The Heart of Two Worlds (26 page)

“O
F COURSE!” EXCLAIMED
O
KSA, SMACKING HER PALM
against her forehead. “It has to be! Wow… the Cloak Chamber…”

She pressed her face against the invisible barrier and felt it give a little.

“Hey!” she said. “I think I might be able to go a bit farther.”

Pushing hard, she managed to take another step forward, but that was as far as she got.

“Remember what Ocious said: the Chamber isn’t ready,” reminded Tugdual. “It’s only a matter of days.”

Oksa’s heart gave a lurch. Gus was usually the one who helped her reason things out, convincing her to sit tight and not be too impulsive. She took a deep breath, as unsettled by this strange place as by the horrible reminder that, like every other human being, she had very little control over her life.

She’d often been told that life is a matter of choice and she liked thinking that she was in relative control: even though fate set the rules—and Oksa was sure about that—she believed that the power of free will trumped everything and was the ultimate deal-breaker. But now she was beginning to have her doubts: the theory didn’t stand up to scrutiny. The proof of this was that she’d been separated from people she loved without being able to do anything about it, and that she was here, in the depths of a dying world, shouldering a heavy burden of responsibility—when she should have been sitting in a maths or history lesson. She felt completely
at the mercy of fate, without any room for manoeuvre. Unless… She turned round, a new gleam in her eyes.

“I’ve got an idea!”

Zoe and Tugdual couldn’t help smiling at her triumphant expression.

“I’ll hide until the Cloak Chamber is ready! I’ll be enthroned without the Werewalls realizing; then, when I’m the Gracious, we’ll all go back to the Portal, I’ll reopen it and we’ll go and find Mum, Gus and the others!”

Tugdual and Zoe didn’t look all that impressed.

“It’s very tempting,” said Tugdual, “but you’re forgetting a few important little details. It’s much more complicated than that, Oksa, sorry to be a wet blanket.”

Oksa stared at him, surprised that he’d just called her by her name. Like Zoe, he looked very serious again.

“No one knows if it’ll be possible to leave Edefia again or, if we can, what price we’ll have to pay. If you’re going to die doing it, then it’s out of the question: we’ll all stay here.”

Oksa aimed a kick at the ground, clenching her fists in anger.

“And I’d have to spend the rest of my life hiding in some dump, so that Ocious can’t find me. What a great prospect…”

“Ocious won’t live for ever,” ventured Zoe.

Oksa glanced up suddenly, struck by the feeling that Zoe could be just as implacable and determined as Reminiscens, when it came to helping her clan.

“Yes—but he’s not the only one with big ambitions for the Outside,” objected Tugdual.

“That’s true,” admitted Zoe. “But we can fight…”

Tugdual nodded. Zoe might look fragile, but she had the heart of a warrior.

“The second objection is that you’re living on borrowed time, Oksa,” he continued. “You need Ocious so that you can take the Werewall Elixir, otherwise—”

He fell silent, his forehead creased in a frown and his eyes anxious.

“Otherwise, I’ll die,” whispered Oksa, finishing his sentence.

She sat down cross-legged on the ground and began drawing lines in the glittery dust with her fingers. She felt a little foolish at not having thought about all those things before opening her mouth. Her body might have grown, but her mind was still as ungovernable.

Tugdual was still standing there with his hands in his pockets, watching her. Zoe knelt down beside Oksa, her back hunched but her eyes bright with understanding. Farther away, the door to the Chamber shone with such piercing supernatural radiance that it looked like it could dissolve any object or life form. Was there no other choice but to toe the line without batting an eyelid?

A movement caught their attention. The light had become so blinding that at first they couldn’t see anything. Then Tugdual suddenly threw himself at Oksa, pinning her down with all the weight of his body. She cried out in fright and surprise as Zoe grabbed fistfuls of dust and threw them into the air. Unlike her two friends, whose Firmhand and Werewall origins had just undeniably proved their worth, Oksa hadn’t spotted the swarm of Chiropterans flying into the subterranean dome. The bat-like insects circled just below the ceiling, wheeling in slow, sinister formation, then gradually drew nearer. Their beating wings were making a terrifying clicking noise. A wave of nausea mingled with panic and disgust washed over Oksa and she broke out in an acrid sweat. Her heart was pounding so hard it felt as though it would burst, but it was nothing compared to the unbearable pain welling up inside her. She pressed her hands over her ears in what she knew was the futile hope of stopping the waves of sound mercilessly boring into her body. The infrasonic noise felt as if it were entering every pore of her skin, spreading like poison. It was destroying everything on its way, frazzling her nerves, crushing her organs and subjecting her body to the worst possible torture.

Tugdual fired some Fireballisticos to keep the Chiropterans at bay, helped by Zoe who was frantically using every weapon she had at her disposal: Granoks, Magnetuses, handfuls of dust… Three Chiropterans
managed to evade these attacks to position themselves three feet above Oksa’s head. The Young Gracious stared at them in panic, eyes bulging and her body arched in agony. The nearer the Chiropterans came, the worse the pain. With a cry of rage, Tugdual managed to incinerate one, while Zoe grabbed the other two, smashing them against each other with surprising violence, then matter-of-factly dropping their mangled bodies on the ground. Suddenly Oksa noticed the dark figure of a man flying through the dome. She saw Tugdual look up and make an attempt to prevent the Vertiflier from reaching them. It was no use—two feet clad in black ankle boots landed just beside her, a few inches from her strained face. She felt Tugdual collapse on top of her, before she herself slipped into unconsciousness.

Her head was such a jumble of images that she couldn’t tell whether what she was seeing was real or a product of the nightmarish coma she knew she was in. She wasn’t in pain any more, which wasn’t necessarily a good sign. Did the absence of pain mean she was far from consciousness? Too far? In a place of no return? No. She wasn’t in pain, but she could still feel things. She was fairly sure someone was carrying her. She could hear hurried footsteps, muffled voices, several people walking beside her. The face of the man who’d appeared for a fraction of a second just before she fainted popped into her mind at the same time as the image was obscured by a dark fog. She felt as though she were moving restlessly, but the fog spread, preventing a return to full consciousness.

Orthon hadn’t been surprised to find Oksa and her two friends beside the Cloak Chamber. What a bonus… When he’d met the lethargic Vigilians coming to alert Ocious to the Young Gracious’s “escape”, he’d
immediately realized that he could make good use of this so-called breakout—no one could get out of Edefia at the moment, anyway. And there was nowhere to hide, since Ocious and the Werewalls knew this land better than anyone—every corner, every cave, every underground passage…

“Don’t disturb my father,” Orthon had ordered the Vigilians. “I’ll take care of this.”

The sentinels had hesitated to impart any vital information.

“The Docent gave us an order—”

“To do
what
?” Orthon had interrupted brusquely.

“To alert him or his son immediately about any problems, and no one else.”

Orthon had taken a deep breath to calm himself and to convey an impressive sense of authority.

“And who am I?”

The Vigilians had been perturbed by this question.

“You’re the Docent’s son.”

“That’s right!” Orthon had answered gleefully.

“But the Docent meant his son Andreas.”

“Of course he did! But you’re not neglecting your duty by giving me any information you want passed on to him. I’m Ocious’s elder son, the son born long before Andreas. Which gives me superiority, wouldn’t you agree?”

The Vigilians couldn’t argue with this irrefutable logic, so they told Orthon what had just happened within the walls of the Glass Column.

Orthon was feeling very smug. He carried the unconscious Young Gracious back up the seven levels to the ground floor of the Column, then decided to Vertifly to the top floor where her father was billeted rather than take the lift. Such a conspicuous entrance would spread panic
among any of the Runaways who saw him fly past with a lifeless Oksa. That would show everyone that he, Orthon, was the real master here, not Ocious or that imposter Andreas. Oksa was in a bad way, but she wouldn’t die. Not right away. Not while he had the situation in hand. Despite what everyone thought, his intelligence and poise made him the only person in Edefia with a smidgen of self-control—and it was only a short step from self-control to supreme power, a step which the Felon was happy to take. Spurred on by ambition, he emerged from the Column watched with concern by the guards standing on the square in front of the main doors. Gazing fiercely at the summit, he took off and soared upwards.

W
HEN
P
AVEL SAW
O
RTHON FLY PAST THE BAY WINDOW
of his room, he thought at first he was having a bad dream. He rushed out onto the tiny balcony and craned his neck, scared that what he’d seen might be real. The Felon immediately flew back again, his chest puffed out with pride, and Pavel gave a shout of rage: his enemy was holding Oksa in his arms, her head lolling and her body motionless.

“What have you done to my daughter?” he yelled.

Orthon merely gave him an evil smile and shot up to the floor above. This was more than Pavel could stand: the Ink Dragon awoke and took flight, blazing with flames and giving a roar that could be heard as far as the suburbs of Thousandeye City. The city’s inhabitants and those living in the Column rushed to the windows to see the incredible creature circling the Gracious’s residence with a strength born of despair. A dense swarm of Vigilians soon gave pursuit, buzzing menacingly. However, thirty or forty caterpillar-sentinels were powerless to stop the dragon, maddened by the wound inflicted by Orthon, and none of the insects escaped a summary cremation. A shower of charred Vigilians pattered onto Ocious’s balcony as he gazed at the scene from his private penthouse apartments.

When his son burst in with the Young Gracious in his arms, the Master of the Werewalls managed to look far more unruffled than he felt. Orthon’s landing had been undeniably stylish—he certainly knew how to make an entrance, a quality he’d clearly inherited from his father. Ocious knew how much theatrical flourishes could influence a situation or people’s perception of events, but he didn’t think this was really the time for ostentatious displays when Oksa—their key asset—looked in such a bad way.

“Father, our Young Gracious tried to escape,” began Orthon confidently. “I found her by the Cloak Chamber.”

“Why wasn’t I told about this?” snapped Ocious, an annoyed frown deepening the groove between his eyes.

“I took the initiative of acting without delay,” said Orthon curtly, his expression colder. “Before any damage was done.”

“She wouldn’t have got far anyway,” objected his father.

Looking injured, Orthon deposited a deathly pale Oksa on one of the many divans. At that moment there was an almighty din. The window panes shattered and the furniture near the windows was flattened: Pavel and his Ink Dragon had just unceremoniously burst into Ocious’s spacious living room and were skidding over the onyx floor tiles. It took an iron will to transform the creature back into ink—Pavel hated the two men clutching their Granok-Shooters in front of them with all his heart, and would happily have burnt them to a cinder.

“Bravo, Pavel! Bravo!” applauded Ocious, putting away his Granok-Shooter. “You’re so strong!” Orthon shot his father a hate-filled look, which didn’t escape Pavel, despite the complex situation.

“Oh, you didn’t come alone,” continued Ocious. Pavel turned round in time to see Tugdual and Zoe land beside him. Their clothes were torn, their hair was tangled and their worried faces were covered in dust. Zoe rushed over to Oksa.

“Oksa! Wake up, please!” she groaned, shaking her friend.

Pavel pushed past Orthon, who was trying to block his way.

“Have you still not grasped how much danger we’re ALL in if you continue to persecute her?” he growled, leaning over Oksa.

“I’ll have you know that it’s your daughter’s own fault she’s in this state,” retorted Orthon, his face hard. “If I hadn’t got there when I did, who knows if she’d still be alive?”

These words infuriated Tugdual.

“You must be joking! If you hadn’t got there with your revolting Chiropterans, Oksa certainly wouldn’t be in this state!”

“You exposed her to Chiropterans?” broke in Ocious, with a disapproving glare at his son.

Orthon’s face darkened, but he didn’t lose his composure. He stared defiantly at his angry father without saying a word. The relationship between the two men didn’t seem to be improving, which didn’t bode well. It was clear to the three Runaways—and Ocious—that Orthon had wanted to flaunt his own importance by portraying Oksa as a pawn over whom he had power of life and death. It was a brutal way of showing his father who was really boss.

“You’re playing with fire,” said Ocious simply.

The old man turned round and went over to Oksa. He seemed as worried by this sudden realization as by the Young Gracious’s condition.

“Settle your scores later,” said Pavel, gritting his teeth. “This is an emergency!”

Orthon kept his distance, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

“Oksa has to drink your vile elixir so that the antidote can take permanent effect,” Pavel told Ocious.

“That goes without saying,” replied the Werewall.

“You really are a psycho!” muttered Tugdual.

His icy fury was shocking. Pavel and Zoe had never seen Tugdual so angry. Worry and rage were written all over his face and, for the first time since they’d met him, he was showing his vulnerability.

“Where is it?” suddenly shouted Tugdual. “WHERE’S THE ELIXIR?”

“It’s a long time since a drop of Werewall Elixir has been seen in Edefia,” replied Ocious coldly.

“WHAT?!” gasped the three Runaways, while Orthon shifted nervously.

“Don’t forget that the Great Chaos took place nearly sixty years ago,” continued Ocious. “And for all those years, we’ve never stopped hoping we could leave.”

“And you knew damn well that your foul elixir wouldn’t be any use!” raged Pavel. “It wouldn’t help you leave…”

“I will not permit you to judge me!” thundered Ocious. “You’ve never had to deal with conditions like the ones we’ve endured here.”

“You’re nothing but a damned sorcerer’s apprentice!” hissed Pavel.

“That’s as maybe, but I’m the only one who can make the elixir again, so I’d be obliged if you’d lower your voice and treat me with a little more respect.”

“Do you even have the necessary ingredients?” snapped Pavel, interrupting him.

Ocious looked at him, almost amused.

“The cube of Luminescent Stone isn’t a problem, nor is the blood of our Young Gracious, which seems to flow in abundance, despite her unfortunate condition. The last Goranov plant died out in Edefia a decade ago, but I believe you succeeded in keeping several seedlings alive. As for the Diaphan…”

The Master of the Werewalls stopped and rubbed his chin, looking suddenly sombre. The Runaways were in agonies.

“These have been difficult years and the Diaphans have gradually died out due to a reduction in the light which guaranteed their survival in the Retinburn territory.”

Pavel groaned, while Zoe and Tugdual exchanged a look of despair.

“But who do you think you’re dealing with?” continued Ocious. “Do you take me for a complete amateur?”

Pavel couldn’t contain his exasperation.

“Get to the point!”

“The last Diaphan in Edefia lives in a specially equipped cave that I personally authorized,” announced Ocious triumphantly.

Pavel closed his eyes as indescribable relief washed over him.

“It’s going to be OK,” breathed Zoe, her cheeks shining with tears.

“Yes,” confirmed Ocious, “but only on one condition.”

Zoe shivered violently. Tugdual made a move to go over to the sofa where Oksa was lying, but Zoe put up her hand and said, almost inaudibly:

“Stay away…”

Tugdual stopped. His dark pupils dilated, consuming the piercing blue of his eyes. Orthon looked intrigued, while Ocious seemed bewildered. He was missing something.

“The Diaphan will only give us what we need in exchange for its favourite delicacy,” said the Master of the Werewalls.

This time, Zoe couldn’t stop Tugdual: he went to sit on the edge of the divan where Oksa was lying and put his head in his hands. Then he took Oksa’s fingers, which were clenched with pain, and kissed them.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” whispered Zoe, looking upset.

Tugdual gazed miserably at her, then gently shook his head. He was finding it hard to breathe. He allowed his hair to fall in front of his face to conceal his agitation and clutched Oksa’s hand even tighter. Her fingers moved slightly and her eyelids fluttered like the wings of a butterfly trying to fly. She eventually opened her eyes, looking dazed, and tried to sit up.

“I really thought I was done for this time,” she stammered, before slumping back on the divan.

Ocious came into sight, just behind Tugdual, who was looking at her more intensely than ever before. Realizing where she was, she began to remember what had happened.

“This is like a bad dream…”

“We’ll get you better, sweetheart,” said Pavel. “You’ve just got to keep strong!”

“I’ll do my best, Dad,” she replied, alarmed by everyone’s serious expressions.

“You’d better do, Lil’ Gracious,” whispered Tugdual, resting his cheek against hers. “You’d better…”