The Forest of Lost Souls (36 page)

The dragon climbed higher, reaching the dark clouds, and Tugdual and Reminiscens both slid off its back to Vertifly at its side. It was a surreal sight. The dragon suddenly gave a loud, sorrowful cry as Pavel, who was finding it harder than any of them to leave, gave vent to his anguish. Gradually the lights of the ravaged city vanished. The Runaways were starting a new chapter which looked set to be as turbulent as the murky night into which they were flying.

P
AVEL
P
OLLOCK’S
I
NK
D
RAGON FLEW THROUGH THE
driving rain and wind with loud, powerful wingbeats. The only light in the almost total darkness came from an octopus—the Polypharus with its eleven illuminating tentacles—held out at arm’s length by Dragomira like a beacon in the gloomy night skies.

“Keep going, son!” shouted Baba Pollock, leaning forward over the dragon’s crested back.

The Runaways were trying to lighten the dragon’s load by taking turns to Vertifly alongside it. Brune Knut, their stalwart Swedish companion, was the next to launch herself into the air, joining Pierre and Jeanne Bellanger, who were doing their best to brave the howling wind.

“The conditions are too treacherous,” warned Pavel, his voice hoarse with exhaustion. “Let me carry you!”

“No way!” retorted Pierre, his hands shielding his eyes from the torrential rain lashing their faces.

With her arms wrapped around her gran’s waist, Oksa was feeling extremely miserable. The sudden violence of the weather seemed to mirror the terrible wrench of their departure. In just a few minutes, their lives had been turned upside down: London had been flooded when an unprecedented tidal swell had caused the Thames to burst its banks. Fate had forced the Pollock family and friends to make a run for it—they’d had no choice but to embark on a headlong flight through the turbulent
darkness into the great unknown. Looking back at Gus, Oksa met his terrified gaze. Her friend was clinging with all his might to Reminiscens and his face was wet, although Oksa couldn’t tell whether it was with rain or tears. Frowning, she held on tighter and caught a glimpse of Tugdual and Zoe drawing closer to the dragon, their faces strained with effort. Vertiflying in a storm was no easy feat by any stretch of the imagination… Slipping between the dragon’s beating wings, they both collapsed onto its back, making the creature groan in spite of itself and slow its pace, causing a sudden loss of altitude. Oksa couldn’t help screaming.

“DAD!”

Pavel was growing weaker by the minute, as were the Runaways Vertiflying alongside him. Wanting to help her father, Oksa began to slide off the dragon’s back to Vertifly, but the dragon gave a roar that seemed to come from the very depths of its soul.

“NO! Stay right where you are!” ordered Pavel.

“Then we’ll have to stop for a while!” yelled Oksa. “You’ve got to land somewhere, Dad. We’ll all die if you don’t!”

It only took Pavel a few seconds to face up to harsh reality.

“Mum, put the Polypharus away so that no one can see us, and sit tight, my friends!”

The Vertifliers took firm hold of the dragon’s scaly hide and the creature plunged groundward through the icy downpour.

The dazzling beam of light nervously scanned the darkness, but the four soldiers in the helicopter were convinced they hadn’t imagined it: as incredible as it might seem, they’d just come face to face with a huge winged monster in the sky. Some kind of dragon, escorted by human beings who were flying too! They’d gazed at each other in disbelief, paralysed by the shock of this unlikely encounter. The pilot’s jerk of surprise had almost caused him to lose control of the helicopter.

The aircraft had yawed for a few seconds before stabilizing and the Ink Dragon had taken advantage of the brief confusion to soar to a safer altitude. Hearts pounding, the Runaways were now anxiously looking down on the searchlight, which was trying to locate them. Suddenly the beam landed on them and their blood froze. They’d been spotted! The air was filled with the din of the helicopter engine as it headed straight for them.

“They’re going to shoot us!” screamed Oksa, seeing one of the soldiers positioning himself behind a big machine gun.

Instinctively, she held up her hand, palm forward, to stop the bullets. As she’d discovered before on several occasions, extreme feelings of panic tended to produce an incredible surge of power. The helicopter’s engines were no match for the blast of wind that sent it spinning several hundred yards off course.

“What have I done?” exclaimed Oksa in alarm.

“You’ve just saved our lives!” replied Dragomira.

“Come on, let’s make the most of this temporary reprieve!” rang out Pavel’s hoarse voice.

The dragon spread its huge wings, banked steeply and glided wearily towards the ground.

“T
HE DWELLING OF MY
O
LD
G
RACIOUS’S BROTHER IS
eight miles from here as the crow flies, heading north-north-west,”
remarked
Oksa’s Tumble-Bawler, a small creature which looked remarkably like a bumblebee without legs. “There are two routes available to us: the main road and a footpath over the Welsh moors. The footpath is more secluded, but it will take longer than the main road, which is quicker but much busier,” it continued, gazing towards the horizon.

As if to illustrate the diminutive creature’s information, the Runaways became aware of the noise from the road. Even though it was barely dawn, it sounded like the traffic was already heavy, with cars moving nose to tail. In the headlights, they could see birds taking flight in flocks, frightened by the blare of horns. The floods that had submerged part of England were driving people towards Wales and Cornwall in
panic-stricken
droves.

“Let’s go over the moors,” decided Dragomira with an anxious glance at Pavel.

Oksa’s father was bent over with his hands on his thighs, trying to recover from the punishing night flight. He was a sorry sight. Although his Ink Dragon gave them a huge advantage, it was physically draining for him to share his body with another creature. He’d used up his last ounce of strength flying through the blinding rain to carry his family and friends to safety while ignoring the burning agony of his body and the
anguish of leaving their home. He groaned through gritted teeth. Recent events had brought his dreams crashing down around his ears. Gone was the possibility of living a
normal
life one day. It was as if everything Pavel had done to achieve this had been built on sand. He’d started out with such high hopes and so much faith in the future… The restaurant he’d opened with Pierre in the centre of London had been a last-ditch attempt to put the past behind them and it had failed. In his mind’s eye, he pictured the kitchen which was his pride and joy. Right now, it was probably knee-deep in mud as black as the misfortune about to descend on the world. “
We’ve got to leave… now,
” Dragomira had insisted. It wasn’t the first time she’d said this, but her words had sounded so much sadder this time round, reawakening fleeting memories that filled their hearts with bitterness. Pavel shook his head as if to banish these dark thoughts. There was nothing to be gained by dwelling on the past. The most important thing now was to save his wife, Marie. She’d been a prisoner of the Felons for far too long. He straightened up as Dragomira came over and took a metal phial from her bag.

“Drink this, son,” she said gently.

“Your famous Elixir of Betony?” he croaked.

“Yuck, that’s revolting!” Oksa couldn’t help exclaiming. “Revolting, but brilliant! You’ll feel like a new man in no time.”

Pavel smiled weakly at his daughter’s enthusiasm and gulped down the contents of the phial in one.

“Blergh… it tastes like swamp water,” he said, pulling a face. “It’s just as well I trust you, Mum, otherwise I might think you were trying to poison me. You’ve really got to find some way of flavouring that
disgusting
concoction!”

Oksa sighed with relief. No one could match her father for sarcasm. But then, as he always said, mockery was simply a survival strategy for him.

“I’ll give it some serious thought,” promised Dragomira.

“Right, we’ve wasted enough time!” Pavel exclaimed suddenly,
sounding
much more like his old self. “We ought to get going.”

It was growing lighter and the Runaways’ shadows stretched over the heather as they followed the footpath through the deserted, hilly
countryside
. Wisps of mist clung to the bushes and leaves, creating a ghostly atmosphere. Above them, the sky was filled with British army helicopters which roared like enraged lions and made it impossible to work any magic. They had no choice but to keep walking in silence, still dazed by the cataclysmic sights they’d witnessed in London, where they’d left behind a piece of their history.

“How are you bearing up, Lil’ Gracious?”

Oksa glanced over at Tugdual. He was loping along with feline grace, tapping continually on his mobile, his wet hair hiding part of his pale face so that Oksa could only see the bottom of his jaw. She wouldn’t have been able to tell if he was handsome or not, but that really wasn’t the issue—more than anything, he reminded her of a black panther with his supple gait, keen intelligence and the brooding magnetism which played havoc with her emotions.

“I’m fine,” she said without a great deal of conviction. “I just feel a bit… washed out. Literally as well as figuratively,” she added, wringing out her soaked cotton scarf.

Tugdual gave a faint smile.

“How’s the world doing?” asked Oksa, glancing at Tugdual’s mobile.

“It’s seen better days,” he said, pocketing his phone. “Let’s just say that you’ll have your work cut out if you’re going to restore order to this chaos!”

Oksa frowned. Today more than ever, she felt burdened by the responsibility. She was the Young Gracious, and the future of the world—of the two worlds—depended on her. She alone had the power to restore
harmony to the Outside, where she’d been born, and to the Inside, her family’s native land of Edefia, and she had no idea how she was going to go about it.

“Don’t forget we’re here too,” whispered Tugdual intuitively. “You aren’t alone.”

That was true: she wasn’t alone. She could always call on the strength and support of the Runaways. The Pollocks, Bellangers and Knuts—as well as Abakum, Zoe and Reminiscens—were all nearby. But she missed her mum so much: the future would seem a lot less uncertain when she could cuddle her again. As if to illustrate her anxiety, a fierce gust of wind buffeted the walkers, driving swollen clouds over the moor. It wasn’t long before the heavy rain began again.

“I’d give anything for a bit of sunshine,” grumbled Oksa, turning up the collar of her jacket.

As Tugdual matched his steps to hers, she took a deep breath and fixed her gaze on the Runaways walking along the narrow footpath in front of her, two by two. Dragomira was completely hidden beneath a long canary-yellow cape, which could be seen from miles away. “That’s Baba all over!” thought Oksa with an affectionate smile. The Old Gracious was leaning on Pavel’s arm. They were at the head of the small group, their shoulders bowed, but their pace resolute. Oksa was proud of her father. Proud of his strength and courage, and of the decision he’d finally taken to join forces with the Runaways and support them heart and soul. He’d been very firm in his own way: “
Let me make one thing very clear, Mum,
” he’d announced to Dragomira. “
Once we’ve saved Marie and the two worlds, you’re going to let me live my life the way I want, okay?
” Just behind him, Gus and Zoe were walking in silence, their heads hunched down into the collars of their coats. Gus was the only one who had no magic powers and he seemed to be finding this forced march along a sodden path in the storm totally exhausting. Brushing her blonde hair out of her eyes with the back of her hand, Zoe kept glancing anxiously at her friend and Oksa’s heart constricted. It should have been her by his
side, not Zoe. It should have been her encouraging him. She clenched her fists, feeling furious and frustrated. She desperately wanted to do something. But what?

“Gus?”

No one was more surprised by Oksa’s shout than Oksa herself—she hadn’t even realized she’d called out. Her cheeks flamed as Tugdual looked at her with a half-smile. Gus turned round, just as startled as she was by her impulsive cry.

“What?” he snapped with bad grace. Caught unawares, Oksa didn’t know what to say.

“Are you okay?”

“No better than anyone else…” he replied, his features drawn.

Before he turned away, Oksa caught a glimpse of the deep pain and resentment in Gus’s dark-blue eyes. He was fuming about her growing closeness to Tugdual. From the minute they’d met, an intense rivalry had developed between the two boys and they’d made no bones about it, even though Tugdual tended to resort to mockery, while Gus was just downright rude. The moody Scandinavian teenager’s appearance on the scene had aroused what Oksa felt might be the stirrings of love. Tugdual now occupied a special place in her life and her heart. The downside of this, though, was that it had undeniably broken something between her and Gus. Things just weren’t the same—their deep bond seemed to have been replaced by an explosive hostility which Oksa found really hard to take.

“Why did I call out to him?” she fumed half-heartedly.

“Because you’re an impetuous Lil’ Gracious who acts before she thinks and who gets a kick out of putting herself in impossible situations,” murmured Tugdual confidingly.

Oksa clenched her fists. “I don’t want to lose him!” she thought as she watched Gus’s thin frame labouring along the muddy path. She shoved her hands in her pockets and kept walking with a scowl on her face. With the toe of her laced ankle boot, she kicked a pebble into a
ditch. The distant hills disappeared under the violent downpour, and the horizon—like their future—was hidden from sight.

The Runaways had been walking for over two hours in exhausted silence when Oksa suddenly exclaimed:

“Hey! Look!”

They all looked up to see a hare bounding over the moor. Dragomira gave a long sigh of relief and her eyes immediately regained their sparkle.

“Abakum…” she whispered.

The hare rapidly drew nearer, escorted by two bizarre companions: Baba Pollock’s Tumble-Bawler, which was wheezing as it flew, and the Veloso, which was leaping nimbly over the vegetation with its long striped legs. When the hare finally reached them, the Runaways greeted it with unbridled delight.

“It really is you, my dear Watcher!” crowed Dragomira joyfully,
kneeling
down and burying her face in the animal’s thick greyish-brown fur.

“I was so afraid…”

They all knew that Baba Pollock had hardly ever been separated from her loyal protector. Dragomira didn’t like living without Abakum by her side and their emotional reunion showed the depth of that affection. The hare allowed her to stroke him for a few minutes, then, to the
amazement
of the younger Runaways who’d never seen this marvel before, he changed back into Abakum the Fairyman. The old man gave himself a shake, smoothed down his grey hair, then looked at the small group, as if mentally carrying out a roll call of everyone present. His eyes lingered gravely for a second on Oksa, then brightened, as though a huge weight had been lifted.

“You’re all safe and sound, thank God!”

“We are, but only thanks to Pavel!” boomed Pierre Bellanger. “We wouldn’t have got out of that mess without him.”

Pavel looked away, embarrassed at being pushed into the limelight.

“Naftali and I saw what’s been happening in London. What a terrible situation,” continued Abakum, respecting Pavel’s modesty. “And things can only get worse in this torrential rain.”