‘Now as tales of the child’s creation spread, love for the child grew and grew throughout all the lands where the story was told, listened to, and read. All these people, each and every one, wanted to believe that it was possible to grant her life. And it was this great love of everyone, this belief that the child will attain life, that eventually gives the child life. Gives me life.’
Now the whole crowd gasped as they were filled with a shimmering joy.
‘The power of your great and focused love, your shared imagination, is greater than you think. If enough believe, it can grant life.’
Once again, she paused, waited.
‘But I tell you this; it cannot give life to someone whose time has come. No power, no wishful thinking, no magic, can prevent this. And this is what you have feared; that the Illuminator’s illustrations were the cause of your passing and your suffering.’
She shook her head.
‘This is not the case.’
She briefly waited once more.
‘The Illuminator knows that you fear – yes, even hate with your whole being – his works. He knows, too, that you could never accept his works like you love the Porcelain Child, a creation way beyond his own limited capabilities. His own works are as nothing compared to this outpouring of love, of joy, of belief in a better life.’
The crowd was silent, patiently listening to the Princess’s story.
‘The Illuminator realises that there’s neither love for him nor trust. He is unapproachable, distant; and so you can’t be blamed for misunderstanding his purpose. To rebuild your connection and trust in him, you need someone you can identify with and already trust; someone that you yourselves have given life to.’
She only needed to smile for everyone to know whom she meant.
‘Those who succumb to the Fading,’ she continued, ‘their time has come. If someone appears in an illustration, but their time is not yet here, then they will not Fade, nor yet die. But if their time is close, then just as your great and shared and focused love can give life, it can also help prolong it in those who would otherwise have passed all too quickly away; and this is what we call the Fading. The Fading is a time that gives you the chance to say the things that would otherwise have been left unsaid. What regrets do we suffer when someone passes out of our lives before we have told them how much we appreciate them, how much we love them? The Fading, then, is not a curse but a blessing; for it’s a time when we can all experience an outpouring of our love for each other. Don’t fear that time. Don’t waste it.’
This time as she smiled, those closest to her would later recall how they seemed to be suffused with the love she spoke of. Those farther away, however, swore that it was a brief, blinding glow of light that left them blinking in amazement.
The carriage’s inner band began to slowly twirl once more, lowering their Princess back inside, closing up behind her as she became seated once more. The horses turned, unhurriedly heading back towards the palace where people were already being taken on as the Princess’s gardeners, her carpenters, her musicians.
As the great gates of the palace’s walls opened, few people failed to see a black carriage waiting just inside. It couldn’t be ignored. Its presence was too ominous and threatening to be dismissed as nothing to fear. Only a fool would disregard its portent.
But as the gleamingly white porcelain carriage trotted past it, then as the gates closed once more, the dark carriage first faded then completely disappeared from view.
The town celebrated, putting on a vast fair that no one had seen the likes of for hundreds of years. They invited anyone who was lucky enough to hear of it. There were musicians and massed, joyful dances. There were ingenious mechanical rides, and boat swings for the children. There were stalls with games to play and prizes to win, or selling all manner of weird and wonderful goods from near and far away. And, of course, there were puppet shows and storytellers.
And many people already understood why the Porcelain Princess had arrived amongst them.
Although she may sound like the stuff of fairy tales, the Porcelain Princess is actually as real as you or me. We fear that our lives are fragile, that our world is set hard and unchangeable; yet if the Porcelain Princess lives, she gives us the reassurance we need that this porcelain world is ours to watch over. For we are the only part of creation that can truly understand itself; and therefore we are creation itself.
And so you must also realise that without your belief in her, the Porcelain Princess can only weaken, becoming once more as lifeless as the clay she was originally so lovingly formed from.
Fortunately, the tale of the wise rule of the Porcelain Princess was already beginning to be told, to be elaborated on, and to spread.
*
Chapter 13
It was midday before the steam caravan finally cleared the last, more loosely scattered trees of the forest. The road stretched on before them, however, with no towns, villages or even hostelries along the way. There were farms to be seen on both sides of the track, but each one of these was too far away and too remote to be worth a visit.
‘Perhaps they just don’t like living together around here,’ Peregun said miserably, eager to put on another show.
Even as night fell, they continued travelling in the hope that they would at last catch a sign of a town in the distance, its lights beckoning them on. And, eventually, this hope was rewarded, the number of lit lanterns and windows at first growing the closer they got, only to start winking out one by one as its people prepared for sleep. By the time they reached the edges of the town, it was in complete darkness. It was past midnight, and there wasn’t even a sliver of a moon to give them any light.
So as not to wake the town’s sleeping inhabitants, Carey shut the caravan’s engine down to a slow purr, while Grudo strapped on the type of harness more usually seen on a horse to pull it quietly along the streets. The others had already slipped off into the darkness to paste the show’s posters in the most unusual and unexpected places they could find.
As they would have to remain awake until everyone had safely returned, Carey and Grudo began to swiftly set up the theatre as soon as they reached the town square. They worked quietly and confidently, despite having only the dim glow of a few lamps to see by. It would be quite a shock for the townspeople, Carey thought with pleasure, when they saw that this theatre had sprung up in their midst overnight.
Neris and Peregun were the first to return, followed not long after by Ferena, Durndrin and Dougy. They were laughing excitedly, regaling each other with tales of the difficult positions they had scaled to give the posters maximum impact.
‘We put a lot of ours on a wall, which wasn’t particularly difficult,’ Neris admitted, ‘but it was already covered with posters so, just in case there’s a rival theatre in town, we thought, well…’
‘Neris! That’s so unfair,’ Carey chided her.
‘But makes perfectly sound business sense,’ Grudo sagely pointed out.
‘Who were the posters for?’ Carey asked, curious to know if it was a theatre she had heard of but never come across before, or if it was owned by people she’d met and happily chatted with on previous occasions. If it were the latter, she realised, she would have to remove their own posters.
‘Hard to say.’ Peregun shrugged. ‘It’s so incredibly dark out there at the moment.’
‘I bet they were for The Porcelain Theatre!’ Durndrin grinned knowingly.
‘Ah, but do you mean “The One and Only”, or “The Original and Best”?’ Peregun asked with a rich laugh.
They all laughed. A great many traveling shows had decided to call themselves The Porcelain Theatre. Carey liked the name too, but had decided they should keep the name handed down to her through generations of travelling showmen and women; The String Theatre. Besides, it was a far more accurate name for their kind of show, wasn’t it?
r /> ‘Which show will we put on tomorrow?’ Ferena asked, flicking through a rack of her favourite costumes, the ones she wore when playing an elf, a queen, or a white witch.
‘Not The Meaning of Life?’ Dougy growled hopefully.
‘I hope tonight’s rehearsal’s going to be a quick one.’ Neris vainly checked her face in a mirror. ‘Even I need my beauty sleep, you know.’
‘The show we already rehearsed for last night of course,’ Carey said determinedly. ‘The Porcelain Kingdom!’
*
When Carey woke up the next morning, the long, almost uninterrupted travelling of the previous two days meant that she was still a little drowsy. She stumbled noisily around the cabin as she searched for fresh clothes, a little water to drink, something to prepare for breakfast. She opened the front door a little, to let in both fresh air and the morning light.
Outside, she could hear the steady patter of what sounded like a waterfall, or at least running water.
Was she still asleep? Was she dreaming?
She leaned forward, peering out of the front doorway.
The caravan was surrounded by people. They were all lightly clapping too, making the odd noise she had mistakenly taken to be running water.
As they saw her peer out of the door, they all clapped even louder. There were even cheers, and cries of joy.
She jumped back in shock, instinctively drawing her flimsy night clothes about herself.
‘What the?’ She noticed that the others had at last blearily stirred from their beds, having been as exhausted as she was by the long journey. ‘Just where the heck did you put the posters this time?’ she asked them in wonder.
They clambered up on desks and racks and each other, barely opening the shutters covering the windows to cautiously stare outside.
No matter where they looked, there were people outside. Many were sitting on the floor, as if they had been waiting for the show to begin for a long time. Even so, everyone seemed remarkably happy. They had brought food with them, which they were sharing out, as if taking part in a vast picnic. Children were running amongst them, playing catch, flying small kites, or just moving from group to group.
‘That burst of clapping earlier was better than we’ve received for some shows,’ Neris said wryly.
‘The Fading; some of them have the Fading, but they don’t seem to care,’ an awestruck Peregun said, ignoring her.
‘No, it’s not just that they don’t care,’ Durndrin politely corrected him. ‘They actually seem just as happy as everyone else, as happy as those who aren’t suffering from it.’
Carey thought they must be imagining all this, yet when she looked out amongst the crowd once more, she saw that they were right; there were a number of people in various stages of the Fading, yet they were acting no differently from anyone else surrounding them. They smiled, they gossiped, they chuckled, they ate and distributed food. They held hands as best they could with whoever they were with. Most amazing of all, children would happily and even deliberately pass through those who were now little more than mirages, giggling with a shivering delight as if they had run through nothing more than a fountain’s spraying waters.
Making his way closer towards the still slightly open door, Grudo pushed it open a little wider, giving himself a better view of the square and the area of town lying beyond it.
‘Ah, now the answer to all that might be that,’ he said mysteriously, pointing up into the air.
Following Grudo’s directions, Carey looked outside.
Caught in the glow of the rising sun, the towering white palace glistened and sparkled, flaring here and there on one side with a flame-red radiance.
‘We’ve found it,’ Carey sighed. ‘We’re here; the Porcelain Kingdom.’
*
Chapter 14
‘What’s everyone doing here so early?’ Dougy complained. ‘What time did you put on the posters, Carey?’
‘I don’t think they’re really bothered when its starts.’ Peregun moved from one side of the wagon to the other, carefully peering out of the still shuttered windows. ‘They look like they’re all enjoying themselves anyway!’
Carey had to agree with him. No one seemed impatient, or in any rush for anything to happen. Some of them had settled down on small rugs, blankets or cushions, with a book, knitting, sewing, or piece of wood to whittle in their hands. A few entertainers had already taken advantage of the gathering of the crowd, putting on a show of juggling, contortionism, balancing or magic.
‘I haven’t had my breakfast yet!’ Carey explained as her stomach quietly rumbled. ‘I was hoping to get some fresh bread!’’
There was knock on the caravan’s rear door. With a well-practised signal to everyone but Grudo that they should either hide or stay perfectly still, Carey went to answer it.
The woman at the door was so Faded that Carey could easily see right through her, seeing a man just behind her unloading fresh bread, fruit and other essential food from a small cart.
‘You’ll be wanting fresh bread, I take it?’ the woman said with a smile that seemed like nothing more than a trick of the light.
Before Carey could express her surprise, the woman herself appeared briefly startled, exclaiming, ‘My my, I should’ve been expecting it of course; but it’s still a shock seeing you like this, if you don’t mind me saying so!’
She studied Carey closely as she spoke, an experience made even more eerie for poor Carey because she could see that the man standing behind was also staring at her in amazement.
‘I’m…I’m sorry,’ Carey stammered uneasily, ‘but I haven’t got any money ready, so I need to–’
‘Money?’ The woman started, as if offended. ‘Oh, you don’t need money, girl!’ she added kindly. ‘It’s free, free for you. Not just from me, you understand? We all had a collection, knowing that you’d be short of provisions after your unexpectedly long journey here.’
The man was now stacking the sacks of food up against the side of the caravan, gradually emptying the cart. He was no longer staring at Carey but, rather, was carefully admiring the caravan.
‘Why, thank you, that’s…well, could you please thank all your friends for me?’ Carey was a little embarrassed by the woman’s unexpected generosity. ‘I’m…I’m…well, I don’t know what to say. This has never happened to me before.’
‘Well, to us neither of course!’ the woman said mysteriously, grinning hugely.
‘Oh, the show!’ Carey said, thinking she understood what the woman meant. ‘Are you really saying you’ve never seen a show before?’
‘The show? Well, of course, we’ve seen plenty of shows!’ The woman reached out to tenderly stroke Carey’s cheek. ‘But not your show, Carey!’
Perhaps Carey should have asked how the woman knew her name. But the thought didn’t even cross her mind, for as soon as the woman touched her, she felt happier than she had ever felt in her life.
Her mother and father were standing close by, holding hands as they proudly watched over her. For a moment, it felt as if they were about to step even closer to her, to embrace her and tell her to stay a while longer with them, for they knew how much she had missed them.
But the woman withdrew her hand, and the vision vanished, as if it had been nothing more than Carey’s overactive imagination. Even so, Carey reached for the woman’s withdrawing hand, hoping to bathe in that wonderfully uplifting experience once more. But her hand passed through the woman’s arm as if there were nothing there, despite the way it had felt so soft and warm and real against her cheek.
It hadn’t been a real experience, of course, Carey realised. She had no idea what her mother had looked like. The woman in her vision wasn’t her own mother but someone else’s mother, an image formed from pictures of another woman who had featured so much in he
r life; the mother of the Porcelain Child.
She still tingled with an incredible sense of joy, however, a joy that she saw replicated in the woman’s beatific smile.
‘Please, I hope you don’t mind me asking,’ Carey said tentatively, ‘but I’ve noticed that, well, although I’d expected that there’d be an acceptance of the Fading here, you seem – well, even a little happy about it!’
‘People like myself don’t call it the Fading anymore, Carey dear. We’re the Illumini, or, as some call us, the Illuminated. What we have accepted is that soon we’ll be once again re-joining the Memeory that forms this world and everything in it.’
‘Then…you…sort of fade away into this memory?’ Carey was thinking of her mother and father once more, wondering if the woman meant that everybody disappeared into this ‘memory’ as she called it.
‘“Become as one with it” you mean?’ the woman chuckled good naturedly. ‘Goodness gracious no, child! What would be the point of that, eh, if we simply ceased to exist as individuals by being absorbed into some vast, other thing? We’d just as surely be gone now, wouldn’t we? No no; we still remain as we are, for this is as we always were.’
She tapped her head.
‘It’s up here that counts; who we really are. And it’s only taken up temporary lodging here too, forming what we falsely think is us around it. It’s our thought that creates the body, not the other way around, like we think. That’s the real us; and that can’t die. That will always live on. No one can take that away from us, because it always was and always will be.’
She passed her hand through the wooden frame of the caravan’s doorway.
‘We create this from wood and iron, yet fail to realise we form the wood and the iron itself. The trees, the rocks, the soil; we don’t just fill everything, we are everything. We’ve forgotten that we’ve created all these false boundaries, these imaginary edges were we think one thing ends and another begins.’
The woman could see the doubt on Carey’s face.
‘Tell me,’ she said, ‘when you’re frustrated, and the things around you seem to only add to your frustration by letting you down; do you think that’s a coincidence? Do you think it only happens to you?’