The Heart of Two Worlds (10 page)

She shook her Granok-Shooter even harder and Mortimer screamed more loudly. Orthon blanched as Gregor clenched his fists, beside himself with rage. Behind the Runaways, Zoe was crying quietly. The atmosphere was unbearable. Neither Reminiscens nor Orthon seemed prepared to back down and this battle could easily go on for hours. Mortimer’s screams were subsiding as he gradually lost consciousness.

“You wouldn’t dare,” said Orthon quietly, his voice quivering with fury.

“Are you sure?” replied Reminiscens, swinging her Granok-Shooter down towards the floor so hard that Mortimer’s body bounced like a ball. “Perhaps I should take a leaf out of your book, dear brother… perhaps I shouldn’t think twice about killing your son like you killed mine.”

“Stop it!” said Orthon, ashen-faced.

He gave Pavel a violent shove, sending him crashing to the floor. Then he kicked Oksa away. She jumped to her feet and stood up straight, even though it hurt her to do so. But this was no longer a battle between clans. Reminiscens and Orthon were in a world of their own, bent on settling scores, oblivious to anything else.

“You know very well your son and his wife died in a plane crash,” continued Orthon.

“A plane crash you engineered! Please don’t demean yourself by playing this game. You destroyed my life by killing my son and, although I very much doubt it will hurt you as much as you hurt me, I’m going to kill yours! Do you hear me? I’M GOING TO KILL MORTIMER!”

A shudder ran through the assembled Felons and Runaways. Reminiscens looked so resolute, so pitiless… The Runaways realized that the frail, gentle old woman who’d wandered for months inside the painting and who’d become their staunchest ally was also the fiercest and most self-sufficient of them all. At that moment, Reminiscens’ desire for revenge was blinding her to everything, including the rules by which the Runaways lived. The Felons, on the other hand, were seeing her as a worthy twin sister of their leader and none of them doubted she’d use her powers to do as much damage as possible with maximum cruelty. She looked unshakeable in her determination and even Orthon seemed convinced: the murderous gleam in Reminiscens’ eyes left no room for doubt—or hope. She raised her arm again to deliver what would probably be the death blow when Zoe cried out despairingly:

“GRAN, PLEASE DON’T KILL HIM!” Reminiscens seemed to hesitate for a second. Struggling for breath, Oksa gazed at Zoe. Mortimer had been like a brother to her grief-stricken cousin for months and she
could never forget the sincere affection he’d shown her. Zoe wrung her hands, unable to stop the choking tears from erupting.

“Don’t kill, Mortimer,” she sobbed. “Haven’t enough people died already?”

“I’m begging you!” broke in a weeping woman, appearing from the back of the room where she’d been keeping out of the way. “Please spare my son. Killing him might avenge the deaths of your loved ones, but nothing will bring them back.”

This was too much for Zoe, who hadn’t seen her great-aunt Barbara since she’d left the McGraws’ house on that awful day in April when her life had been turned upside down—again. Zoe gave a wail which made Reminiscens flinch and then collapsed, her face in her hands.

“Listen to them!” murmured Abakum, his eyes imploring her.

But grief was stronger than reason and, with a raging yet heart-rending sob, Reminiscens brought her arm down with a destructive resolve that nothing and no one could stop.

T
HERE WAS A SUDDEN CRASH AND EVERYONE WAS DEAFENED
and blinded by the shining gold blaze that had appeared in the middle of the room. Instinctively, they put their forearms over their eyes to shield them from the dazzling light.

“The Ageless Ones!” exclaimed Oksa, filled with wonder and relief.

Orthon tensed, wide-eyed, staring at the golden halo of light forming between the Runaways and the Felons. Oksa watched him, surprised by his amazement. “Of course!” she thought. “He’s never seen them before.” A figure appeared in the light, swaying with hypnotic slowness, her long hair floating behind her like seaweed at the bottom of the sea. She hovered a couple of feet above the floor and gazed long and hard at the two groups confronting each other. None of them moved, sure that this strange occurrence would somehow be decisive for their future. The figure floated closer to Oksa, causing Orthon to take a step back.

“My respects, Young Gracious.”

The Felons stared at Oksa in awed silence at those words, uttered in a bewitching, crystalline voice. Awed, they lowered their Granok-Shooters and focused on the Ageless One who’d greeted Oksa with a deference none of them had yet shown her.

“The time for unity has come,” the Ageless Fairy announced. “Edefia, the World’s Heart, is dying.”

“What about Ocious?” interrupted Agafon, as Orthon looked on, his face unreadable.

“Ocious has done quite enough,” replied the Ageless One curtly. “He and Malorane share the blame for the Great Chaos, which has led to the annihilation of the two worlds. It’s up to all of you to act now. If you don’t, it’s the end of everything.”

“What do we have to do?” cried Oksa.

“Find the strength to combine your powers,” replied the Ageless One.

Runaways and Felons glared at each other sceptically.

“Nothing can ever bring us back together,” objected Pavel.

“If you don’t join forces, the two worlds cannot survive.”

There was a heavy silence, followed by a clamour of voices in both camps.

“We can’t combine forces!”

“It’s preposterous!”

“Out of the question!”

“Perhaps things aren’t as serious as they say,” rang out Mercedica’s voice.

The din was interrupted by a sudden crackle: the glowing aura around the Ageless One visibly darkened and showed cataclysmic images from all over the world. The room was filled with the sound of reporters speaking different languages, as if countless television sets had been switched on. They listened to the news reports, even though the images were enough to show the scale of the disaster on the Outside. Volcanoes were erupting one after the other, quakes were shaking the earth, tidal waves were submerging the coastline, torrential rain was flooding the land and fires were raging through cities and forests. Everywhere endless queues of people were frantically trying to escape with a strength born of hope, but it was futile because everywhere was in chaos.

“The two worlds are dying faster than any of us could have predicted,” announced the Ageless One. “The equilibrium of the World’s Heart, protected by the Cloak Chamber, suffered irreparable damage from the revelation of the Secret-Never-To-Be-Told. Afterwards, order was maintained after a fashion, but we’re now slipping towards chaos. The wounds
are deep indeed, but equilibrium may yet be restored. This recovery will entail joining forces and making compromises and sacrifices which may seem intolerable but which are essential. The future of the two worlds depends on you. ALL OF YOU.”

She suddenly turned to Dragomira and wreathed her in golden coils.

“The Portal will soon appear,” she declared, in a whisper that only those nearest to her could overhear. “Your Lunatrix will guide you because he is the Guardian of the Definitive Landmark. Be ready, Dragomira, because you are and remain a Gracious and, as such, you hold within your heart a fragment of the declining equilibrium.”

The coils of light surrounding Dragomira continued to murmur, although she appeared to be the only one who could understand what they were saying now, then the golden light winked out, taking the figure with it.

The Felons and Runaways were left feeling equally stunned and dismayed. Supported by Abakum and Pavel, Dragomira was white. She looked devastated and tears welled in her large blue eyes.

“I think it’s time we talked…” she croaked.

She sank down onto the nearest chair and the members of both groups hastily followed suit. Reminiscens kept her precious Granok-Shooter in her hand, still attached to Mortimer’s motionless body on the floor. Reluctantly, Orthon also sat down.

“We have to face facts,” began Dragomira. “Our differences are irreconcilable, but we need each other to restore the equilibrium. If we don’t, then we’ll all die, on the Outside and on the Inside. Is that what we want?”

There was an overwhelming silence. Everyone felt the same, despite their personal ambitions.

“Orthon, we each possess part of the answer that will allow us to enter Edefia. You have my mother’s medallion.”

“
Our
mother’s medallion,” corrected the Felon.

“Yes, that’s right,” continued Dragomira, narrowing her eyes. “You have
our
mother’s medallion with the incantation that will allow us to open the Portal. The Portal is somewhere out there in the world, but no one knows exactly where. My loyal Lunatrix, the Guardian of the Definitive Landmark, is the only one who can tell us. So you have the key, but you don’t know where the Portal is. I can find out the location of the Portal, but I don’t have the key.”

Orthon frowned, deep in thought. He seemed to be finding it harder and harder to decide as the seconds slowly ticked by—which some people found infuriating…

“Why don’t you tell your friends why you’re so desperate to return to Edefia?” said Reminiscens suddenly. “You who follow him so blindly, do you actually know?”

“No, Reminiscens,” pleaded Abakum quietly. “Don’t do this, I’m begging you.”

The Fairyman seemed worried about the possible outcome of this conversation. The matters raised by Reminiscens were so serious and so private… Orthon’s face tensed and a vicious, murderous gleam appeared in his eyes. The Felon seemed to be struggling not to destroy everything around him.

“You’re hoping our father will love you at last, aren’t you?” continued Reminiscens caustically. “Have you lost your mind? He’s never loved anybody but himself. Himself and power. And what you’ve become won’t change anything. You’ve done it all for nothing, poor Orthon!”

“Stop it, Reminiscens!” ordered Abakum, with a surprising air of authority. “This isn’t the time,” he added more quietly. “The reasons our enemies are doing what they are doing don’t matter. What’s important now is to join forces. We’re running out of time.”

And, as if to remind them, violent gusts of wind shook the walls of the house. A draught swirled in the chimney and stirred up clouds of glowing embers in the fireplace while outside the torrential rain seemed
to have turned to heavy hail. The whole house creaked, lashed by the full fury of the elements, and they could hear tiles smashing to the ground. Suddenly the island was rocked by a tremor which seemed to come from the bowels of the Earth. The floor and the walls gave a terrible groan, as objects and paintings fell down around the occupants of the living room. They clung to each other, wide-eyed with terror. The tremor stopped just as suddenly as it had started, leaving wide cracks in the walls. Everyone was afraid, and even Orthon looked shaken. He took a deep breath, his steely gaze fixed on his twin. Then Reminiscens gently raised her Granok-Shooter. Mortimer’s motionless body rose into the air, carried by the Arborescens. The old woman skilfully guided him to Barbara and placed her son in front of her. Orthon shot her one last unreadable look—it was impossible to tell whether the fire in his eyes was fuelled by resentment or gratitude. With Barbara at his side, the Felon picked up his son and headed for the hall.

“Wait, Orthon!” suddenly rang out a voice. “We need some help too.”

Orthon turned round, as did all the Felons and the Runaways: drenched from head to toe, with the little Lunatrix at her side, Jeanne Bellanger was standing in the doorway of the living room.

“GUS!” exclaimed Oksa at the sight of her lifeless friend slumped in his mother’s arms.

His black hair hung down, revealing the deathly pallor of his face. Abakum hurried over to help Jeanne. He pushed back one of Gus’s eyelids and his face darkened. He turned to Orthon, who was looking quizzically at his potent adversary.

“The antidote,” said Abakum simply.

That word and Gus’s face distorted by pain were enough. The Felon’s lips curved into a cruel and triumphant smile.

“With pleasure,” he murmured sweetly.

O
RTHON AND HIS CLOSE ENTOURAGE—
L
UKAS,
A
GAFON
, Gregor, Mercedica and Barbara—strode out into the huge gloomy hall, followed by Abakum, Gus’s parents, Dragomira, Naftali, Pavel and Oksa. When Reminiscens slowly made a move to follow them, Orthon thundered:

“
She
stays here! I don’t want
her
anywhere near me!”

“You’d better wait for us here, Reminiscens,” said Dragomira softly. “Keep an eye on our friends, we’re counting on you.”

Reminiscens nodded and the small group filed out after the Felons.

Finding the hall too gloomy for her liking, Dragomira lost no time in using her Granok-Shooter to produce a Polypharus, whose glowing tentacles filled the lofty space with light.

“An eleven-tentacled Polypharus!” remarked Orthon with a whistle of admiration. “I didn’t know you had one of those, dear sister.”

“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me,” retorted Dragomira.

With a nervous snigger Orthon walked over to the elaborate wrought-iron railings of the staircase. Pressing his palm against a motif depicting a solar eclipse, he turned his wrist and the small door in the stairwell, mentioned earlier by the Tumble-Bawler, swung open to reveal another staircase illuminated by oil lamps. Orthon walked in and they all followed him in silence. The door closed again slowly, leaving just enough time for Tugdual and Zoe to slip inside behind them.

“What are you doing here?” whispered Oksa, when she noticed them. “This is really dangerous!”

“Surely you didn’t think we’d let you come in here without us, did you, Lil’ Gracious?” replied Tugdual, holding the baby Lunatrix in his arms.

Oksa raised her eyes heavenwards then looked away so that her two friends didn’t realize how glad she was that they were there.

“Come on, let’s find out what’s hidden in the Felons’ lair,” murmured Tugdual, leading the way.

After walking down several flights of stairs, the two clans came to a wide corridor, lined with about ten doors, which seemed to lead into the depths of the island. The lights on the sandstone walls flickered and it was so stuffy that they struggled to catch their breath. However, just after the visitors appeared, a huge wall-mounted fan started up at the end of the corridor, bringing in salty sea air which immediately made it easier to breathe.

“In here!” ordered Orthon, pushing open one of the doors.

Everyone flocked in behind him and the door closed with the clatter of invisible locks. Looking around, the Runaways discovered they were in what seemed to be a giant laboratory. In pride of place in the middle of the room was an enormous still like Dragomira’s and the walls were lined with shelves of bottles, test tubes, flasks and demijohns of all shapes and sizes. Crates overflowing with rocks and crystals were stacked in the gloom at the back of the room. Orthon set his son down on a camp bed and rummaged around in a large cupboard, throwing half its contents on the floor. He took out a small bottle filled with golden-brown liquid. Looking curious, Dragomira came closer.

“It’s a brew of my own making,” said Orthon, answering her unspoken question. “Spring water from Yellowstone National Park in which I’ve soaked malachite to absorb pain, a sliver of Madagascan labradorite to combat tiredness and a fragment of Saragossan aragonite to mend broken bones. Plus another key ingredient, but you’ll forgive me if I keep the nature of that a secret…”

Saying this, he leant down and poured a few drops into Mortimer’s half-open mouth. A few seconds later, Mortimer raised his head and looked around with wide eyes. When he saw Dragomira and Pavel, he recoiled and curled up in a ball on his bed. Barbara immediately put her arms around him reassuringly. He groaned in pain.

“A few more drops,” said Orthon, holding out the little bottle.

Mortimer drank obediently, his eyes fixed on Zoe, then stretched with the obvious satisfaction of someone who’s regained their former strength and vigour. He jumped up from the bed with feline grace, his face still badly bruised, surprising the Runaways with his speedy recovery.

“Stones have fascinating powers, don’t they?” said Orthon.

“As do plants,” replied Dragomira, irritated by his smug expression.

“If that’s the case, dear sister, why don’t you cure that poor lad yourself?” he said sarcastically, looking at Gus.

Although she was dumbfounded by his arrogance, Dragomira managed to restrain herself.

“Gus’s condition is your fault,” she said, as neutrally as possible, “and we know you have an antidote. You heard the Ageless Fairy: we’re running out of time, so why on earth would I waste valuable hours concocting a remedy you already possess? And, just in case you’re tempted to resort to blackmail, remember that you’d permanently endanger the future of the two worlds and, by extension, your own.”

“Oh Dragomira, my dear Dragomira,” sighed Orthon. “Impatience is making you foolish. How could you think I’d be so irresponsible?”

“How indeed,” remarked Dragomira.

She bent over Gus, who was lying on another camp bed. His parents and Abakum had sat down on stools nearby. Jeanne was holding his hand and gazing fixedly at him, while the baby Lunatrix had climbed onto the bed and had curled up next to him.

“Would you care to tell us what’s happening to him?” asked Dragomira, swallowing her choking anger.

“It’s very simple,” replied Orthon, sounding nauseatingly gleeful. “The poison from my pet Chiropterans is spreading through his veins. Their venom makes the body particularly receptive to all ultrasonic and infrasonic sounds produced by man, nature or machine. It’s pretty formidable, I have to admit—it inspired the CIA to perfect a new generation of lethal weapons. Your little protégé is in so much pain that he preferred to lose consciousness.”

“
Preferred
?” shouted Pierre, glaring daggers at Orthon.

“Give him the antidote!” ordered Dragomira. “Right now!”

Orthon sniggered evilly.

“Everything is so black and white with you, my dear sister! Do you really think I’d have created such a simplistic process? Not a chance… your young protégé is sliding inexorably towards death.”

“NO!” screamed Oksa.

Jeanne buried her face in her hands and dissolved into tears, while Pierre crumpled in despair.

“Yes!” continued Orthon, relishing the effect he was having on them. “Unless, of course, I deign to do something…”

“You promised!” broke in Oksa furiously.

“I did, which is why I’m letting you choose between two solutions.”

“You’re so magnanimous,” hissed Pavel.

“The first solution is for your protégé to continue to suffer throughout adolescence, alternating between periods of unconsciousness and unbearable pain. After reaching puberty, he’ll die.”

“You call that a
solution
?” snapped Dragomira.

“The second solution is for your protégé to be given a blood transfusion to allow his metabolism to assimilate the antidote. This antidote will allow him to avoid puberty, which is when the poison reaches its maximum effectiveness. That’s a much better outcome, isn’t it?”

The Runaways were speechless. They weren’t sure how this second solution worked or what the possible implications were.

“I sense you’re dubious,” continued Orthon, more confident than
ever. “What I’m suggesting is nothing less than a simple choice between life and death!”

“You’re crazy,” said Dragomira.

“Knowing you, I suppose the generous blood donor would have to be a Werewall,” remarked Abakum hoarsely.

Orthon turned to him with narrowed eyes.

“There’s nothing wrong with your powers of deduction, I see,” he said, congratulating the old man mockingly.

“So it was true…” murmured Abakum.

“What was true, Abakum?” Oksa couldn’t help asking.