The Forest of Lost Souls (4 page)

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” it cawed harshly, plumes of black steam escaping from its beak.

“Um… I don’t know,” replied Gus.

“You don’t know who you are?” snapped the crow. “Well, I know who you’re not!”

“No! Well yes… I do know who I am! I’m Gus Bellanger,” replied the boy, disconcerted by this hostile reception. “But I don’t know what I’m doing here. Do you know why I’m here?”

“You’ve been Impictured, obviously!” replied the crow crossly. “But you’re not the person we were expecting at all.”

The crow sighed, emitting another puff of black steam.

“This is the worst thing that could have happened,” it said miserably.

“I
’
VE BEEN
I
MPICTURED
?”
REPEATED
G
US, FLABBERGASTED.

“What does that mean? What did I do?”

The crow groaned in annoyance and ruffled its feathers, spraying him with icy droplets.

“What did you do? You didn’t do anything!” it replied irritably. “It’s him! It’s his fault!”

“Who do you mean?”

“I mean the one who should have been Impictured, of course!” retorted the crow. “He’s the reason the Soul-Searcher is in a coma!”

“Impictured?” repeated Gus, bewildered. “The Soul-Searcher?”

The crow seemed to be in the grip of strong emotion. It looked away, close to tears.

“The Soul-Searcher has been held in thrall by the Wickedesses since the false Impicturement,” it continued without answering Gus’s
question
. “All reference points have disappeared and Impicturement can no longer fulfil its basic function.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” sighed Gus. “Please explain!”

“The Soul-Searcher is crucial to Impicturement,” replied the crow, meeting his eyes. “Ever since the one who should have been Impictured corrupted the process, Evil has dominated my world, preying upon anything good. The Wickedesses were born from this Evil. Despite
its wisdom, the Soul-Searcher was unable to prevent them from being spawned and from multiplying. They’re spreading like an epidemic and gain strength by feeding on anything alive and mortal.”

“What can be done about it?” asked Gus anxiously.

“The Evil that has descended on us can only be eradicated if he who should have been Impictured pays his debt, because this Impicturement was intended for him. If he doesn’t come, one extreme solution remains: the destruction of the Soul-Searcher. This would be regrettable, because the Soul-Searcher isn’t intrinsically evil. It also grieves me that I can’t assist with this, but I have to hide from the Wickedesses. If I’m killed, none of you in here have any chance of surviving.”

“What part do I play in all of this?”

“I’m afraid I have to ask you to brave great danger in order to return to your world. Only one type of magic is strong enough to send you home: that of the potion. I’ll leave my Wayfinder with you,” the crow added, jutting its beak at the black butterfly. “You must find the Soul-Searcher’s Sanctuary. It has become the stronghold of the Wickedesses, somewhere within the Stonewall Territory, deep inside a fortress protected by spells, evil beyond imagining. Here’s something to help you.”

The crow unfastened the tiny phial around its neck with its talons and held it out to Gus.

“What is it?” murmured the boy, turning the phial between his fingers. “What do I have to do?”

“If you manage to reach the Soul-Searcher without being killed by the Wickedesses, you must use this potion made by the Ageless Fairies. It will unleash the Displacement Spell, which has the power to destroy the Soul-Searcher. One drop of blood mixed with the phial’s magic will release you for ever from this trap.”

“Why don’t you destroy it yourself then?” asked Gus. “You seem to be much stronger than me!”

“Of course I’m stronger than you. But I’m not human and the spell
only works when mixed with human blood. May luck be with you, my young friend. Until we meet again…”

The crow exhaled one last puff of black steam and spread its wide wings to fly away, signalling that the conversation was over. For a few seconds Gus watched the bird departing, then, just as it was about to disappear into the mauve sky, he yelled:

“Please come back! Don’t leave me like this!”

The crow seemed to slow down, then Gus realized it was returning. With just a few beats of its wings it was standing before him again. It cawed so loudly that Gus flinched.

“Give me a clue!” begged Gus. “Tell me what to do!”

“I’ve already told you a great deal,” objected the crow. “The intrinsic mystery of Impicturement must be preserved. However, since this is such an unusual situation, I’ll give you some additional information. Listen carefully, because this is all I can tell you:

After reciting this, the crow swiftly took off again without waiting for Gus’s reaction. Confused and concerned, Gus turned round to question the black butterfly, but it too had disappeared: Gus was alone again. He thought over what the crow had just told him. It sounded like he’d have to perform all kinds of
Mission: Impossible
-style feats to escape from the picture. In fact, none of that information seemed to be much help. It just implied that things were going to get a whole lot worse. A Void that claims life? Merciless creatures? The lethal brawn of the Wickedesses? He wasn’t cut out for this kind of adventure! But what choice did he have? None at all, and he knew it. If he failed, he’d be devoured by the Wickedesses and lost for ever.

He looked around again. In other circumstances, he would have loved this place. Everything was so big! The peace and quiet of the forest was doing nothing to allay his fears, so he set off towards its dark interior, taking care not to step on a sleeping plant. He made his way through a maze of trees silhouetted against the sky like black stakes. The forest grew thicker as he walked between the giant trunks. Around him, the moss rose and fell with the rhythm of shallow breathing, accompanied by the gentle movement of the trees’ foliage as it swayed in a strange breeze that seemed to come from the leaves themselves then rise into the sky. When Gus stopped walking, everything froze, becoming as motionless as a photo. The plants were so still that they seemed to be holding their breath to keep a better eye on him. He found that even more frightening than when they were speaking directly to him. “I’m becoming totally paranoid… Is anyone there?” he asked hesitantly.

There was total silence. Conversely, though, everything inside his body seemed to be amplified and was making a terrible racket, which further increased his anxiety: the sound of his blood flowing through
his veins was as deafening as a motorway at rush hour. His heart had become a massive gong and his lungs were puffing like a steam engine. His empty stomach suddenly growled with a dull rumble that sounded like distant thunder. Gus jumped, upset by the unusual din made by his own body.

“Is anybody there?” he called again. “Please answer me!”

Exhausted and fraught with worry, Gus sank down onto the ground and stretched out. The ground was silky-soft like fur but, even though he was comfortable and bone-weary, Gus had absolutely no desire to risk falling asleep.

“I’m going to die here all alone,” he groaned. “Of hunger, for a start,” he added, rubbing his stomach. “I’d never have thought I’d end up like this. What a rubbish way to die…”

He lay there for a while, tortured by his thoughts. Just picturing his parents brought tears to his eyes. Would he ever see them again? They had to be out of their minds with worry. And what about Oksa? And the Runaways? They’d do their utmost to get him out of this mess… He had to keep his spirits up. Instinctively, he squeezed the bag he’d been wearing over his shoulder ever since Oksa had asked him to look after it. There was something wriggling inside. He opened the bag and the Tumble-Bawler—his best friend’s personal
and
living alarm—looked out in bewilderment.

“Tumble!” cried Gus. “You have no idea how good it is to see a friendly face!” The Tumble-Bawler crawled out of the bag, its conical body swaying back and forth.

“The Young Gracious’s friend is too kind…” it said, blushing.

“Do you know where we are?”

Since the Tumble-Bawler was an expert at pinpointing locations, Gus hoped it might have some idea.

“One thing is certain: we’re in Great Britain, in London, Young Master. Centre-centre-west, to be exact, Bean Street, St Proximus College, first floor, third classroom from the main staircase, north wall, four feet and
eleven inches up from the floor, seven feet and two inches from the west corner, twenty-one feet and one inch from the east corner.”

“Um… right,” muttered Gus in astonishment. “Do you think you could be even more precise? Where are we
exactly
?” he added, waving his arm at the strange forest around them.

“We’re in the picture, of course, Young Master!” replied the Tumble-Bawler, rocking back and forth furiously. “We’re in the picture, which is fourteen point nine inches long by nine point eight inches high. I can’t be any more precise than that, but that’s not my fault. I can’t see any of the four cardinal points, and there’s no indication of height or depth. Distances, time and measurements don’t exist, but the atmosphere is breathable…”

“Yes, I had noticed,” murmured Gus.

“…and there are several superimposed levels. No,” continued the Tumble-Bawler, “the levels aren’t superimposed: they’re nested inside one another.”

“Like Russian dolls?”

The small creature nodded, then turned and scuttled back into the shelter of the bag. Gus, feeling more sceptical and despairing than ever, said nothing for a moment, staring into the silent shadows of the undergrowth.

“Come on, son, don’t lose hope…”

Gus jumped and looked up. He scanned the ground for the headed root which had so unexpectedly chatted to him earlier. Several plants in a clump at the foot of the tree seemed to be watching him. One of them, topped with an enormous downy ball, leant towards the quivering berries and whispered something that Gus didn’t understand.

“If at first you don’t succeed, then try, try, try again,” repeated the voice.

Gus suddenly noticed a figure standing nearby in the gloom of the dense forest. He remembered that voice: he’d heard it before… but where?

“Don’t be afraid,” it continued. “Please don’t be afraid.”

Gus braced himself for the worst. As the indistinct figure slowly walked out of the forest, he stared wide-eyed. It was the woman from the portrait in the classroom, the woman who’d lured him into this awful trap. In no time at all she was standing right in front of him with an enigmatic smile on her face.

O
KSA AND
Z
OE EXCHANGED A LOOK OF MINGLED
concern and amazement. Opposite them, Dragomira seemed about to faint. Pale and worried, she grabbed Abakum’s hand and squeezed it hard.

“Impicturement…” she murmured miserably.

Abakum took a deep breath, stroked his short beard and closed his eyes. When he reopened them he looked intensely troubled, which did nothing to reassure the others, who had no idea what “Impicturement” might be. If the Fairyman was that worried, then things were serious.

“It’s impossible,” said Abakum emotionally. “I can accept that Reminiscens might have been Impictured, but not Gus!”

“You mean… my gran isn’t dead?” broke in Zoe.

“She won’t have had an easy time of it,” whispered Leomido. “But, thank God, yes, she’s alive.” Despite the circumstances, Zoe closed her eyes, weak with relief.

“What about Gus?” ventured Oksa with a panicky glance at Pierre and Jeanne, who seemed to be rooted to the spot with horror.

The Runaways looked at each other in confusion. No one dared to say anything, as if the words might inflict unbearable pain. As usual, Oksa was the one who broke the silence:

“If Reminiscens is alive
inside
the picture, then Gus must be too, mustn’t he?” she asked briskly. “It stands to reason! The picture in the
science room at St Proximus is the last thing Gus saw. He took a photo of it, then disappeared!”

Everyone turned to look at Reminiscens’s portrait on the screen.

“That’s what Impicturement is, isn’t it?” continued Oksa. “Gus is trapped in the picture with Reminiscens!” Jeanne groaned, and collapsed onto her chair. At her side, her husband clenched his fists in anger.

“Gus can’t have been Impictured,” he declared, shaking.

“But Reminiscens obviously has!” said Dragomira.

“There might have been a reason why she was…” continued Abakum. “But not Gus… It’s impossible, I tell you!”

“Why?” cried Oksa forcefully. “You can see there can’t be any other explanation!”

“The Young Gracious has truth in her mouth,” said the Lunatrix, his eyes open wide. “The Runaways must absorb this certainty in their heart: the friend of the Young Gracious has sustained Impicturement, the revelation is crammed with tragedy, but it assumes a covering of indisputability.”

“Thank you, my Lunatrix,” said Dragomira, patting the small creature’s fuzzy yellow head. “I’m very much afraid that we have to face facts. I’m stunned that such a thing could have happened. Can anyone explain it? Naftali? Brune? You were Servants of the High Enclave before the Great Chaos—do you know the laws governing Impicturement? I was so young when we had to flee our beloved Edefia… All I remember is that only those who’ve committed serious offences or crimes can be Impictured as a result of a court ruling. It’s a kind of imprisonment, isn’t it?”

“Yes, in principle,” agreed Naftali Knut, the towering, bald-headed Swede. “But it’s so much more than imprisonment. Impicturement is a powerful, highly complex spell—which is why it’s generally so reliable. That’s why I’m so astounded by what’s happened, my friends.”

“What do you mean?” asked Dragomira, narrowing her fierce blue eyes.

“I mean that the process is immediately stopped if there’s any error of judgement.”

“So there can’t have been a judicial error?” asked Oksa.

“No,” replied Naftali, in a throaty voice. “But let me explain… People sometimes commit serious crimes against others, through greed, despair or madness. In Edefia, society was based on notions of equality and harmony, which helped citizens to avoid these pitfalls. When we arrived on the Outside, we discovered a world that seemed much more inclined to indulge in criminal activities, a world where certain individuals were willing to risk their freedom for wealth, glory or love. Not to mention heads of state capable of tearing each other apart and endangering their populace for obscure political or religious reasons… We were all shocked at how little people valued life here because, in Edefia, nothing was more important, and this fundamental belief influenced how Edefians went about their daily business. Naturally, there was the odd individual who didn’t value these convictions so highly. Edefia experienced acts of
violence,
conspiracy and murder, just like the Outside. The only difference is that those crimes were very rare…”

“Until the Great Chaos,” broke in Oksa.

“That’s right,” agreed Naftali. “The Great Chaos resulted in a tidal wave of violence, worse than we’d ever experienced before. We weren’t at all prepared for mayhem on such a grand scale. That was our main weakness and one of the worst contributory factors in our downfall: what was good and right couldn’t triumph over evil.”

The tall Swede fell silent for a moment, his emerald eyes fixed on his trembling hands. His wife, Brune, nervously fiddled with one of the many silver rings on her long fingers and looked encouragingly at her husband.

“It’s possible that mankind is not as good as we’d have liked to believe,” continued Naftali. “Some people are, certainly. But it would appear that goodness is not an innate quality: it’s acquired over time, passed on from one person to another, maybe even learnt… My life on the Outside has provided me with ample food for thought on this subject: being good here isn’t easy because there are so many temptations. Insiders have understood this from the dawn of time: Edefia was founded on
charitable principles which formed the basis for people’s behaviour and were handed down from generation to generation, all the more easily because society had been designed to promote these core values. But, as I said, being good doesn’t come naturally to everyone and, despite the efforts of the vast majority, some individuals proved violent, and others even committed murder.”

“Marpel,” murmured Oksa. “The man who killed Gonzal to steal the Nontemporentas…”

“Yes, Marpel is a good example,” remarked Naftali. “Or perhaps I should say a bad example! He had violent tendencies, even as a child. He rejected the concept of hard work, either to improve the stability of our society or to meet his own needs: he expected other people to do everything for him without giving anything back in return. He began stealing as an adult, first in secret, then openly, not thinking twice about taking down anyone in his way. The jewellery-factory owner was one of his last victims and that’s what caused Marpel to be Impictured. And he would probably have been Impictured again for murdering old Gonzal. But that’s another story… Impicturement, unlike imprisonment—which is what happens on the Outside—forces the Impictured individual to withdraw from the world in order to become a better person. In Edefia we don’t pay for our mistakes, nor are we fined: we believe the only way for someone to make amends is to improve what can be improved.”

“What if… someone is all bad?” asked Oksa. “What if there’s no good in them at all?”

“Even the worst person on earth has room for improvement, darling!” insisted Dragomira. Naftali and Brune raised their eyebrows in obvious scepticism.

“I’m not as idealistic as your gran, Oksa,” continued Brune. “But yes, in Edefia we were convinced that it was crucial to work on an individual’s intrinsic qualities. That was the fundamental aim of Impicturement.”

“So Marpel did have some qualities?” asked Oksa.

“Of course!”

“What were they? Can you give me some examples?”

“No,” admitted Brune.

“Why? He was Impictured, so how come you don’t know how he became a better person? That’s such a cop-out!”

Despite the tense situation, everyone smiled at Oksa’s annoyance.

“The criminal does not display his inner embellishment to others,” said the Lunatrix. “Impicturement provides the ordeal and the Soul-Searcher produces the assessment.”

Oksa clicked her tongue and frowned sceptically.

“I’m sorry, Lunatrix. I usually manage to follow what you’re saying, but I didn’t understand…”

“That’s because, as we mentioned earlier, Impicturement is so
complex
,” continued Naftali. “When someone is arrested for a serious offence, they’re brought before the Gracious who decides whether to cast the Impicturement Spell; an Imagicon—a canvas with magical properties made by the Ageless Fairies—is unrolled, stretched taut and fixed to a frame. The offence is read out aloud and appears on the Imagicon. The criminal then blows on the words. His breath spreads through the
material
until it reaches the Soul-Searcher. The Soul-Searcher is the spirit of the Imagicon—its heart and mind. When the Soul-Searcher receives the criminal’s breath and the statement of their crimes, it carefully searches the hidden recesses of their secret self. After careful consideration, it decides if they deserve Impicturement or not. If they do, then the Soul-Searcher creates a series of ordeals intended to encourage the criminal to improve what can be improved in their nature. These ordeals are noted indelibly within the Imagicon, which then prepares to welcome the criminal, whose portrait slowly forms on the fibres of the canvas. The criminal lets a drop of their blood fall onto the Imagicon as a guarantee of their identity and they are then Impictured or sucked into the picture in order to carry out the series of ordeals devised by the Soul-Searcher. If they can overcome these ordeals, thereby successfully mastering their own demons and giving the best of themselves, they will be released.”

The room was filled with a stunned silence. They were all struggling to catch their breath and exchanging fearful glances. Once more, Oksa asked the question on everyone’s lips:

“Can the Soul-Searcher get it wrong?”

She glanced anxiously at Gus’s parents, who were more frightened to hear the answer than anyone else.

“It just isn’t possible…” Naftali struggled to say. “The Soul-Searcher never Impictures an innocent person.”

“How can you be so sure?” continued Oksa.

“I’ve attended several trials for offences punishable by Impicturement,” replied Naftali. “The Soul-Searcher has never been wrong. Even when we were all convinced that someone was guilty, it turned out that we were mistaken. And there is one other important detail I should give you: in Edefia’s history, only criminals guilty of attempted murder have been Impictured.”

“But Gus has never killed anyone!” cried Oksa, in a panic. “So why has he been Impictured?”

Naftali looked at the Young Gracious, then Gus’s parents, before whispering in a choked voice:

“I’m very much afraid that the Soul-Searcher has fallen victim to an evil spell.”