The Forest of Lost Souls (27 page)

A
BAKUM
WAS THE FIRST TO VENTURE FORWARD.
T
HE
ground was intricately paved with triangular stones that shone with a honeyed glow in the light of the torches fixed to the walls. Over the chamber was a gigantic dome supported by ten elaborately carved columns which widened at the top to provide better support for the vaulted ceiling. At its centre, a pool tiled with mosaics was bubbling with murky water whose acrid smell prickled their nostrils and made their eyes smart.

“Stay here,” whispered the Fairyman.

He walked over to the edge of the pool and crouched down to peer into the pungent water. The only visible movement was large bubbles bursting softly on the surface, splattering the rim of the pool. Abakum brushed his fingers over the water. The pool seemed to come to life, as if his touch had woken it from a deep slumber: the bubbles swelled and exploded and a foul-smelling, yellowish mist filled the air. Abakum backed away in concern.

“I don’t like this place at all,” murmured Gus.

“You’re not kidding!” agreed Oksa. “It feels like we’re caught like rats in a trap at the centre of the earth! It gives me the creeps…”

“Don’t worry, Lil’ Gracious,” said Tugdual, then added, looking up at a blurry form flying towards them: “Looks like we’re about to find out our fate…”

The crow landed at Oksa’s feet and bowed respectfully to her. She couldn’t help admiring its huge wings—they had been so meticulously preened that the Runaways were reflected in their lustrous sheen. The crow opened its golden beak a fraction, releasing a plume of black smoke.

“You deserve high praise indeed, Young Gracious, and you’ve arrived just in the nick of time.”

Oksa knelt down level with the crow, which seemed embarrassed beyond all measure by this gesture.

“No!” it exclaimed abruptly. “Please stand up immediately!”

Surprised and confused, Oksa did as she was told. The crow spread its large wings and hovered in front of her.

“I can’t stay here much longer,” it told her breathlessly. “The Wickedesses are after me. I thought I’d met my maker a thousand times before I
managed
to track you down. So I’ll be brief: none of your powers can stop the lethal might of the Wickedesses. Only one thing can shield you from their power: the yellow mist spreading through this room. Despite its fetid smell, it’s your last and final defence. You’ll have to act quickly, though, because the mist is highly volatile and is only effective while it lasts, which won’t be long. If it disperses, the Wickedesses will invade the Sanctuary and claim your lives and that of every living creature inside this picture. So please don’t delay! I hate to say this, but you must destroy the Soul-Searcher. There’s no other way,” the crow said miserably.

“Where is this Soul-Searcher?” asked Oksa.

“There,” said the crow, gesturing with its beak towards the pool, which was now bubbling furiously. “Mix your blood with the contents of the phial I gave the boy, throw it on the Soul-Searcher and you’ll be freed by the Displacement Spell. I must get back to my family, or what’s left of it… Farewell, Young Gracious, Runaways! I shall be eternally grateful to you.”

Then the crow flew off swiftly and disappeared into the mist.

“Well, that seems straightforward enough!” said Oksa hoarsely. “Gus, would you give us the phial you’re wearing around your neck?”

The boy carefully removed the necklace and held out the tiny bottle to Oksa with trembling fingers.

“I think the crow is right to insist we don’t hang around,” said Tugdual gravely. “Look! The mist is thinning and I’d rather not see what’s waiting behind it…”

Apprehensively they studied the large round chamber and realized with horror that Tugdual was right: around the curved walls of the room the mist was gradually being replaced by wisps of dark vapour uttering hair-raising screams.

“The Wickedesses are coming,” confirmed Abakum hurriedly. “Let’s get a move on!”

“How do you open this thing?” cried Oksa in irritation, turning the tapering diamond-shaped phial over and over in her hands.

Abakum also examined the bottle, which seemed determined not to give up its secret. In the meantime, the hellish screams sounded like they were drawing closer.

“Perhaps you have to blow on it,” suggested Gus. “Like a Granok-Shooter.”

Tensely, Oksa blew on it, while the Runaways looked on, their eyes gleaming with a mixture of panic and hope. As if by a miracle, a small lid popped open at the top of the phial and a sharp point like the blade of a dagger emerged from the other end.

“Gus!” exclaimed Oksa, her face lighting up. “You know what? You’re a genius!”

“Save the compliments till later,” retorted the boy, blushing. “After we’ve escaped from this hellhole!”

“Hurry, they’re getting closer!” said Pavel. Strangely, the temperature in the chamber seemed to be rising as it grew darker and the ghoulish figures grew closer. The heat was becoming
unbearable. The screams grew louder and they could see malevolent shadows moving in the yellow mist. The shield protecting the Runaways was evaporating before their eyes and it wouldn’t be long before the Wickedesses closed in on them.

Oksa was the first to prick her finger on the sharp point sticking out of the phial. The blood welled and she squeezed her finger so a drop fell into the bottle. The liquid turned a mysterious, iridescent colour and gave off a coppery smoke.

“Your turn!” cried Oksa, holding out the phial to the other Runaways. “Quick!”

The darkness was intensifying around them, becoming thicker and more ominous. Another few yards and it would all be over. For ever. Tense as drawn bows, Pavel and Pierre adopted a defensive stance around their children, ready to sacrifice their lives for them. Meanwhile the phial was hurriedly passed from hand to hand and enriched with drops of each Runaway’s blood.

“We’re good to go, Oksa!” cried Tugdual, brandishing the smoking bottle at last.

“Are you sure?” asked the girl, taking it from him.

“Absolutely!”

“Then let’s do it!”

As soon as Oksa put her foot on the narrow mosaic rim, the acrid water was sucked towards the bottom of the pool to reveal a strange phenomenon: a formless mass began swelling until it filled the whole basin. With mauve veins, so dark they were almost black, this mass was beating like a heart. Oksa gulped, suddenly feeling unsure.

“It’s alive!” she exclaimed.

“Of course it is, Lil’ Gracious,” retorted Tugdual, sounding unusually irritable. “And so are the Wickedesses, which are about to kill us!”

“You have to destroy the Soul-Searcher, Oksa!” yelled Pavel. “THROW IN THE PHIAL!”

The lethal breath of the Wickedesses was beginning to consume the last plumes of yellow mist. Suddenly, the shadowy tongue of the hungriest Wickedess licked around the calf of the Young Gracious and took hold. Oksa turned and saw the most hideous creature she’d ever encountered: puffs of pestilential vapour rose from its fleshless body, covered in strips of blackened skin, while its head could almost have been human but for eyes veined with black blood and a thick, endless tongue covered with toothed suckers. Oksa screamed. Beside her, Tugdual was rooted to the spot with horror. Surely none of the Runaways was strong enough to destroy such an abomination? But, at the sight of the foul creature reeling in Oksa with its tongue, he growled with rage and his determination to save her overcame his fear, spurring him into action. A thin trickle of electricity sizzled from his raised hand and exploded into a fireball when it hit the Wickedess. The creature released Oksa and fell to the ground, writhing in pain from the flames consuming it. Then the impossible happened: through the smoke and the flames, the Wickedess’s body, which had been split in two, got to its feet as if nothing had happened and rushed at him with a terrifying roar.

“Why didn’t it die?” railed Tugdual, his wrist caught by the suckered tongue.

The Wickedess, eyes contorted with pain, was determined to annihilate him and none of the defences used by the Runaways could counter its resolve. With horror etched on his face, Tugdual crashed to the ground, no match for the implacable strength of the creature dragging him mercilessly along.

“We’ve got to do something!” screamed Oksa.

Abakum fired his last Granok. The one he kept for dire emergencies. The Crucimaphila flew through the air like an arrow and time seemed to stand still. Everyone fell silent and everything seemed to move in slow motion as a black hole formed above the decomposing head of the
Wickedess. It looked up at the strange phenomenon and gave a loud, blood-curdling laugh. Its wide-open mouth allowed a glimpse of the hellish flames ravaging its body and its tongue coiled around Tugdual to drag him down into that blazing pit. Mustering all her courage, Oksa hurled the phial onto the pulsing Soul-Searcher as hard as she could.

T
HE RUNAWAYS WERE SUDDENLY SWEPT UP BY A
GALE
-force
wind, even more powerful than the tornado that had transported them from the Endless Barrens. It roared furiously as it snatched them, helpless and screaming, from the ravening maws of the Wickedesses. A few seconds later they found themselves flung from the face of Big Ben into the rainy, orange-coloured sky of London at night.

“Daaaad!” screamed Oksa, flailing her arms.

Gus's scream echoed hers a few seconds later. None of the Runaways had expected to end up in mid-air and the relentless pull of gravity on the Outside was a shock to their systems. Not for Pavel though, who spread the broad wings of his Ink Dragon.

“Vertifly, Oksa!” he roared. “I'm coming!”

With two beats of his wings he reached Gus, who was plummeting through the air, and caught him in his talons before flying off to rescue Abakum and the Incompetent, who were still hanging from Big Ben's face. In the meantime, Oksa was doing her best to Vertifly and control her panic at the vast, empty drop below. Recognizing the famous clock tower, she was thrilled to realize she was in the middle of London and that they were all safe and sound. But she also knew that she was at the mercy of any pedestrian who chose to look up… When the Ink Dragon flew past and caught her, she thought her heart would stop. A girl floating 200 feet above ground was odd enough—but a dragon flying through
the London sky was hardly something you saw every day! Pavel didn't seem concerned, though. Carrying Oksa, Gus and Abakum in his talons, he found Tugdual, Pierre and Reminiscens, who'd Vertiflown to a dimly lit square near Westminster.

“Tugdual! You're here!” exclaimed Oksa happily. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” replied the white-faced young man. “Another second and I'd have had it… Hey, where's Leomido?” he asked, looking around.

They stared at each other. No one knew where the old man was.

“Perhaps he was ejected from the painting farther off,” suggested Reminiscens, trying to reassure them.

“Perhaps,” said Abakum, not entirely managing to hide his concern.

“Let's get out of here,” said Pavel. “All aboard. Next stop Bigtoe Square!”

Overwhelmed by exhaustion, the Runaways shrugged off their fear of being seen and climbed onto the back of the Ink Dragon which, in the blink of an eye, disappeared into the clouds.

At the very moment that Big Ben's clock silently witnessed the Runaways' Disimpicturement, the Lunatrix leapt to his feet, shouting:

“Success! Success!”

He bounded down the spiral staircase from Dragomira's private workroom to her apartment on the floor below. The Getorix followed hard on his heels, looking even more dishevelled than ever.

“What success are you shouting about?” he grumbled. “That of waking the whole house at three o'clock in the morning?”

The Lunatrix rushed to Dragomira's bedroom and flung open the door. Baba Pollock was already standing there, warmly wrapped in a thick dressing gown.

“The Old Gracious must receive the information that Disimpicturement has met with success!” he exclaimed.

“I know, my Lunatrix, I know,” replied the old lady emotionally. “I felt it too.”

“Should the household take delivery of this announcement?” asked the creature. “Does the Old Gracious give her domestic staff authorization to inform her friends?”

“No point, Lunatrix,” boomed Naftali's guttural voice. “We already know!”

The towering Swede, Brune, Jeanne and Zoe were standing in the doorway, their eyes shining. The five Runaways had all instinctively awoken at the same time. They could hardly believe that the others had returned after almost three months. Overcome with relief, they hugged each other warmly, even though their happiness was tinged with regret. Their reunion would be wonderful, but it would also be the cause of many tears: Dragomira couldn't think of anything worse than having to tell Pavel and Oksa that Marie was being held prisoner by the Felons on an island in the Sea of the Hebrides. She also hadn't forgotten the Lunatrix's warnings: not all the Runaways would come back from their hazardous adventure inside the picture. The Lunatrixa had perished, and one of her friends would also be missing. Which one? Before daybreak, she would know the heart-breaking answer. Unaware of her worries, Brune placed her hands on her friend's shoulders.

“Isn't it wonderful!” exclaimed the statuesque woman joyfully.

Swept along by the general wave of euphoria, Dragomira didn't notice her Lunatrix huddled in the corner. He was finding it hard to share Brune's opinion.

“Success has not encountered plenitude,” he murmured in a choked voice. “Joy will be marred by the subtraction of my half and the sibling of the Old Gracious…”

But the Lunatrix's warning was drowned out by their merriment, so no one heard the words of the little steward, who was weeping bitter tears. The five friends hurried out onto the steps in front of the house and stood facing the square, their eyes glued to the rainy sky. In the
meantime, defying caution, the Lunatrix opened the third-floor window and leant out to watch for the arrival of the valiant Runaways. He kept brushing away his tears with his chubby hand. The Getorix perched on the windowsill and, unusually, rested its little long-haired head against the chest of the Lunatrix and hugged him tightly.

“The impatience to see the Young Gracious and her friends again is extreme,” sniffed the Lunatrix. “But the reunion has experienced amputation and hearts will bleed…”

“Isn't everyone present and accounted for?” asked the Getorix, already guessing the answer.

“No,” groaned the Lunatrix. “Not at all.”

Drawing closer to Bigtoe Square, the Ink Dragon flapped its wings even harder. Hearts full to overflowing, the Disimpictured Runaways couldn't hold back cries of joy when they glimpsed the Pollocks' house.

“Good Lord!” exclaimed Dragomira, seeing the silhouette of the dragon in the night sky. “What on earth is that?”

“It looks like a dragon, my dear Dragomira,” replied Naftali good-naturedly.

“An explanation may nourish your understanding,” said the Lunatrix from his window. “Your gaze has encountered the Ink Dragon which was slumbering within the heart of the son of the Old Gracious.”

“My goodness, Pavel!” murmured Dragomira in amazement.

That meant Pavel was alive… Baba Pollock took a deep breath to fight off a wave of dizziness. She'd been so afraid of losing her only son. The dragon circled Bigtoe Square for a while, waiting until the small square was empty. A car drove past, then disappeared down a side street, and the dragon could land at last. The Disimpictured Runaways lost no time in jumping down and running over to the five excited Runaways waiting for them on the steps in front of the house.

“Baba!” cried Oksa, throwing herself into her gran's arms.

“Dushka, here you are at last! Good Lord… what a state you're in!” exclaimed Baba Pollock, looking at her granddaughter's filthy face, gaunt with tiredness. “But what about your father?”

Despite her immense happiness, she couldn't help worrying about Pavel, who was gradually returning to human form. Oksa turned to look at her father, who was heading over to them.

“Dad's been so amazing. If only you could have seen him, Baba! He fought so well and I'm so proud of him. Without him, we'd have died several times over!”

Dragomira smiled and hugged her son and granddaughter tightly, while looking at her reunited friends. The magnificent woman hugging Zoe had to be Reminiscens.

“This is wonderful,” she whispered, continuing her careful inspection. When she realized who was missing, Dragomira was suddenly deaf to the smacking kisses and ringing laughter on the front steps.

“Let's go inside!” she exclaimed, trying to hide her tears. “We wouldn't want to draw unwanted attention to ourselves.”

“You're not kidding!” laughed Oksa. “Discreet certainly wasn't the word for it tonight!”

“You've got some odd ideas if you think a dragon is discreet!” said the Incompetent.

Thrilled to be out of the painting, Oksa snorted with laughter and followed Dragomira, who was holding her hand so tightly that it felt like she'd never let go. The emotional reunion continued in the living room, until Oksa said urgently:

“Where's Mum? Doesn't she know yet? Come on, Dad, let's surprise her!” And she raced upstairs to the bedrooms.