The Forest of Lost Souls (35 page)

“O
RTHON SOON REALIZED THAT OUR FATHER HELD HIM
in low esteem,” continued Reminiscens. “He admired, respected and feared Ocious, and was terrified of disappointing him. Everything he did was assessed, criticized and judged, but rarely appreciated. I never heard our father say anything favourable to Orthon, but he lavished praise on others, particularly Leomido.”

“The son he would have liked…” murmured Dragomira.

“I was in the same position as Orthon when it came to you, Dragomira: Ocious would have preferred you for a daughter as soon as it became clear that I wasn’t going to succeed Malorane as the next Gracious. There was an outside chance I might have been the Gracious, which is why he seduced her. When you were elected Gracious, I suffered the consequences of his disappointment and contempt. I was no more use to him and, in the space of a few days, I went from being the daughter he’d pinned all his hopes on to a worthless nobody. It was only Leomido’s love and support which helped me cope with his behaviour. It was different for Orthon. My brother found it very hard to bear Ocious’s scorn and he tried his utmost to earn our father’s respect. Every day, I watched him struggling desperately to do better and every day our father greeted his efforts with indifference or, worse, showered him with sarcasm and belittled him. Everyone else was always better. Always. I don’t know why Orthon kept trying. It was a type of masochism. He
should have escaped. Cut all ties. Nothing he ever did measured up to Ocious’s expectations. Except for the day when he became an accomplice in the Beloved Detachment ordered against me. That was a turning point: Ocious finally opened his eyes and saw his son as an ally who might deserve a place at his side. After years of hard work, Orthon had finally earned his reward. But evil had already taken root in his heart: resentment and a hunger for revenge had already caused irrevocable damage. Years of being deprived of affection had made Orthon
desperate
for recognition.”

“I remember him when we were in Edefia,” said Brune. “He was always trailing behind Ocious, blinded with admiration and fear. It was disturbing.”

“And that admiration and fear ended up breaking him,” continued Reminiscens. “As time went by, they developed into a strong feeling of hatred and destructive love. There’s nothing worse. It’s a feeling that makes men merciless.”

“Or psychopathic,” added Oksa.

“Orthon’s severe inferiority complex has now become devastating pride. All he wants to do is show Ocious that he’s stronger than anyone—that the student has outgrown the master. That’s his sole ambition. Nothing else counts.”

This statement was greeted by worried silence.

“What happens if Orthon learns that Ocious is dead when he gets to Edefia?” asked Tugdual. Oksa looked at him in concern, while Gus gave him an irritated glare.

This question seemed to have occurred to Reminiscens already. Sadly she replied:

“I think he’d feel that his lifelong dream had been shattered. It would probably kill him, because proving Ocious wrong has been the only thing keeping him going.”

“That’s terrible!” exclaimed Oksa, surprised that she felt sorry for the Runaways’ sworn enemy.

“Yes,” agreed Abakum. “But we mustn’t let ourselves be blinded by compassion…”

“…or else we’ll be defeated,” said Reminiscens, finishing his sentence.

“Why don’t we just let him see his father again? Once he’s shown Ocious how strong and superior he is now, he’ll leave us alone,”
suggested
Oksa.

“It’s more complicated than that,” replied Abakum. “Orthon has reached a point of no return.”

“I don’t understand…” wailed the girl.

“There are three types of power, my dear: balance, domination and destruction. If they do meet again, and if Ocious doesn’t acknowledge his son’s strength, Orthon won’t hesitate: he’ll choose the third option.”

“It’s the ultimate form of power,” remarked Tugdual, winking at Oksa. “The power of destruction and death.”

“But that’s suicidal! Why do the Felons support that?”

Abakum looked at her miserably.

“Because they have no idea what Orthon went through,” he replied. “Tugdual’s right: total destruction is the ultimate weapon. If he has to use it, he won’t hesitate for a second.”

“Knowing Ocious, I think we have to fear the worst,” added Reminiscens. “Assuming that he’s still alive, I doubt he’s changed and being trapped inside Edefia—when others were able to escape—will have done nothing to improve his vicious nature. If Orthon is reunited with him, he’s likely to be severely disillusioned: Ocious is bound to run him down again.”

“If Ocious had been able to escape Edefia, he’d have conquered the world,” remarked Dragomira, going pale.

“Yes, he would… Orthon could have done that too, but the darkness inside him makes him more likely to destroy it. That’s the trump up his sleeve. Because who’s stronger? The dominator or the destroyer? What do people fear most? Subjugation or death? Only fanatics choose death and they’re a tiny minority.”

“What about us? What’s our role in all this?” asked the Young Gracious with a shiver.

“The World’s Heart is in chaos. We must return to Edefia as soon as possible so that we can restore harmony,” announced Abakum in a choked voice. “Lunatrix… help me, please.”

The small creature shuffled over.

“If death is successful in conquering the Heart of the World, the Outside will meet annihilation. The end will descend on the two worlds after showering them with countless disasters. The danger has experienced commencement since the season of summer when you, Young Gracious and Runaways, endured the ordeal of Impicturement.”

The Runaways looked at each other in silent amazement. Oksa knelt down so she was level with the Lunatrix and whispered:

“What can we do?”

The Lunatrix gave a loud sniff. Everyone waited on tenterhooks. Oksa squeezed the small creature’s podgy shoulder as he blew his nose on a checked tea towel, before continuing:

“The Ageless Ones will grant the gift of their instructions when the right time meets opportunity: make preparation for their relaying, because chaos is spreading and the rescue of the two worlds is growing imminent. Accomplish the merging of forces. The Cloak Chamber
surrounds
the Heart of the World with protection and this protection is experiencing a weakening that is spreading havoc over the lands and seas of the Outside. The preservation of harmony on the Inside and on the Outside is located within the walls of the Chamber, and the powers of the two Graciouses must enter union to win victory over the submergence of the two worlds. The two worlds will then achieve survival.”

“Unless Orthon decides otherwise…” said Reminiscens fearfully.

“The reasoning by the sister of the hated Felon is shrouded in
accuracy
,” agreed the Lunatrix.

“Great, so we’ve got a choice!” exclaimed Oksa. “Either the balance of the two worlds is destroyed and we die a painful death, or Orthon
prevents us from restoring the balance between the worlds to show his father that he’s stronger than him and… we die a painful death!”

“The only difference is that it’ll be quicker with Orthon,” remarked Tugdual.

“Very funny,” muttered Gus.

“Why don’t we kill Orthon then?” said Oksa. “If only to guarantee the survival of mankind!”

“You’re forgetting he has Marie…”

Pavel’s mournful voice was like a cold wind. Oksa put her face in her hands, alarmed by the danger they faced and by what was at stake. She felt her father put his strong arms around her.

“We’ll sort it out,” he reassured her. “I promise.”

She looked up at him in surprise. She recognized the gleam in his eyes. She was seeing a determined Runaway with an Ink Dragon slumbering inside him as well as a strong, steadfast father bent on reassuring his daughter. Dragomira walked over to them.

“My son…” she murmured, gently stroking his shoulder. Pavel turned. There was no anger in his eyes.

“Let me make one thing very clear, Mum,” he announced. “Once we’ve saved Marie and the two worlds, you’re going to let me live my life the way I want, okay?”

Dragomira simply gave him a relieved smile. Pavel was clearly a Runaway at heart and, despite their ups and downs, no one could doubt his allegiance.

T
HIS CRUCIAL DISCUSSION RESULTED IN A RESTLESS
night. Given the urgency of the situation, all the Runaways had moved into the house on Bigtoe Square, where the mood was gloomy and somewhat hysterical. The only two Runaways who weren’t there were Naftali and Abakum. When the decision had been taken to travel to the Hebridean island as soon as possible, the two men had set off for Abakum’s farm and Leomido’s home to gather all the creatures in the Fairyman’s Boximinus. Their return to Edefia was imminent, so they had to be ready.

The prospect of an uncertain, and dangerous, future wasn’t the only reason for the uneasy atmosphere in Bigtoe Square. In the middle of the night the city was filled with the sound of sirens, which woke the Runaways as well as everyone living in London and the suburbs. The sky throbbed with helicopters, while the armed forces walked through the streets with loudspeakers, ordering inhabitants to take shelter immediately on the upper floors of their houses and to listen to the newsflashes on the TV and radio. Oksa rushed out of her room in a panic and came face to face with Zoe and Reminiscens, who were in the room next door.

“What’s going on?”

“The level of the North Sea has risen by ten feet in just a few hours,”
said Tugdual, joining them. “The area around Greenwich is flooded and the Thames is about to burst its banks.”

“Youngsters, come up here!” cried Dragomira from the top floor.

Gus came out of the guest room. He shot a frightened look at Oksa, then pulled himself together, adopting a frosty expression which wasn’t like him at all. Oksa sighed.

“Come upstairs!” ordered Pavel, leading the way.

When the Runaways were all in Dragomira’s private workroom, Pavel turned on the TV and they stood there, riveted by the images on the screen.

“Good Lord,” murmured Baba Pollock, her hand over her heart.

“It isn’t possible…” whispered Reminiscens, sounding shocked.

Aerial pictures showed the full extent of the disaster: the east coast of England and the north coast of France had disappeared due to the unpredictable movement of underwater currents, which had exceeded all imaginable limits. Instead of running into the sea, the waters of the Thames were flowing back inland and had flooded the entire river mouth. The water was now surging back towards London, the river level was rising by several inches per hour, and the pace didn’t seem to be slowing. Riverside areas had already been affected and the Houses of Parliament were ankle-deep in water. But what made it worse was that no one knew why these underwater currents were behaving like this or how far inland they would travel. Evacuation of inhabitants in the most exposed areas had started, but it would be hard to move the entire population of London to safety, particularly as it was still dark and heavy rain had begun to fall. So instructions were kept simple: head for higher ground in the city or the upper floors of houses and… wait.

“We’re all going to die!” gasped Gus in a panic.

“Speak for yourself!” retorted Tugdual, walking over to the window.

“I warned you!” screeched the Squoracle. “We should have left this inhospitable country while we still had time. Now it’s too late and we’re trapped by icy water!”

“Come and look!” exclaimed Oksa, peering out of the skylight in the workroom.

The Runaways gazed out and were rooted to the spot with horror. The rain was falling so heavily that it formed a thick curtain of water. Despite this downpour of biblical proportions, they could see that Bigtoe Square and the surrounding streets were under a good eight inches of water. They could hear people screaming and there was general panic.

“I hope Abakum and Naftali haven’t got caught up in this,” said Reminiscens anxiously.

“They should be at Leomido’s place by now,” said Pierre reassuringly. “His house is several yards above sea level and there’s no river nearby. Anyway, the west coast of Britain seems to have escaped unscathed.”

“What are we going to do?” wailed Oksa.

“Time’s short,” said Dragomira, looking at the water rising almost visibly in the square. “I suggest we join our two friends as soon as we can. They’ll find it very hard to get back into London.”

“We can’t just leave!” cried Oksa.

“What are the journalists saying?” Pavel asked Tugdual, who was tapping on the keyboard of his mobile.

“Nothing good,” replied the young man with a frown. “Similar freak currents have been observed in Europe and elsewhere, causing water levels to rise suddenly by around ten feet in the cities of Lisbon, Canton and Seattle.”

Every single Runaway went white. The Squoracle gave shrill little squawks of anxiety.

“We’ve got to leave…” said Dragomira, gazing at Pavel with tear-filled eyes. “Now.”

Baba Pollock and her son had been forced to make some hasty
departures
during their years of exile, but this was by far the hardest. However, despite the pain it caused them, they had to go. Pavel took a deep breath, his forehead creased in concentration, and announced:

“I’ll carry you all to Leomido’s house.”

Oksa looked at him gravely.

“You mean… on the back of the Ink Dragon?”

“We don’t have a choice,” said her father. “Unless one of you has a helicopter hidden in their garden, I can’t see any other way to leave a city under water.”

“How many of us are there?”

“Ten, including you,” replied Dragomira, looking concerned. “Not to mention the creatures… Do you think you can do it?”

Pavel slowly nodded, looking at his mother.

“If I don’t, we’ll have to swim to Wales,” he said, with a thin smile. “Although you’ll have the advantage of staying dry, Mum,” he added, referring to Dragomira’s gift of Aqua-Flottis.

The old lady smiled back at him.

“I suggest that anyone who can Vertifly should take turns to spare Pavel,” said Pierre.

“You haven’t Vertiflown any kind of distance for years,” objected Pavel. “Anyway, it’s bucketing down!”

“We have to try… Let us help you as much as we can.” Pavel nodded, looking concerned but grateful.

“Okay, but there’s no way that Oksa is going with you.”

“But Dad—”

“I said there’s no way you’re Vertiflying in the middle of the night, in this weather,” repeated Pavel flatly. Oksa looked upset.

“You don’t think I can do it, is that it?”

“Oksa, for pity’s sake, please listen to your father,” begged Dragomira.

Faced with her father’s severe expression and her gran’s entreaty, Oksa gave in.

“It’s vital that I don’t get a single feather wet!” suddenly screeched the Squoracle, staring at the skylight in terror. “It will kill me!”

“Could I just remind you that feathers are waterproof?” retorted the Getorix, rolling its eyes.

The Incompetent, seized by a sudden doubt, began to run its hands sceptically over its body. Oksa went over to the creature and reassured it that, contrary to any doubts it might have, its hide was waterproof. The Incompetent immediately looked blissfully happy again.

“I’ll leave now to inform Masters Abakum and Naftali of your imminent arrival,” said the Veloso, jumping onto the windowsill of the skylight.

“Excellent plan!” exclaimed Dragomira, congratulating the small creature. “But I think it might be a good idea if the Tumble-Bawler went with you. It’s been a long time since you set off on a mission.”

The small creature agreed and began stretching while the
Tumble-Bawler
gave it all the details of their route: longitude, latitude,
temperature
, altitude, humidity… When the Veloso had finished limbering up, the two creatures raced out onto the slippery tiles of the roof. The Runaways watched them leaping from roof to roof until they disappeared in the lashing rain. They noticed that the water in the square had risen a few more inches. An army truck drove noisily past, followed by an ambulance.

“Let’s not waste any more time. We should go!” said Dragomira, shivering.

“Why don’t you just leave me here,” grumbled Gus, looking at Oksa. “Since I can’t be any use, I’d rather be rescued by emergency personnel like any other boringly normal person.”

Oksa studied him, looking dismayed and exasperated.

“You’re worse than the Squoracle!”

“It’s obvious that I’m the only one who doesn’t belong here!” he retorted angrily. “Don’t tell me the thought hasn’t crossed your mind.”

“That’s ridiculous!” gasped Oksa, tears in her eyes.

“No one here thinks there’s anyone who doesn’t belong,” said Reminiscens. “You’re one of us and I think everyone here has already proved how much you mean to them, haven’t they?”

“Everyone has their part to play,” added Brune.

“And I suppose mine is as court jester to the Young Gracious?” growled Gus.

Oksa sighed miserably. She’d done her best… Zoe glanced sorrowfully at her and walked away from the group.

“Gus, that’s quite enough!” thundered his father. “I don’t know what’s going on between you and Oksa at the moment, but you can stop trying to score points off each other right now. We’ve got no time to lose—we have to get ready.”

There was a short silence after the Viking’s rebuke, which was soon broken by the comings and goings of the three elderly ladies, who’d methodically begun gathering together everything they had to take with them. There was no way of knowing if the Runaways would ever come back to London. They were all trying not to think about it, but this might be the last time they had to run away. Following the example of the three women, they all sadly bustled about, collecting essentials.

“One bag per person!” reminded Dragomira, filling a small case to overflowing with bottles of Granoks and Capacitors.

Oksa dashed up to her room. A few minutes later, she groaned in despair: her bed was covered with a heap of things she absolutely couldn’t do without.

The bare minimum…

“Think ‘survival’, Oksa-san,” she tried to reason with herself,
rummaging
through the huge pile of books, knick-knacks, clothes, shoes and gadgets scattered over her bed.

She pulled out her favourite belt—the one with the skull-shaped buckle—studied it and tossed it over her shoulder.

“Ouch!” came Tugdual’s voice.

Oksa looked round in annoyance. He was standing by the door, a tiny bag slung over his shoulder, Oksa’s skull belt in his hand.

“Sorry,” she said, resuming her difficult task.

“If I were you, all I’d take is this!” he said, unearthing a jumper, some warm socks and a waterproof cape. “You should be able to survive with those.”

“As sentimental as ever…” she muttered, examining a small statue
made of volcanic rock which was one of her treasured possessions and which she was intending to pack.

Tugdual smiled at this remark. He took the statuette from her hands and put it back on the bed.

“Why don’t you take a few photos?” he suggested. “They’re great for the occasional hit of nostalgia and they’re light so they’re easy to carry around, which is a bonus…”

“You’re so cynical!”

“Lil’ Gracious, you’ll never manage to be rude to me. You’d do better to hurry up… Mmm, you looked good enough to eat in that one!” he exclaimed, catching sight of one of the many photos Oksa was stuffing into a plastic wallet.

Oksa growled between clenched teeth and snatched the photo from his hands. At the same time, she noticed Gus walking past in the corridor and her heart turned over.

“He’ll get over it,” said Tugdual, as if he’d read her mind.

He looked serious again… which did nothing to lessen his irresistible charm. Rattled, Oksa gave up trying to sort through her things. She fastened her bag and glared at Tugdual, before going back up to the private workroom where the Runaways were waiting.

Pavel gave a low growl, which seemed to come from deep within: the Ink Dragon writhed, then spread its wide wings. Helicopter searchlights swept across the sky in the pouring rain as the Runaways climbed onto the dragon’s scaly back.

“Fasten that against my side!” Pavel shouted to Dragomira, who was carrying the case containing her Boximinus with the creatures and her stock of Granoks, potions and herbs.

Dragomira obeyed, slipping the strap of the precious bag around the dragon’s neck.

“It’s now or never, I think!” exclaimed Brune, scrutinizing the deserted streets leading into the square.

“It’ll be even better like this!” said Pavel, snapping his fingers.

Immediately, the pale lights of the street lamps winked out, plunging the square and surrounding streets into darkness. Oksa gave a small cry of admiration.

“I love it when you do that, Dad,” she murmured in her father’s ear.

He turned his head to look at her, before shouting hoarsely:

“Hold tight!”

Flanked by Pierre and Jeanne, who were Vertiflying beside them, the dragon began beating its wings slowly and powerfully, with such implacable strength that they soon took off. The Runaways, pressed together on the enormous creature’s rugged back, watched the trees and roofs recede below them. The Pollocks’ house grew smaller, then disappeared, creating what felt like a hole in Oksa’s stomach. Soaring through the heavy rain, the dragon soon flew over St Proximus, its courtyard under a foot of water, and Oksa felt even sadder. Were they leaving for good? Would she ever see her house again? Her school? Her friends? How much she was going to miss them all… It was awful leaving like this, without any guarantee that they’d come back. For the first time, she understood how the Runaways must have felt when they left their lost land. It was a horrible wrench—it was like having part of yourself amputated, or a wound that would never completely heal.