Veiled Dreams (7 page)

Christina was getting used to life at the palace. She and Imigriana were becoming greater friends by the moment. Queen Benelov and King Tutoralph treated her more and more like a member of the family and less and less like a servant. She knew enough about all of the customs in Ixeria. She no longer needed to pretend to be Imigriana. The girls could really have been sisters.

They spent their time as if on holiday. Imigriana did have a tutor who called daily at the palace. They took their lessons mainly under the shade of the lemon trees in the small courtyard behind the girls’ apartments. Christina found the lessons quite interesting. They were not very serious after all. They studied the Old Book of the Law, and that was the nearest to anything like she had done at school. King Tutoralph was not too bothered how much the girls learnt of that – for he didn’t believe it was of any importance other than something which taught the history of Ixeria. Then they learnt dancing, how to play the lyrical – a string instrument, a bit like a guitar, but which had the sound of a human voice, and the strategies of chukka – a game played with figures on a board, which reminded Christina of chess. Lessons only lasted two or three hours. The rest of the time the girls lazed in the warm sunshine, swam in one of the many bathing pools, tried new ways of folding their veils or discussed the merits of their respective boyfriends. Then there were meal times, which usually offered them the chance to order the servants around. They spent some time avoiding the sullen Lydia and devising plans for being rid of her altogether. Imigriana taught Christina to ride horses and shoot arrows.

Yes, life was very easy at the palace. Christina felt very
relaxed and very well. It was all so undemanding. It was enjoyable. The days had turned into weeks and the weeks into months. She had become used to the idea of never seeing her parents and her brother again – or even Jan. She liked the king and queen very much. Perhaps they would find a husband for her too. Yes, everything was great. Yet there was something not quite right. There was something missing. She couldn’t put her finger on it. She couldn’t give it a name. She had become a princess. What more could she want? But, actually, she was bored.

Yes, that was it: she was bored.

One day, the family was gathered on their favourite evening patio. The air was warm and scented and everyone seemed relaxed. They could hear the distant sound of the city and see the bright lights in the streets. Christina was not bored now. It was one of those moments when she relished the beauty of the place and the comfort of her new life-style. King Tutoralph was in a good mood, and it was clear he had some sort of secret.

‘Well, ladies,’ he said at last. ‘Make yourselves beautiful tomorrow evening. We have very distinguished company arriving.’

Queen Benelov smiled. ‘Who, my dear?’

‘The Prophet Budela, no less!’ replied King Tutoralph.

Queen Benelov looked alarmed. ‘But he’s a heretic. He denies the Law. My dear, the people will think you have gone mad!’

‘But he deserves to be heard. He’s been pretty accurate in what he has said so far. And don’t forget, if we believe what they tell us, the prophets who wrote the Law were rejected at first.

‘No, it should be most entertaining. He’s quite a character, from what I’ve heard.’

‘But why should we dress up?’ asked Imigriana. ‘I wouldn’t think he would take any notice of that sort of thing.’

‘Of course not, my dear. But you must make a good impression on the court artists. They’re bound to be along once they hear about him coming. And they will hear. I’ve already told
the news-proclaimers. It will entertain the people!’

Christina felt something sink inside her. Yes, she wanted to dress like a princess…sometimes. But that was to please herself – not to entertain others. And to have all those smelly court artists and news-proclaimers around her. Yuk! Definitely one of the downsides of royal life!

She did want to know more about the Prophet, so it became another night when she and Imigriana stayed up until the small hours of the morning chatting.

‘His Majesty likes the Prophet because he too questions the Book of the Law. His Majesty thinks it may not have been written by people who had any link with God, but just by people who kept their eyes and ears open and use their common sense. But what it tells us won’t help us these days. It was written for the people in those days. And the Prophet keeps his eyes and ears open and uses his common sense. And he’s been right because, well because, he was just very observant, that’s all.’

‘But how did he become a Prophet?’ asked Christina.

‘Not really sure,’ replied Imigriana. ‘But he’s very odd, apparently. Probably just talked his way into it.’

‘Odd. How?’ asked Christina.

‘Oh, hm. Ugly. And very fat. And smelly!’ replied Imigriana.

‘Smelly? Oh yuk!’ exclaimed Christina.

‘Well, that’s what they say,’ retorted Imigriana.

‘And we’ve got to dress up for him? I hope he doesn’t take a fancy to me then!’ said Christina.

The two girls were soon giggling helplessly.

There was a knock at the door.

‘Who can that be?’ giggled Imigriana.

‘It’s the Prophet Budela, come to get you.’ tittered Christina. Imigriana was bent over double as she went over to the door.

It was Lydia, po-faced and stern. ‘Queen Benelov says that the young ladies must rest, so that they are fresh for our distinguished guest tomorrow,’ she said.

‘Yes, yes, Lydia. It’s all right. We’re going to bed in a moment,’ said Imigriana, somehow managing to keep calm.

As soon as Lydia had gone, Imigriana was helpless again.

‘Perhaps he’d do for Lovely Lydia.’

They did eventually stop giggling. And they did eventually go to bed. The next day dragged. They became so excited about the coming visit. They tried to work out exactly how ugly he would be. But the evening did eventually come and they were able to meet the Prophet. Christina wore the green dress, which Mona had made for her – it was still her favourite. Imigriana wore a simple pink dress, which was covered in embroidered roses. The girls had many outfits, which matched but always dressed differently from each other, except when they wanted to fool the people around them. Several of the court artists and news-proclaimers cheered and clapped as the two girls stepped on to the patio.

Ugly was not quite strong enough a word, Christina decided, when she saw the Prophet. He was fat. Very, very fat. He was sitting cross-legged when they first saw him. Three or four great folds of stomach rolled on to his knees. His chest was bare, and his large pectoral muscles were covered in wobbly flesh.

He ought to wear a bra
, thought Christina.

He had a squashed nose, long ears, rosy cheeks and a bald head. It was difficult to tell how old he was. His skin was as smooth as a baby’s. And he didn’t smell, thank goodness. His whole face was alight with a huge grin, which reached from one ear to the other. His eyes laughed a friendly greeting over the hordes of news-proclaimers and court artists.

‘Aha, the young ladies,’ he said, motioning to them. ‘Come sit and talk to the Prophet. Tell me your stories.’ He looked sternly at the news-proclaimers. ‘We would prefer privacy. I shall give you a statement before I leave.’ His bright amber eyes commanded them. The news-proclaimers and artists packed up their notebooks and sketchpads and walked away disappointed.

The Prophet’s eyes seemed to cut Christina open. Oddly, as they glistened in the candlelight, they changed from one colour to another. Perhaps he was wearing some kind of lens over them. No, it was more than that. One moment they were deep indigo pools, pulling her in and calling the very soul out of her, the next, bright amber, sharp like those of a tiger, ready to pounce and tear into her. She was sure he knew everything that she was thinking.

The two girls, now a little wary, made their way over to him and sat down on the large cushions he indicated at his feet.

‘Ah, yes, the twins.’ He beamed.

‘But are they the twins as told of in the Law?’ he stroked his chin. ‘Mm.’ He hesitated.

‘Well, people will try to make situations fit descriptions. The Law says that twins will rule Ixeria. Certainly, Imigriana, you shall rule Ixeria one day, as soon as your father dies. But the question is, will your little friend still be here then? Surely you would want her help? Well, if your father dies soon, maybe. But why should he?’

‘There isn’t any reason why he should, is there? He’s not ill is he?’ Imigriana was suddenly alarmed.

Budela laughed. ‘Now, how should I know? I’m only a prophet.’

‘Well, if you don’t…who could?’ asked Imigriana.

‘Oh, now come. A prophet isn’t a fortune-teller. But, beware! Your father does have many enemies. His disregard for the Law makes him unpopular with some of the traditionalists – and popular with the modernists. There could be a civil war. And fanatic terrorists are not unheard of…’

Imigriana had gone a little pale.

‘Now, my dear, I am only guessing. I only ever did. But perhaps you should encourage your father to keep his opinions to himself a little. It could be safer for him.’

Imigriana seemed a little reassured.

‘Now, do you see the joke? If your father carries on denying
the Law, it could be fulfilled. Twins may indeed rule over Ixeria. And if he complies with it, he may prevent twins from ruling Ixeria, because you will be long gone when he dies an old man.’

‘So you know how long I shall be here?’ asked Christina.

‘No, but I will think about it.’

‘Or why I am here?’

‘I have little idea of that also, though it is probably something to do with you needing to be here.’ He looked at her thoughtfully. The eyes glistened.

Christina felt herself mesmerised, sinking, drowning. Then she saw a spark of something light up. They now glowed almost orange.

‘I shall meditate on that one this evening. Now run along, my ladies, and let an old man talk with your parents. Christina, meet me in the Hanging Garden at noon tomorrow, by the Golden Fish Fountain. We shall escape the newsmongers there.’

At noon the next day, the Hanging Gardens were still in the shade. Christina had been agitated since her conversation with the Prophet. He had reminded her that she had been called to Ixeria, as Mona had put it, for a purpose. And she had begun to feel uneasy about what that purpose might be. The holiday was over. The Prophet himself had disturbed her, too. She couldn’t make her mind up about him. His appearance was odd, but not as much as Imigriana had said. And it was really funny the way he seemed to know what she was thinking and she couldn’t work out at all what he had in mind. Yet, now that she was in the Gardens, she felt oddly peaceful. She had always liked them. They were made of little terraces over which here and there wisterias and clematis formed archways. Intriguing paths followed the terraces up and down the hillside. Every so often they led into a little enclosed seating area where there was often a fountain well. These small patios were covered in pots of bright red geraniums and fuchsias. Yes, this was her favourite walk.
Had the Prophet known that too? Now she was not afraid of facing her challenge but felt rather excited about it.

She was sitting enjoying the sound of the Golden Fish Fountain, when she saw the Prophet thudding his way towards her along the Hanging Fish Path. His brightly coloured robe flowed out behind him. His great folds of fat shuddered with each step and his sandals slapped on the ground. But he walked like a young athletic man rather than an old fat one.

‘So, Christina. The chalice. Tell me the story,’ said Budela.

‘Oh, you know about that too,’ said Christina.

‘I saw you at the Magis Counsel,’ said the Prophet.

The Prophet listened and nodded as Christina again told of the strange happenings in Pandora’s Potions and of how she came to be arrested and mistaken for Imigriana.

‘And where is the chalice now, my dear?’ asked Budela.

‘Oh, in the back of my wardrobe. Everyone seemed to lose interest in it,’ Christina replied. She hadn’t actually thought about it for a long time herself either.

‘Including the Lady Lydia?’ asked the Prophet. He was concentrating very hard as he looked at her.

‘Why do you say that?’ asked Christina. ‘What has Lydia got to do with the chalice?’

‘Well she seems to be worried about something. Didn’t you notice, she doesn’t smile?’ There was a definite twinkle in the Prophet’s eyes.

Christina laughed.

‘You must be careful of that one. She is full of plans and plots.’

‘Yes, I know.’
Well, at least I always thought it
.

‘And they do say that she who takes the Queen’s Chalice will reign in Ixeria. Remember, the people will make it fit. The hall that day was full of people who take the Law seriously,’ added the Prophet.

‘So why haven’t they asked me about it again?’

‘They probably think it’s been put back.’

‘Well, perhaps I should put it back.’

‘You’ll never get into the vault. It is heavily guarded.’

‘Perhaps Imigriana will know what to do?’

‘Really? Come on now!’ Budela’s eyes twinkled.

Christina giggled. No, Imigriana would not have much clue.

‘My dear, something will really come of this. The Magic would not have brought you here otherwise. And Lydia will play a part. So take care. Be brave.

And remember, the Magic will not let you be harmed. But all will conclude more quickly if you are vigilant.’

‘Oh dear!’ It was getting much warmer now, and a shaft of bright light was giving Christina a headache. She felt herself drifting into her prison and the band tightening around her head. She just had time to register a look of concern on Budela’s face.

‘Remember the Pollogum seed.’ Mona’s voice was clear and urgent. Just in time, she found the seed in her pocket and slipped it into her mouth. Her head cleared. She could see again.

‘It may be to do with this sickness.’ Budela said quietly.

Sickness! She didn’t like reminding that she had an illness. But she couldn’t deny it.