The Heart of Two Worlds (4 page)

T
HE GALES HOWLING ROUND
L
EOMIDO’S HOUSE FOR
hours had finally died down and a grey, miserable dawn was glimmering on the horizon. Oksa opened her eyes and lay quietly in bed, gathering her thoughts. She was still wearing yesterday’s clothes—tatty jeans and fisherman’s jumper—but someone had removed her ankle boots and covered her with a quilt. Probably her dad. She listened: the house was silent as a morgue, as if every living thing had died during that difficult night. The sudden noise of a burning log cracking in the fireplace made her jump. It was then that she noticed Dragomira’s Lunatrix. The small creature was standing there with big round eyes fixed on her, like an inscrutable guard. Oksa sat up and smiled at him.

“Good morning, Lunatrix! Have you been here all night?”

“Please accept receipt of salutations from your domestic staff, Young Gracious. The answer to your question is affirmative: the Old Gracious made the entreaty that I maintain surveillance over the slumber of the Young Gracious and the eye of her servant has not met with the slightest wavering. The three Lunatrixes of the Master-Impictured-Forever have ensured the diligence of the same protection for other guests of the household.”

“You mean you haven’t slept all night? Poor Lunatrixes!”

“Remove all pity from your heart, Young Gracious: Lunatrixes practise obedience without suffering,” replied the diminutive creature.

“You’re so faithful…” remarked Oksa admiringly.

“Fidelity is contained within the spirit of the Lunatrixes, the guarantee of our faithfulness is complete.”

“I know that, Lunatrix,” murmured Oksa. “We’re so lucky to have you here.”

The Lunatrix gave a loud sniffle and went over to throw some wood on the fire. He then turned round and looked Oksa straight in the eye. “Jealousy must not lacerate your heart, Young Gracious,” he remarked to Oksa’s great surprise.

Gaping, she looked down.

“What makes you say that?” she asked in a whisper.

“The grandson of the friends of the Gracious named Knut lays siege to your thoughts and the frigid presence of his cousin Kukka claws at the interior of your heart.”

“How can you possibly know that?” exclaimed Oksa in a strangled voice, horrified that her feelings might appear so obvious.

“Your domestic staff has performed an observation of your glances and an interpretation of your sentiments. The grandson of the friends of the Gracious invades the Young Gracious with amorous uncertainty; marmoreal Kukka fosters a relationship full of turbulence with the person who plagues the Young Gracious. Extreme electricity unites the two cousins, but their bonds are characterized by a great absence of love, so you must subtract all fear from your cranium.”

Oksa shivered. The Lunatrix had just hit the nail on the head… Yes, Tugdual monopolized her every waking thought… Yes, she was jealous of his fiery relationship with Kukka… She didn’t understand why, but there was no denying it.

“Is it that obvious?” she asked in a small voice, blushing.

“The Young Gracious must not be forgetting that everything residing within the heart of the Gracious is known by the Lunatrixes.”

“That’s very embarrassing,” remarked Oksa, then added, trembling, “May I ask a question?”

The Lunatrix nodded.

“Does… Tugdual love me?”

The small creature’s long, delicate lashes fluttered as he blinked.

“The grandson of the friends of the Gracious only conveys a partial surface of his character: he does not appear to demonstrate any emotion although he experiences deep disturbances and violent suffering. You should acquire the knowledge that power is arrayed with the same attraction as fire in his eyes.”

“What do you mean?”

“The grandson of the friends of the Gracious encounters ambiguity: power performs the exertion of a deep fascination although he possesses no desire to put it into practice. The Young Gracious assumes the embodiment of this power coveted by many and the consequence is that a fascination for it may cause a detour towards the Young Gracious.”

“Meaning that Tugdual is only interested in me because of the power I represent…” concluded Oksa, a sudden lump in her throat.

The Lunatrix’s wide forehead creased in a frown.

“Nature is sometimes lumbered with complexity, Young Gracious, but you must expel all fear from your heart. The grandson of the friends of the Gracious does not operate by the same logic as other human beings. Appearances cause deception and bring about confusion because the reality is unexpected: the loyalty and love of the grandson of the friends of the Gracious admit constancy and completeness. His heart is black and muddled, but it holds purity. However, the Young Gracious must not proceed to negligence of other friends and family. Or of the annihilation of the two worlds…”

“Things are serious, aren’t they?”

The Lunatrix nodded.

“Will we survive?”

“Your domestic staff can only make the gift of one assurance: your return to Edefia experiences proximity and success rests its hope on
the union of the Runaways. The complete and indivisible union of all Runaways.”

Oksa nervously cleared her throat, and her gaze strayed to the steely sky, split by bolts of black lightning, similar to the dark flashes that had frightened her so much inside the painting. She walked over to the window, struggling to breathe easily. From her room, she could see the small cemetery surrounded by ancient wrought-iron railings. Tugdual was there, his back against a gravestone—the same one they’d leant against when they’d talked properly for the first time, a few months ago. Tugdual didn’t notice her. Could he sense her watching him? She couldn’t be sure. He seemed lost in thought, his face clouded with pain and sadness. It was as if he’d let the mask drop; as if despair was all he had left. Sitting against the carved gravestone, he seemed incapable of hiding anything and Oksa was moved by his candid expression. She suddenly recalled one of Tugdual’s favourite songs—‘Unloveable’ by The Smiths.

A few weeks ago, she’d heard Tugdual humming this song almost gaily, as offhandedly as usual. But the words were so serious, so meaningful. So clear… Oksa carefully opened the window and swung her legs over the sill. The Lunatrix watched, looking disconcerted, his long mouth stretching from side to side of his wide face.

“My Young Gracious,” he sighed, “do not be forgetting my words.”

“I won’t. I promise!” murmured Oksa, then floated outside, several yards above the ground.

Tugdual looked up in surprise: Oksa had just landed at his feet and was gazing at him with a determined expression.

“Hiya, Lil’ Gracious!” he said in greeting.

“Hi,” replied Oksa, sitting down by his side.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Like a log. What about you?”

“I spent part of the night here.”

“Insomnia?”

“I’ve never been much of a sleeper, I can get by on a few hours a week. At the moment, it’s even worse.”

“Aren’t you tired?” exclaimed Oksa, glancing at him.

“No. Anyway, I was much too uptight to sleep. I watched the sky, got my head straight and calmed myself down.”

Oksa hesitated, then dared to question him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, seeing again the anguished expression on Tugdual’s face earlier, as he gazed at an unconscious Kukka.

“No point.”

Oksa couldn’t help objecting:

“Of course there is!”

How could she admit she was dying to find out more? But Tugdual was becoming less and less talkative with every passing second, which was not what she’d intended at all. He was so complicated… She decided not to push it. Although she wasn’t sure whether this was because she was afraid of making him feel worse or because she didn’t want to ruin the moment. “Your mother’s very beautiful… And your little brother is adorable,” she said finally.

Tugdual didn’t react at all. His hands were shaking slightly, but that could just as easily have been from the cold as from emotion. Unexpectedly, he moved closer to Oksa so that their shoulders were touching. He pulled on a thread hanging from Oksa’s worn jeans and wound it casually around his index finger.

“We have to join forces and work together if we don’t want to die,” he said softly. “All of us.”

He was being evasive again, but she didn’t care. As always, whenever she was alone with Tugdual Oksa experienced a rush of exhilaration and, despite his serious words, this morning was no exception. Nothing was ever simple with Tugdual, there was always conflict, ambiguity and mystery. The complete opposite of Gus. With a long sigh of exasperation, she gently laid her head against Tugdual’s.

The old cemetery was now bathed in a purplish, almost black light, as if the sky were bruised after the storms of the day before. Tugdual slipped his arm around Oksa’s shoulders and they leant silently against the gravestone and gazed at the threatening sky. In the distance, Abakum appeared on the moor, followed by Leomido’s two ungainly Gargantuhens—gigantic hens whose wingspan was close on ten feet.

“It’s time for the call to arms,” said Tugdual quietly. “We probably won’t come back here.”

Oksa felt a sudden surge of sadness. Everything she’d left behind was still so vivid—her school, her friends, the long evenings with Dragomira and the precious moments with her parents had not yet had time to become a distant memory. It was so hard to leave behind her life “before”. She looked up and, blinking back tears, clearly recognized Kukka at one of the first-floor windows, staring so malevolently at the small cemetery that Oksa could have sworn she could feel the chill coming from her eyes. She gave a start. Intuitively, Tugdual looked up towards the arched window where his vindictive cousin’s face had been just a minute ago. He immediately removed his arm from Oksa’s shoulders, which confused and upset her. What did that mean? Was Tugdual ashamed? She remembered
the Lunatrix’s words. Why was everything so difficult? Tugdual leapt to his feet and held out his hand to help her up.

“Come on!” he remarked. “Let’s go flying!”

She was tempted to refuse and leave him on his own, but he took her hands and put them on his shoulders, covering them with his, and they rose into the sky. Shielding his eyes with his hand, the Fairyman watched them take off with an affectionate smile. He was far from the only one looking: at the other end of the building, Gus rested his forehead against the cold glass, his eyes fixed on the pair as they flew over the moor. A few yards away, sitting cross-legged on a bed, Zoe gazed at Gus’s hunched back and felt helpless, as she always did when witnessing her friend’s obvious pain. Two rooms farther along the corridor, Kukka stalked away from the window in a rage and, last but not least, Dragomira and Pavel looked up from the vegetable patch where the creatures were doing their morning exercises and watched the Young Gracious and her melancholy friend soar through bands of purple mist. Dragomira only just managed to hold Pavel back from taking off in pursuit of his daughter, since he’d never seen her Vertifly so high.

“Have a little faith in her,” she said quietly.

Oksa was oblivious to the other Runaways’ reactions on the ground. Her heart filled with melancholy happiness, she surrendered to instinct, deaf and blind to the anguish of those who loved her.

N
O ONE KNEW WHETHER
D
RAGOMIRA HAD USED HER
legendary powers of persuasion or a more “Granokian” method but, whatever the case, it hadn’t taken the elderly fisherman long to comply with Baba Pollock’s wishes and the largest trawler from the nearby port was now miraculously anchored in the creek on the edge of Leomido’s estate. After much thought, given the mass exodus into Wales from the flooded areas of eastern England, the Runaways had decided to travel to the Island of the Felons by boat. It was the quickest, most discreet way to transport the thirty-one members of their group. Even though they did their best to avoid attention, the Runaways rarely went unnoticed and, despite the prevailing chaos, it was second nature for them to be cautious. Old habits die hard, after all. Even though none of them might be on the Outside in a few days…

Gathering for the last time in the huge living room with the shutters already closed, the Runaways listened gravely to Abakum’s wise advice.

“Our priority on this journey is to stick to our plan and remain on our guard,” he began. “The Felons have already proved they can attack first. This time, the roles are reversed: we’re attacking them, but we’re heading into unfamiliar territory…”

“You’re forgetting your faithful informant!” rang out the voice of Dragomira’s Tumble-Bawler.

“How could we?” disagreed Baba Pollock, stroking its head. “You’ve given us some first-rate information and we’re bound to call on you again.”

“At your service!” said the tiny creature, standing to attention.

“We must remember our strategy at all times,” continued Abakum, “and everyone should act according to their individual abilities while keeping out of danger as much as possible. I think we should leave now. All being well, we ought to reach the Island of the Felons in about twenty-four hours, which means we’ll arrive at nightfall, which would be perfect.”

There was a heavy silence. This departure felt like another exile and spelt the end of the Runaways’ life on the Outside. They’d all accepted that this expedition would bring them to the gateway to Edefia. That’s why they were all here. But, despite this firm conviction, the Runaways’ mixed feelings of excitement and sadness made it hard for them to catch their breath and brought tears to their eyes. A melody suddenly rose from the back of the room: Tugdual was sitting at the piano, the pallor of his thin face emphasized by his black clothes, playing a poignant piece which perfectly encapsulated the Runaways’ melancholy. Oksa looked up in surprise. “Another thing I didn’t know about him,” she thought, captivated by this beautiful acoustic rendering of a familiar rock standard. Leomido’s Lunatrixes were also staring at him, their huge blue eyes full of adoration.

“The initiative shown by the grandson of our friends the Knuts exerts enchantment on the ears of the domestic staff of the Gracious,” murmured the Lunatrixa. “No one has practised the use of that melodious instrument since the disappearance of the Master-Impictured-Forever and the rushing emotion is a feast for the listeners, the certainty is complete.”

Tugdual glanced at her unblinkingly, then shut the piano lid with a bang that contrasted sharply with his sensitive playing. He opened his mouth to say something, then changed his mind, flustered by the Lunatrixes’ wildly grateful eyes and the solemn atmosphere.

Pavel suddenly broke the deceptive quiet by throwing water on the logs burning in the fireplace. Dragomira looked at him, surprised at the symbolic finality of his gesture.

“I’m probably being silly, but I’d hate this magnificent house to burn down because we hadn’t put the fire out properly,” growled Pavel. “For Leomido’s sake.”

Then he turned and strode out of the room into the hall strewn with suitcases. The Runaways trudged after him in silence and picked up their bags. Pierre and Naftali loaded themselves up with boxes of Granoks and Capacitors, as well as the two Boximinuses, and the small group miserably filed out of the house. Dragomira was the last to leave. She stood there for a moment, looking at the splendid staircase in the glow of the setting sun, then shut and locked the heavy front door. She ran her hand over the wood with a sigh.

“Goodbye…” she murmured.

Pavel put his hand on her shoulder and silently pulled her to him. Dragomira gratefully leant on the arm he offered and, supporting each other, they joined the rest of the Runaways resolutely walking towards the creek, battling the almost irresistible urge to turn back.