The Heart of Two Worlds (5 page)

T
HEIR BOAT—THE
S
EA
D
OG
—ROCKED GENTLY ON THE
sea, which was luckily very calm on this autumn evening. The Runaways had allocated the ten cramped cabins and some of them had already gone to sleep, exhausted by the extreme emotions of the last few hours. Oksa, however, had lost no time in joining her father in the wheelhouse.

“Where on earth did you learn to sail a 100-foot boat?” she asked in amazement, watching her father skilfully operating the ship’s controls like a seasoned mariner.

“I didn’t,” he replied with a chuckle.

“What do you mean you didn’t?”

“I’ve never learnt to sail,” said Pavel. “But I’ve watched people do it.”

“Well, that’s comforting…” said Oksa, pulling a sceptical face.

“Some of us only need to be shown how to do something once before we can do it ourselves.”

Oksa frowned at him.

“You mean like Poluslingua? You see how something is done and you can do it?”

Pavel glanced up from the control panel and smiled at his daughter. Her fears allayed for the time being, Oksa gazed out of the window with interest. Night had almost fallen and the west was already so dark that it looked like a solid barrier. The powerful lamp on the ship’s prow lit up
the gloomy waves a couple of hundred feet ahead, which made Oksa feel as though they were plunging into an inkwell. To the east, she could just make out the tiny clusters of lights of coastal villages perched on the cliffs. From time to time, the beam of a lighthouse swept over the waves, creating luminous strips of radiance. Suddenly the moon emerged from the thick clouds, illuminating more of the sea, and several reefs loomed out of the depths, as if attempting to bar their way. Oksa’s stomach lurched, but Pavel had already anticipated these obstacles and was steering the trawler far out to sea, away from the jagged rocks of the coastline.

“Not bad, eh?” he remarked, keeping his eyes on the sea.

“Fantastic!” nodded Oksa. “Anyone would think you’d been doing this all your life!”

“Well done, Pavel! Mental focus and manual dexterity!” boomed Abakum’s voice behind them. “Would you like me to take over for a bit?”

“Later on, if you don’t mind, when we get to the Sea of the Hebrides. I’d like an aerial view of our
hosts’
island…”

“Good idea,” agreed Abakum.

Oksa silently looked at her father, his tense broad back beneath his heavy khaki woollen jumper, his ash-blond hair and gnarled hands. In her mind’s eye, she saw Pavel and his Ink Dragon flying through a stormy sky above the Felons’ inhospitable rocky island. He now seemed completely in control of the creature which, only a few months ago, had been eating him up inside—after barely tolerating each other, the two seemed to have merged peacefully. The process had cost him dearly and had forced him to make some painful sacrifices, but he had come through it and here he was, at the helm of the ship, leading his family and friends towards their shared destiny.

Oksa’s thoughts were interrupted by the furore shaking two of the crates piled in the wheelhouse. Dragomira’s and Oksa’s Tumble-Bawlers were fluttering like two large bumblebees above the jiggling boxes—the Boximinuses—from which emanated some muffled yet scandalized voices.

“Warning! Warning!” shouted the Tumble-Bawlers. “Danger of mutiny on board!”

“What, already?” laughed Oksa. “We’ve only just set sail!”

Abakum walked over and slipped a green scarab into the keyhole of each box. The beetles worked their strange magic and the boxes opened, revealing scores of differently sized compartments, each occupied by a miniaturized creature or plant. A loud outcry could be heard: the three Squoracles appeared to be fighting with Abakum’s Centaury.

“You’re creating far too much humidity!” complained Dragomira’s Squoracle, reduced to a pea-sized ball of feathers.

The other Squoracles had joined their companion in the adjacent compartment and were angrily hopping up and down at the foot of the handsome plant, whose breath was coming in short, fast bursts, making its leaves rise and fall.

“I tend to sweat buckets when I’m upset…” declared the Centaury.

“Well, I’ll have you know it’s killing me!” said another Squoracle. “I already had to put up with the traumatic journey from my master Abakum’s house and I refuse to travel another inch on board this box!”

“Do I sweat buckets?” asked Dragomira’s Incompetent suddenly.

“And I refuse to travel with plants which have such pungent breath!” protested yet another Squoracle.

“Hey, hens, plants don’t have breath!” broke in Leomido’s Getorix. “They have fragrance.”

“That’s all well and good, but when you’re travelling in a group, you should try your best not to upset the other passengers. You should keep yourself to yourself.”

“Has anyone got any peanuts?” asked the Incompetent unexpectedly. “I like peanuts, they help me relax.”

“Since when do you ever get tense?” sniggered the Getorix.

“I think I’m going to faint,” remarked Leomido’s Goranov, trembling from its roots to its leaves. “These overcrowded conditions… this awful din… It’s so stressful.”

Its leaves suddenly collapsed along its stem as Oksa watched the miniaturized scene over Abakum’s shoulder. Three smaller plants near the Goranov began shaking and crying out “Mummy!” before they collapsed too. Oksa couldn’t help laughing.

“Even when they’re a fraction of their usual size, they’re bonkers!”

“Do you have any peanuts?” asked the Incompetent, noticing her for the first time.

Oksa laughed even louder.

“For your information, we’re approaching a ninety per cent rate of humidity and the temperature is almost down to five degrees outside,” remarked the first Squoracle, shivering. “You’re going the right way about killing us, if that’s your intention!”

“You’re so
égoïste
!” retorted the Polyglossiper, a little sponge no bigger than a cherry. “Do you think you’re the only ones suffering?
Regardez-moi
! The rolling of the boat is making me seasick, I’m green as a lettuce leaf!”

“What do you have against the colour green?” snapped a Pulsatilla with a lush covering of leaves.

“The Polyglossiper is about to throw up!” bawled the Getorix, jumping about. “Danger! Danger!”

“I love lettuce,” the Incompetent informed them. “It’s very good for the digestion.”

“Everyone take shelter!” added the Getorix.

When they heard this warning, the Goranovs, which had regained consciousness, began screaming:

“Help! Someone help us!”

“Uh-oh, it’s time I stepped in,” said Abakum, wiping his eyes.

Oksa and Pavel were also crying with laughter.

“They’re completely mental,” giggled Oksa.

From his holdall Abakum took a small can, which he shook well before spraying each compartment. A few seconds later there was peace and quiet in the Boximinus.

“Wow! That’s amazing!” exclaimed Oksa. “What is it?”

“Fairy Gold Elixir plus a few drops of sap from the Brugmansia plant, which secretes atropine and scopolamine. When we moved last time, too many of our creatures and plants were ill, which was disastrous and very upsetting for all concerned. So Dragomira and I perfected this concoction, which combats motion sickness by distracting our companions from the cause of their suffering. We should be left in peace for a while now, I think.”

“It looks like it does more than just distract them, though!” remarked Oksa, noticing the drowsy contentment of the tiny inhabitants of the Boximinuses. “It could be used as a weapon, couldn’t it?”

Abakum stroked his beard thoughtfully.

“Do you remember sleepy nightshade?”

“Yes! You had some in your silo when you gave me my Granokology lesson.”

“You’ve got a good memory…”

Abakum went over to one of the stacked boxes and slipped the beetle key into the lock. One of the sides rolled up like a shutter to reveal scores of tiny drawers. Each bore a virtually illegible handwritten label. Abakum opened one and took out a few scarlet Granoks as small as sesame seeds.

“Give me your Granok-Shooter, Oksa.”

“Are you sure, Abakum?” broke in Pavel, with a worried look. The Fairyman nodded as Oksa held out her Granok-Shooter.

“You now have a new Granok,” said Abakum.

“What’s it called? What does it do?” Oksa immediately asked.

“It’s a Hypnagogo, a Waking-Dream Granok. Nightshade is used instead of Fairy Gold, which produces a stronger version of the fluid I just sprayed over our little friends… The Hypnagogo is supposed to cause hallucinations and disorientate the mind in order to neutralize it by putting it into a sort of waking dream for several hours.”

“Brilliant! Isn’t that a bit like the Dozident then?”

“Not exactly. The Dozident sends people to sleep. If you’re hit by one of those, you’ll immediately lose consciousness. The Hypnagogo is more subtle. It goes further than the Dozident by changing your enemy’s perception of reality and thereby thwarting their plans.”

“I understand,” murmured Oksa. “That’s clever! But why did you say it’s ‘supposed’ to cause hallucinations?”

“Because I didn’t have time to do all the tests I’d have liked. Which is why your father is looking so worried…”

“What are the dangers?”

“Atropine causes hallucinations designed to make the mind wander from reality, then scopolamine and nightshade work to neutralize the mind in question and keep it anchored in unreality for a while. It’s a bit like freezing an image or imposing slow motion. The problem is that I haven’t quite nailed the transition between the two stages, so someone experiencing hallucinations could prove to be uncontrollable… I tested the Hypnagogo on a few Outsiders as well as Bodkin and Naftali, who’re Firmhands, as you know. The Outsiders reacted just as they should, immediately being plunged into a daydream and not even realizing they were no longer seeing the real world. But trying this out on strange metabolisms like ours is a little more complicated. Bodkin and Naftali, who’d bravely agreed to act as guinea pigs, didn’t react at all for a few seconds, then slipped into a kind of trance during which they believed they were experiencing a dream. However, Naftali’s Werewall constitution slightly altered the effects of the Hypnagogo.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that the images he saw didn’t calm him down at all. And that made his reactions unpredictable.”

“But he was harmless, wasn’t he?”

“As harmless as a sleeping tiger… until it wakes up. That’s the difference.”

“I see,” nodded Oksa. “So it works like a charm on Outsiders. What about someone who has Firmhand, Werewall and Gracious blood—would it work on them?”

Abakum looked at her dubiously.

“Wait and see, is that it?” asked Oksa.

Staring at the horizon shrouded in hazardous darkness, the old man replied:

“Yes, in every respect…”

F
EELING EXHAUSTED,
O
KSA MADE HER WAY DOWN THE
narrow gangway to the cabin she was sharing with Dragomira, Reminiscens and Zoe, holding on to the metal walls to steady herself against the pitching motion of the ship. Gus suddenly appeared at the other end of the gangway and leant against the wall, looking deathly pale. Concerned, the Young Gracious went over to him.

“Are you all right?” she asked anxiously.

Gus turned to look at her, although his eyes were so glazed that Oksa thought he probably couldn’t see anything very clearly. His handsome face was drawn, almost distorted, as if some powerful force was exerting pressure on it from the inside. Shocked, Oksa said:

“You look like death warmed up!”

“As tactful as ever,” muttered Gus, pulling a face. “I do feel awful actually. My legs are like jelly and everything’s spinning…”

Oksa gnawed at a nail.

“Can I do anything to help?”

“I don’t think so, unless you can stop this lousy ship!” he said, shaking his head.

“Are you seasick? Abakum has the ideal remedy for that. Would you like me to go and ask him?”

“Why would you bother?” retorted Gus sullenly. Oksa looked at him sadly, and a little exasperated.

“For three reasons: because you’re my friend, because you’re not well and because I know a way to make you feel better. It’s hardly rocket science.”

“I suppose… so what you’re really saying is that you’d do the same for anyone.”

Although Oksa had an almost overwhelming urge to grab Gus’s shoulders and shake some sense into him, she managed to control herself, despite her irritation. She’d thought that their friendship had been getting back onto a more even keel, but she’d obviously been wrong.

“Think what you like,” she sighed, in resignation. “But you’re not just anyone to me. Wait there. I’ll be back a minute, OK?”

“I need to lie down,” groaned Gus. “I really don’t feel very well.”

Oksa had to admit he looked terrible. He was panting, his eyes were half closed and the sheen of sweat over his face made his skin seem waxy. He pulled the polo neck of his thick woollen jumper higher and jerkily folded his arms.

“I’ll help you back to your cabin,” said Oksa, taking his arm.

Gus shrugged her off, his face set.

“Don’t bother! I’m sure you’ve got better things to do,” he said, sliding back down the wall to a sitting position.

“You’re doing my head in!” snapped Oksa, irritably. “Will you please be quiet and stop being so difficult!”

She pulled him up and supported his weight, surprised at how stiff his movements were. His whole body seemed wracked by terrible spasms. He groaned again, but was too weak to refuse to lean on her. When they got to the Bellangers’ cabin, Gus muttered:

“Oksa…”

She looked up, a glimmer of hope in her eyes.

“What is it, Gus?” she said gently.

Gus frowned, trying to find the right words but, in the end, just replied:

“Forget it… nothing.”

“You’re so annoying sometimes,” she muttered crossly, pulling open the cabin door and helping Gus to lie down on his bunk. He immediately curled into a ball, pulling his knees up to his chest. He stifled another agonizing moan. Oksa hated seeing him in so much pain.

“Don’t move. I’ll be back!”

A few minutes later she’d returned and was spraying his face with Fairy Gold Brugmansia. With one last affectionate, and anxious, look at Gus, who’d slipped into a comforting daydream thanks to the concoction’s hallucinogenic powers, Oksa left the Bellangers’ cabin for hers.

Oksa tossed and turned on her narrow bunk, kept awake by the noise of the engines and the creaking of the ship, as well as by her troubled thoughts. Their present situation didn’t look any more promising than their future. Oksa was assailed by constant feelings of panic which, try as she might, she couldn’t shake off. For a start, she was worried sick about her mother. Oksa had understood only too well how crucial Marie would be to the conflict with the Felons. She also suspected that Orthon would do his utmost to demoralize the people he hated: Dragomira, Pavel, Abakum and herself. He’d taunt and intimidate them, using psychological warfare to devastating effect. The thought that they might fail to defeat the treacherous Felon filled her with anxiety. She didn’t think she was mentally tough enough. She was scared that she might jeopardize everything the Runaways had worked for. Her thoughts turned to her father. Would he be able to curb his impulsiveness? It was hard to know, because Pavel could be so unpredictable. Especially if the woman he loved was in danger…

As the ship neared its destination, Oksa’s relief at the idea of being reunited with her mother was gradually being eroded by mounting fear, which made her feel as though she was falling apart. She desperately hoped everything would go smoothly… and, more than anything else,
she hoped Marie wouldn’t give up. The longer this went on, the less time the Young Gracious’s mother had. Although there was a simple way to save her, it was fraught with difficulties: Marie needed Lasonillia—the Imperial Flower—a rare, invaluable plant which grew only in the territory of the Distant Reaches in Edefia and was Marie’s only hope for a cure. Oksa tried to think about something else, but everything was troubling her. Gus was hardly the least of her worries—he was the personification of trouble! At least their last conversation had reopened the lines of communication, even if it had been a little tense. “That’s something, I suppose,” sighed Oksa bitterly. Tugdual came a close third after Marie and Gus. He made her heart race whenever he was near her… He could twist her round his little finger so easily—she adored it when he held her tightly. It made her head spin and the world drop away. Nothing could top that feeling, but she was worried she might lose herself for ever in his arms. And then there was Edefia, a land so far away and yet so close. A land crucial to the Runaways and the survival of the two worlds—another thing that made her feel as though everything was spiralling out of control…

The ship was suddenly buffeted by a violent gust of wind, which interrupted Oksa’s train of thought. She held her breath, her heart pounding. She listened for a moment, gingerly standing up, her senses alert. The engine was still throbbing noisily and the ship had resumed its intermittent rolling. Oksa glanced out of the porthole: the sun was rising, revealing a louring sky heavy with swollen, ominous clouds. The sea was grey and choppy, whipped into crashing waves by the gusts of wind which were unceremoniously shaking the ship. Oksa sat down cross-legged on her bunk and pressed her face against the porthole. In the distance, she could see a pillar of water so dense it looked solid falling from a coal-black cloud and she was relieved she wasn’t under it. The black-and-grey-streaked sky was filled with sinister purple clouds that created an almost supernatural atmosphere.

“Impressive, isn’t it?”

Zoe had also woken up and was gazing at Oksa with large hazel eyes.

“Hmm… to be honest, I’m a little freaked out by it. Listen to that wind.”

Zoe smiled gently as usual, smoothing her shoulder-length hair into a ponytail.

“After everything you’ve had to deal with, don’t tell me you’re frightened by a few puffs of wind? That’s like a lioness being frightened of a mouse!” she teased.

“Some lioness…” said Oksa. “I feel more like the mouse right now!”

“Don’t forget a tiny mouse can spook a mighty elephant!” broke in Dragomira from her bunk.

“Oh, Baba!”

Oksa jumped down from the top bunk to kneel by her gran’s bed and kiss her affectionately.

“My dear child,” sighed Dragomira, hugging her. “My little mouse…”

“Look!” exclaimed Zoe. “We’re getting close to an island!”

Oksa’s heart lurched, and Dragomira turned pale.

Reminiscens got up in her turn and squeezed her half-sister’s shoulder comfortingly.

“We can’t possibly be there already, can we?” muttered Oksa, terrified.

“I don’t think so,” said Reminiscens. “Let’s go and ask our accomplished navigators; they’ll know where we are.”