The Heart of Two Worlds (11 page)

T
HE
F
AIRYMAN TORE HIS GAZE AWAY FROM
O
RTHON AND
turned to Oksa and the Runaways.

“There were rumours in Edefia that the Werewalls had perfected a terrible weapon to force leading scientists to join their Secret Society. It was much more sophisticated than hostage-taking and involved targeting their poor children, who were bitten by a Chiropteran. The venom spread through their bodies, but remained inactive until they hit adolescence. The pain then grew so bad that the inevitable outcome was death. However, the Werewalls had a secret antidote which temporarily speeded up the ageing process during puberty, ensuring that the infected child would miss their teenage years and thereby avoid all that pointless suffering. However, there was an extortionate price to pay: both the parents and their children had to become Werewalls which, as you all know, had serious consequences.”

“Come now, there are many advantages to being a Werewall,” said Orthon quietly.

“Indeed,” agreed Abakum bitterly, “but at what cost? Handing over other people’s love to the Diaphans. That hideous sacrifice was the worst scandal ever to hit Edefia.”

The Fairyman turned back to his friends:

“For years, the Werewalls coerced scientists into joining them by holding the power of life or death over their children.”

“That’s repulsive,” muttered Dragomira.

“Why does Gus have to be given a Werewall’s blood?” whispered Oksa.

“Because the antidote only works on Werewalls, little fool!” mocked Orthon.

“Why would you do that, Orthon? Why would you create something so vile?” asked Dragomira, her hand pressed to her heart.

“Adolescence is hardly the most enjoyable time in a person’s life,” replied the Felon coldly. “It’s a period of humiliation and degradation.”

“Not everyone feels that way!” retorted Abakum. “You might have been unhappy, but your own hang-ups can’t justify such barbaric behaviour. Anyway, you didn’t invent that nauseating process as you claim—your ancestor Temistocles did. All you’re doing is exploiting your ancestor’s invention with unnatural zeal.”

The Felon’s face set in an expression of annoyance as Abakum’s barb hit home.

“Whatever the case, I’m the only one who has the antidote to save your protégé!” he sneered nastily. “I’m the only chance you’ve got.”

Pierre and Jeanne looked imploringly at Abakum and Dragomira, silently pleading with them not to provoke Orthon further. Gus’s life was in his hands and everyone sensed that things could very easily take a turn for the worse.

“If you prefer, there is a third solution,” continued Orthon in a hard voice. “There are two draughts of the antidote: I have one here, in this room, and one is locked in a safe in the crystal cave where I used to live with my father in the Peak Ridge mountains. So if you can’t bear to accept my help, then bring the boy to Edefia and give him the second infusion there. You should be aware, though, that he’ll still have to have the transfusion of Werewall blood and he’ll have to survive the agony caused by my Chiropterans. After all, he’s just an Outsider, so he doesn’t have our strong constitution.”

He sniggered mockingly.

“Let’s stop wasting time!” broke in Pierre icily. “If I understand you correctly, a Werewall has to donate his blood to Gus so that he can
absorb the antidote. That will stop the pain but, in exchange, Gus will age a couple of years.”

“Two or three at the most,” agreed Orthon, with an airy wave of his bony hand.

“But how can an Outsider become a Werewall?” asked Oksa incredulously.

Orthon’s face lit up with a treacherous smile.

“That’s my brilliant great-niece!” he exclaimed. “An Outsider, like an Insider, can only become a Werewall after drinking the Werewall Elixir.”

“That vile concoction made from Diaphan snot?” Oksa couldn’t help exclaiming.

Orthon looked at her in amazement, then nodded grimly.

“I don’t know where you get your information, but you’re right. Blood won’t be enough for the boy. It will keep him in remission until the elixir consolidates his new ‘constitution’.”

“You’re bluffing!” raged Naftali. “Blood is enough!”

“What do you know about any of this?” asked Orthon, looking him up and down.

“I never had to drink that diabolical elixir to become a Werewall,” said the towering Swede. “I inherited the gene from my mother’s blood when she was pregnant with me.”

Orthon gave a sudden cackle of laughter, which echoed sinisterly around the locked room.

“Poor Naftali,” he sighed. “Your mother was an excellent chemist, but so weak-minded… you’d certainly have been a Werewall by blood if she’d been one before she was pregnant! Didn’t she ever tell you that you were born long before she became a Werewall? Didn’t you know you were just a Firmhand when you were born? It was your mother who gave you the elixir that would turn you permanently into a Werewall. At my father’s kind suggestion, of course…”

Naftali blanched and staggered with the shock. Abakum put an arm around his shoulder for moral support.

“She found it so hard to come to terms with her weakness,” continued Orthon ironically. “And she had so many scruples, so much guilt! She didn’t give him any choice.”

“You mean Ocious threatened my mother?” spluttered Naftali. “He forced her to join the Werewalls?”

“Yes, and it’s thanks to him that you’re a man of rare strength! You should be grateful to him instead of looking so disgusted.”

This was all too much for Naftali to take on board. The proud, sturdy Swede slumped, devastated.

“None of that matters now,” Abakum murmured to his shocked friend.

“Anyway, my dear Naftali, coming back to your earlier remark, blood is certainly vital, but your protégé needs more than that if he’s to become a Werewall. He’ll only be safe after he drinks the Werewall Elixir.”

“So what are you waiting for?” shouted Oksa, losing her temper.

Orthon raised his eyes heavenwards, before fixing her with an exasperated yet gleeful stare.

“Has anyone seen a Diaphan around here?” he asked the assembled Felons. “And does anyone by any chance have a fragment of Luminescent Stone from the Peak Ridge mountains which we could use to make the elixir?”

The Felons shook their heads.

“Our Young Gracious, who seems to know such a lot about the Werewall Elixir, will surely able to confirm it: no Luminescent Stone and no Diaphan, means no elixir. Isn’t that right, Young Gracious?”

“Gus will only be out of danger once he’s drunk that vile potion,” said Oksa quietly, her heart pounding as she followed the argument to its logical conclusion. “Or rather once someone has sacrificed every last ounce of romantic love and fed it to a Diaphan…”

Orthon’s eyes filled with ancient cruelty as they bored into her, then he gave a derisive hoot of laughter.

T
HE
R
UNAWAYS TRIED TO THINK THINGS THROUGH AS
dispassionately as possible. They looked anxiously at Gus, whose waxy complexion gave his face the appearance of a death mask as he lay on his camp bed. Ignored by the adults, Zoe wrung her hands in despair. Oksa was compulsively biting her nails, unable to stop her whole body from shaking.

“We have to say yes,” she stammered.

Gus’s parents exchanged a few words with Dragomira and Abakum, and their decision had a ring of finality about it.

“We agree,” announced Abakum stiffly. “On one condition: that one of us—a Werewall Runaway—is the blood donor.”

Orthon tilted his head to one side, looking surprised and amused.

“Do you think you’re in a position to negotiate?” he growled. A heart-rending cry cut through the talk: Gus had just regained consciousness. He was writhing in pain on the narrow bed, his face contorted and his body bucking, as he was attacked by the venom. His parents were doing their best to stop him from getting up, but his strength seemed to have increased tenfold. He leapt to his feet and savagely scratched Jeanne’s hand. He was behaving so aggressively that they all stepped back, concerned that Gus’s condition was making him uncontrollable. Abakum was the only one who dared to approach him: unafraid of being scratched or bitten, he seized him securely by the
waist and murmured a mysterious string of words in his ear, watched appreciatively by Orthon.

“Nicely done,” remarked the Felon, pretending to clap slowly.

In the Fairyman’s arms, Gus was struggling less frantically. His eyes, wide with terror and pain, rested for a fraction of a second on Oksa, who reeled as though she’d been struck by lightning.

“I volunteer!” suddenly exclaimed Tugdual, coming forward with his sleeves rolled up.

Dragomira went over to him and put her hands on his shoulders.

“It’s very generous of you, lad, but I think it might be better if we chose someone whose blood is as close as possible… to its origins.”

Tugdual’s face darkened with disappointment.

“Thank you from the bottom of my heart, Tugdual,” Pierre added. “We’re so touched by your offer. However, Dragomira is right: Gus is an Outsider and we must give him the best chance we can.”

“Haven’t you realized yet that you’re not good enough for
them
?” Orthon said to Tugdual. “Join me and you’ll receive the recognition you deserve. There’s still time!”

Tugdual hunched down into his black scarf and gazed at him, looking wounded and upset. Even though Tugdual had already proved his loyalty, Oksa was afraid that he’d give in to temptation. Why did she doubt him? She was ashamed of herself for thinking such thoughts. If anyone was disloyal, it was her, not Tugdual.

“We love Tugdual much more than he realizes and not just because of his invaluable powers,” retorted Dragomira, much to Tugdual’s great surprise.

“I’ll go and get Reminiscens!” cut in Naftali.

“You refuse my help, yet ask for hers?” exclaimed Orthon. “That’s ridiculous! Perhaps you’ve forgotten that exactly the same blood runs through our veins—mine’s just as good as hers.”

“Yes, but what’s inside your heart isn’t!” replied the Swede. “Open the door, Orthon.”

Frostily, the Felon complied, without moving an inch. He merely rotated the tip of his index finger and the bolts began unlocking with a sudden clatter. The door swung open onto the stone corridor and Naftali disappeared to the sound of Gus’s muffled cries.

A few minutes later, Reminiscens stalked into the large room. Without a glance at the Felons she hurried over to Gus, who was unconscious again. Tenderly she kissed his forehead and stroked his cheek. Then she rolled up her sleeve to bare her forearm and clenched her fist to make the bluish veins stand out. She pulled a dagger from the inside pocket of her jacket and was about to make an incision in her wrist when Orthon stopped her with a mocking laugh.

“Come now, dear sister, there’s no need for antiquated weaponry—this is the twenty-first century, after all!”

Stung, Reminiscens looked up at her hated brother, who was wheeling over a stand hung with all the medical equipment necessary for transfusions.

“Don’t touch me,” she said in a low, threatening voice. Orthon stopped short.

“You’re not making much of an effort, are you?” he remarked. “Annikki!” he shouted into the corridor. “Someone get Annikki!”

The young fair-haired woman arrived a few seconds later, visibly awed by the number of important people in the room. She deferentially suggested that Reminiscens lie down on a bench, then inserted a needle attached to a plastic pouch into her arm. The blood quickly filled the pouch, allowing Annikki to proceed with the transfusion. So, with a catheter in his forearm, lying there in deathly silence, Gus received blood from a woman descended from the legendary Temistocles—as well as a Gracious on her mother’s side and a Werewall on her father’s—a blend of dark and light representing everything that was most deadly and most powerful about Edefia.

A
FTER WATCHING OVER
G
US’S LIVID BODY FOR HOURS
, Oksa had fallen into a fitful sleep filled with bad dreams that left little room for hope. The last dream, more violent than the others, woke her. Feeling dazed, she shook her head to banish images of Gus transformed into a belligerent crow that had raked her face with its talons then swiftly taken flight towards the light of a strange horizon. She felt uncomfortable and realized with a sigh that she was starving. How long had it been since she’d eaten? Her stomach growled and she flinched, mortified. How could she think about
food
when Gus was in such a bad way just a few feet from her?

She looked round; she was alone in this small alcove with Tugdual and Zoe, who were asleep. Farther off, in the spacious laboratory, the adults were also resting. The young Lunatrix was curled up against Gus, snoring with his face buried in the hollow of Gus’s neck.

“How cute that little creature is,” thought Oksa, stretching out her hand to stroke him. Her eyes strayed to Tugdual. His lean body was stretched out with his legs crossed and his face, unguarded in sleep, wore a troubled expression Oksa didn’t recognize. She watched him for a moment, ashamed of taking advantage of the situation, but unable to resist.

Gus groaned softly and swatted away an imaginary insect with his hand. Oksa sat up, then slumped back in her chair. False alarm… Gus seemed to be on the road to recovery—his face wasn’t so tense and he
was breathing more easily, but who knew what this abnormal transfusion might do to him. Oksa looked at the slowly dripping blood, then at Gus’s inert body. He was her best friend and nothing would ever change that. The chimes from the big clock in the living room echoed through the house, like a sinister death knell. Six o’clock in the morning. It would soon be light. And by the end of this new day which had only just dawned, Gus would no longer be the same. He was bound to be a few inches taller and broader. His face would be squarer, his jaw stronger, and he’d look older. Would he have the confidence of a sixteen- or seventeen-year-old? Would he find it difficult being physically more mature when he still had the mind of a younger boy? Would it affect their relationship? WOULD SHE STILL LOVE HIM AS MUCH? As if she could read her mind, Zoe murmured:

“All that matters is that he survives this ordeal.”

Oksa gave a start at these words, embarrassed that she hadn’t realized she was being watched. Gus’s survival was more important than anything, and here she was worrying that Gus might be two or three years older than her!

“What a waste of space,” she muttered. “A useless waste of space.”

She took a deep breath and looked at Zoe. Her friend was ashen-faced, with red eyes and lips white with worry. She seemed the worst affected of all the Runaways. She’d had to deal with so many shocks these past few months—and her reunion with Mortimer hadn’t helped.

“He’s changed a lot, hasn’t he?” said Oksa, in a bid to start a conversation.

“Who?”

Zoe hunched down in her armchair and didn’t seem keen to talk about this.

“Mortimer,” pressed Oksa. “He doesn’t look the same at all.”

Zoe sighed. What Oksa didn’t know, and what no one could suspect, was that she was eaten up inside with grief and confusion. She gazed at her friend, torn between wanting to confide in someone and her natural reticence. Oksa looked at her encouragingly—talking could be such a relief.

“I thought she was going to kill him,” began Zoe in a barely audible murmur. “I was so frightened, Oksa… I realized that I don’t know my gran very well and it was terrifying to see her capable of something like that.”

“She’s been so badly hurt,” said Oksa, a lump in her throat.

“That’s no excuse,” objected Zoe, her voice breaking. “She was so desperate for revenge, she was so much like Orthon… I was shocked to find that out—it’s tearing me apart.”

Oksa watched her helplessly, as Zoe took a deep breath.

“It’s like being trapped inside a vicious circle that intensifies and spreads the effects of evil. My father was killed by Orthon. It was unbearable finding that out. But it was worse for my gran. Her only son was killed by her twin brother! Her only son! And I only found out today, when she’s had to live with it for months. Why did he do it, Oksa? Why did Orthon kill my dad?”

Zoe buried her face in her hands. Oksa watched her, unable to move or say anything. She didn’t know how to answer that question and nor would anyone else. She could sense how deeply wounded Zoe was and she could do nothing to help. Absolutely nothing. Nevertheless, she got up and urged her cousin to make room for her. Rummaging around in the bag she wore across her shoulder, she slipped a small pouch tied with a leather thong into Zoe’s hand. It was Oksa’s talisman, which was supposed to chase the clouds from the sky. Zoe leant her head on Oksa’s shoulder and wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Oksa smiled at her tentatively. The clouds in Zoe’s sky were so much darker than hers…

“I do think Mortimer’s changed,” continued Zoe.

“He looks rather tense,” added Oksa. “I thought he wanted to go to you, but didn’t dare.”

Zoe didn’t reply, thinking back to the last time she’d seen him, in Hyde Park. That meeting had at least clarified things: they’d each chosen their side.

“He hasn’t taken his eyes off you,” continued Oksa.

Wearily, Zoe leant back in the chair. No, Mortimer hadn’t taken his eyes off her, and what she’d seen had upset her—they’d been filled with resentment, fuelled by his disappointment at her rebuff. And sadness. Or had it been pity? If only she could lock and bar her heart so that nothing bad could get in. Some hope! But as she’d said to Oksa, all that mattered was that Gus survived. She loved him so much… and Gus was in love with Oksa.

“The transfusion is finished,” whispered Annikki suddenly, coming over.

She carefully removed the catheter from Gus’s arm. He’d been so still during the procedure that they’d all assumed he was unconscious, so it was a huge surprise when he jerked bolt upright, eyes wide and pupils dilated. Annikki gave a scream and backed away, while Oksa and Zoe jumped to their feet.

“How do you feel?” cried Oksa, her heart thumping.

Gus looked at her wildly.

“Odd,” he said, sounding confused. “What happened?” he added, seeing Annikki wheeling the transfusion equipment away.

But there was no time to explain anything to him, as his body was wracked by another violent convulsion of pain. He arched his back and gave a blood-curdling scream. Oksa rushed over and sat down on the edge of his bed.

“Oksa…” moaned Gus, grimacing at the relentless pain inflicted by the venom.

“Everything will be OK, you’ll see,” she said, her cheeks shining with tears. “We’ll make you better.”

“Why are you crying then?” he asked, doubled over by another agonizing spasm. “AND WHY DOES IT HURT SO MUCH?” he yelled.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, he grabbed Oksa’s hand and bit down hard on her wrist. Oksa shrieked. Tugdual threw himself on Gus to immobilize him as the Runaways and Felons rushed into the alcove, terrified by Oksa’s screams. Pavel lifted Oksa from where she was sitting by the camp bed, paralysed by shock, and carried her away. Her heart was racing with fear at the indescribable pain shooting up her arm and bewilderment at Gus’s actions.

“Why did you do that, Gus?” she gasped. “I’ve never hurt you.”

Everyone was in a panic—even the Felons couldn’t hide their concern. The Young Gracious had been bitten by Gus, who was undergoing drastic cellular change and had huge quantities of Chiropteran venom in his system. The consequences could be fatal, as everyone realized. Filled with shame and anger, Gus was struggling, held firmly by Pierre and Abakum.

“I don’t know what happened! I didn’t mean it!” he yelled. “Oksa! OKSA! Forgive me!”

His head suddenly drooped and he crumpled into unconsciousness. At the back of the room a white-faced Tugdual put down his Granok-Shooter, watched in horror by Zoe, who looked a shadow of her former self.