. ‘That is, I feel human again. I’m not sure, if I’m entirely honest, that I’ll ever be quite the same. Some experiences … they change you.’
Imogen felt a bit sad, hearing that.
Mum must have noticed the shift in her expression. ‘Not necessarily in a bad way,’ Mum added. ‘These events make us who we are. Just as I’m sure all your adventures have shaped and reshaped you.’
Marie folded her legs beneath her, so she was scrunched up small on the bed. ‘What if we don’t like how we’ve changed?’ she whispered. ‘What if we want to change back?’
At first, Imogen didn’t understand her sister. Then she remembered what she’d said on the marsh:
I can see it in my head, Imogen … The old queen keeps on dying. It’s echoing on and on.
Mum looked at Marie – really looked. ‘You have been through a lot, my darling. But no feeling lasts forever … I promise that. What is it you’re worried about?’
‘The old Queen of Valkahá,’ said Marie, voice cracking. ‘I keep seeing her … keep seeing her die. And I didn’t stop Anneshka from doing it. I just stood there …’
Mum hesitated, mouth forming silent words. Finally, she seemed to settle on one. ‘Marie,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t your fault. Sometimes bad things just happen, and they’re nothing to do with you. You can’t … you can’t always stop them. In fact, it’s often dangerous to try.’
Marie stared at the bed. ‘But I want to stop thinking about it.’
‘Talking it through might help,’ Mum suggested. ‘You can always chat to me, you know … and perhaps, if you’d like, we could talk to a therapist?’
Marie gave the world’s smallest nod.
Talking to Mum seems a lot easier, thought Imogen, now that she listens and believes what we say.
Their conversation was interrupted by a loud squawk. And who should come running into the chamber but Frieda and Fred.
The velecours launched themselves at the bed. They were far too big for it, almost fully grown, but Mum did not try to stop them.
Frieda rubbed her long neck against Imogen. Fred settled down between the girls, squawking to himself.
‘Hello?’ said a voice at the door. Imogen looked up to see Miro, his hair so long it almost hid his eyes.
‘Miro!’ cried Marie. The sisters sprang off the bed and ran to greet their friend.
A sense of joy settled on Nedobyt, warm and bright as the sun. From archers and monks to musicians and glaziers, everyone was happy to be alive.
Anneshka had underestimated the Nameless Mountains and the magic of Nedobyt. She had also underestimated the desire of its people to be free.
And now everyone knew the truth about Bohoosh, the city would not be the same. He’d exiled or killed the other slipskins, and hidden the tools for new ones to train.
He’d kept the Royal Palace from its citizens too. It was Bohoosh who’d enchanted the garden.
After he died, the orchids disappeared. In their place stood hundreds of people – folk who’d dared to seek answers from the mage. Now, they poured out of the garden, stretching their renewed arms and legs.
Some of the people of Nedobyt wondered how Bohoosh had fooled them for so long. Had he cast a spell on the whole valley? Queen Olga and Queen Nela did not think so …
Bohoosh had spent so long partying and showing how useless he could be that many people had believed him to be harmless. Oh, he can’t be plotting anything terrible, they thought, he can’t even brush his own hair.
But there was nothing harmless about him.
Miro thought of how Bohoosh had pretended that his magic was too weak to pour tea. And all that time he’d been keeping hundreds of people trapped as mountain flowers.
Miro remembered how the mage had said that he was ‘no slipskin’. Meanwhile, he’d been hoarding the magic for himself. His lack of competence had been a distraction.
‘There is nothing more dangerous,’ said Granny Nela, ‘than a ridiculous ruler.’
That evening, there was a celebration in Nedobyt. It was held in the library. It was not only a celebration of the kingdom’s victory, but of the library’s grand opening.
Otakar welcomed people into the building, dressed in his fanciest robes. The books had not yet been sorted, but that was all right. The library doors were left open, the marsh-gas lamps turned up full.
Everyone was allowed to explore the cabinets, taking out and flicking through books.
‘Does touching the parchment damage it?’ asked a visitor.
‘Oh, never mind that,’ said Otakar. ‘Would you like to borrow a book?’
It wasn’t long before someone started playing music on an old guitar with many strings. Some of the people began dancing. Others pressed against the edge of the room, backs against bookcases, laughing and passing round drinks.
Miro helped himself to nibbles, occasionally giving a treat to the frog who was perched on his shoulder. His grandmothers were busy speaking with people, answering their many questions.
Zuby was also at the party, and he joined in with the dance. A cloud of moths twirled above him, following their keeper round the room.
Even the insects are celebrating, thought Miro as he nibbled a goat’s cheese tartlet.
‘Excuse me,’ said a voice from nearby. ‘But are you Miroslav Sokol?’
Miro glanced down to see a small boy. ‘Erm, yes. Yes, I am.’
The boy sucked on his lower lip, apparently fighting to get his question out. ‘Is it true that you are a slipskin? Can I be a slipskin too?’
Miro recalled the feel of the wind beneath his feathers, the hollow lightness of his bones …
‘Of course,’ he said to the younger child. ‘I will show you how.’
Imogen, Marie and their mother stood at the library entrance. They were already in their travelling clothes: fleece-lined tunics and wool trousers, warm hats and furry boots.
Fred and Frieda were waiting in the park, hundreds of metres below. They were saddled and ready to carry the girls and their mother home.
‘I’m afraid we can’t stay long,’ said Mum. ‘It’s time to say your goodbyes.’
Although it made her sad, Imogen understood. They had to get back to Mark. Every moment they lingered could mean they arrived too late.
Since her time on the marsh, her memories of Mark seemed more vivid. It made her even more anxious to get back – to give him the cure that they’d found.
Imogen stepped into the library, with Mum and Marie at her heels. Together, they followed the sound of music through the dusty rooms.
There were people talking and studying books. One little girl carried a stack of hardbacks that was almost as tall as herself.
As the party noises grew louder, Imogen heard a rhythmic stomping and scuffing of feet. Dancing. There was dancing in the library!
When she entered the biggest room, she saw a mass of people, skipping and swinging round. The marsh-gas lamps burned bright as fallen stars, illuminating the dancers’ faces and the rows of books that lined the walls.
Queen Olga and Queen Nela were at the far end of the room, surrounded by a crowd. The old ladies’ dresses were beautiful, tied at the waists with gold bands. ‘I’ll go and thank Miro’s grandmas,’ said Mum, hurrying to join the queue.
Marie dashed off to find Zuby, who was in the centre of the dance. The moths fluttering above his head made the skret easy to locate, even among all the bodies.
At first, Imogen didn’t spot Miro, tucked in the corner as he was. He wasn’t alone – quite the opposite. A group of children had gathered round.
Imogen made her way over. ‘Hello,’ she said, feeling shy, although she wasn’t sure why.
Miro grinned. ‘Ah, Imogen! I was wondering when you would arrive.’ He turned to the little gathering. ‘I’m sorry, I have to talk with my friend.’
There were groans and sighs from the other children, but, with a little encouragement, they dispersed.
‘Is Kazimira staying with you?’ asked Imogen, noticing the frog on Miro’s shoulder.
‘Peep, peep!’ said the amphibian.
‘Not for long,’ Miro replied. ‘We received word from King Ctibor. He’s coming to pick her up … I didn’t mention that she’s a frog in my letter. I couldn’t find the right words.’
Imogen didn’t think Ctibor would take the news well. ‘Why didn’t the spell work for Kazimira?’ she asked. ‘It worked for Konya and Mum …’
‘I’m not entirely sure,’ said Miro. ‘But I’ve been reading the slipskin book and I do have a theory.’
He took Kazimira off his shoulder and held her at arm’s length, so she wouldn’t hear what he was about to say. Then he whispered into Imogen’s ear: ‘To change back, you have to sense the connections between you and the rest of the world. The spell helps people do this. But not Kazimira, it seems. I don’t think she’s ready … not yet.’
Imogen lowered her voice too. ‘She still thinks she’s above everyone else?’
Miro shrugged. ‘It’s just a theory.’
‘Peeeeep!’ said the frog.
‘Poor Kazimira,’ whispered Imogen. ‘Hopefully, she’ll understand soon.’
The dancing in the library was growing wilder, with more people joining in. Otakar was skipping down the middle, swinging his beard above his head.
‘Do you think you’ll stay in Nedobyt?’ asked Imogen.
Miro nodded and his curly hair bounced. ‘It feels good to be here. Next, I want to find my uncle and my mother’s cousins. Bohoosh turned them into animals too.’
‘Are you sure you won’t miss Yaroslav?’
‘No … I am not sure.’ Miro glanced at his grandmothers, who were talking to Imogen’s mum. ‘But Nedobyt feels like my home.’
A plate of syrup-dipped figs was being passed round the room. Imogen and Miro both took one. The fig burst with sweetness in Imogen’s mouth.
‘I’m happy that you’re happy,’ she said, words thick with sugar. ‘Will you help your grandmothers rule?’
Miro licked his fingers before replying. ‘No. I’m renouncing my royal titles … I wish to train as a slipskin mage.’
Imogen was surprised to hear that. She’d never really imagined that Miro would become anything other than a king. If she was totally honest, when they’d first met, she didn’t think he’d be a very good one. But Miro had changed a lot since then.
‘I’m sure your parents would be proud, Miro.’
He gave her a secret smile.
‘What about you?’ he asked. ‘Can’t you stay a little longer? At least until the party’s over?’
Imogen wished that the answer was ‘yes’. She would love to spend more time with her friend. But she couldn’t forget about her stepdad.
‘We can’t,’ she said. ‘Mark needs us. We have to get the lichen to him.’ Just saying the words out loud made her want to begin the journey right away.
Miro looked a little disappointed, but he took the news well enough. ‘You two always appear just when I need you,’ he said. ‘And then you’re gone again.’
‘Perhaps we’re lucky charms,’ joked Imogen.
Miro met her gaze. ‘No. It’s more than that … You’re my best friends.’
Imogen shifted, awkward. She didn’t like it when things went serious. ‘You’re my best friend too,’ she mumbled.
‘Little humans,’ called Zuby, careering towards them. ‘I have something for you.’ Marie was with him; her face bright red and beaming. She must have been dancing as well.
The skret hurried away from the cluster of people, followed by a blizzard of moths. Imogen, Marie and Miro trailed after him, into a quieter room.
When they were all standing together, Zuby turned his orb-shaped eyes on the sisters. ‘I hear that you plan to return home this evening, back through the door in the tree. Well, I’ve been talking to someone and, it seems, they are willing to help.’
