The Heart of Two Worlds

by Anne Plichota

  Orthon smiled mockingly and opened the door. He and Mercedica filed out into the stone corridor, followed by Pavel pushing Marie’s wheelchair and the Runaways walking either side of Oksa and Gus. Their old clothes had been uncomfortably tight, so both of them had been forced to borrow things from Runaways, who were about the same size. Oksa was wearing jeans and ankle boots that had belonged to one of Leomido’s granddaughters and Tugdual had insisted on lending her a black hoodie. Gus had categorically refused to wear anything owned by his rival and had gratefully accepted a khaki wool sweater and rough grey canvas trousers from Cockerell’s son. Walking shakily with stiff, aching limbs, the two friends were still getting used to their new bodies. Oksa kept glancing imploringly at Gus, but he kept his distance with an exaggeratedly cool expression and flushed cheeks. His eyes were fixed on Abakum’s back in front of him, and he seemed determined to keep looking straight ahead. As the group walked downstairs, Oksa felt herself getting increasingly wound up at Gus’s feigned indifference. She jabbed him hard in the ribs with her elbow but he didn’t react.

  “Look at me!” she hissed.

  “I’ve already said you’re very pretty,” replied Gus, staring straight ahead. “What more do you want?”

  “It isn’t that!” snapped Oksa. “Look at me. Please…”

  “In memory of our former friendship, you mean?”

  Oksa sighed irritably.

  “Leave me alone, Oksa,” Gus said at last. “I hope I’ll get used to it. You have no idea how hard this is for me.”

  “I know…”

  “No, you don’t,” interrupted Gus, disappearing into the kitchen.

  This quiet conversation really upset Oksa. Observantly, Marie wheeled herself over and took her hand.

  “Are you OK? You look a bit miserable.”

  “I’m so mixed up, Mum.”

  “It’ll take a bit of time for things to work out,” said Marie softly. “Both of you have experienced some very drastic changes.”

  “You need to stay focused, Oksa-san,” added Pavel solemnly. “There are some hard times ahead and we mustn’t forget that three of you now have a sword of Damocles hanging over your heads.”

  They were the last to enter the vast kitchen, where four tables had been laid and were groaning under the weight of steaming pies, salads, cheeses, brioches and hot drinks. Although the lavish spread was hot, the atmosphere was chilly. The two groups had taken care not to mingle and everyone was eating with feigned relish in a silence broken only by the sputtering of a large stove. When Oksa came in pushing Marie’s armchair, they all held their breath. Although Gus’s conspicuous entrance a few minutes earlier had prepared them, they were all startled by the Young Gracious’s changed appearance. She looked round the room. Gus was studiously ignoring her, pretending to be engrossed in his mug of hot chocolate, so she didn’t hesitate when Tugdual signalled to her. Without really knowing why she felt disappointed, she manoeuvred her mother’s wheelchair over to Tugdual and sat down beside him.

  “How’s my Lil’ Gracious?” asked Tugdual quietly, pouring her a huge cup of tea as black as coffee.

  “Thrilled at being reunited with her mother!” replied Oksa. “Other than that, she feels very strange.”

  “Does it hurt?”

  “Not a bit! I’m not sure how you can grow as fast as this with virtually no pain. I’m just a bit stiff and achy, that’s all. The growing pains I had were much worse than this—insane, isn’t it?”

  “It’s certainly not the type of thing you experience every day… Hey, did you realize that you’re only seven months younger than me now?”

  “Is that all?” asked Oksa in surprise.

  “So… how do you see the future now you’re sixteen years, two months and thirteen days old?”

  “Honestly? It’s a nightmare, particularly when I think about what’s waiting for us and the dangers we’ll face if we don’t succeed. We’ll need to find Edefia, which is like looking for a needle in a haystack. And even if we find it, we have to get in, then find a Diaphan so that Gus and I can become true Werewalls—if we haven’t died in agony beforehand. Then we have to pick some Lasonillia for Mum in the Distant Reaches. And that territory is, as its name suggests, a long way away and very hard to get to. Then, we have to find the Cloak Chamber before Orthon does and save the two worlds. Piece of cake!” she said sarcastically, with a frown.

  “The Runaways certainly don’t do ‘simple’,” remarked Tugdual. “And the Pollocks are the worst offenders of all!”

  “You’re not kidding!”

  She took a large bite out of a huge sugar-topped brioche so that no one would see she wanted to cry. Around her, everyone was silently concentrating on their lunch and occasionally glancing furtively at the enemy clan. The only light relief was provided by the chirruping Ptitchkins which were flying loop-the-loops above Dragomira’s head. The Lunatrixes were busying themselves at the stove, doing their bit as the “domestic help” with the assistance of the other creatures, which were desperate to show their solidarity.

  “Oh, this warmth is bliss!” clucked the Squoracles, pressed up against the toaster.

  “Hey, chicks, you’ll singe the feathers off your wings, sniggered one of the Getorixes. “I’d pay good money to see bald Squoracles, ho ho ho!”

  The Squoracles flapped their wings indignantly.

  “Your words achieve the conjuring of a temperament full of jeering,” remarked Dragomira’s Lunatrix, squeezing oranges.

  “You said it, my friend,” nodded the Getorix, skipping around in a state of nervous exhaustion.

  The Lunatrix suddenly stopped in mid-movement. From where she was sitting, Oksa saw him freeze, still holding a tea towel. His two puzzled companions looked at him, and the Getorix jerked on his apron to snap him out of his trance. Eyes bulging, Dragomira’s faithful creature finally roused himself and shuffled towards his mistress.

  “What’s wrong, my Lunatrix?” asked Baba Pollock, concerned by his translucent complexion.

  The silence grew even more oppressive.

  “The Old Gracious along with her friends, and her enemies, must take reception of a piece of information bursting with importance,” announced the Lunatrix.

  He appeared to be hesitating, so Dragomira urged him to continue.

  “A notification has performed an appearance in the mind of your domestic staff,” said the small creature eventually. “My Old Gracious, the Definitive Landmark has made the gift of its revelation.”

  A low murmur rose among the ranks of the Runaways. Most of the Felons looked incredulous.

  “The Portal has completed delivery of its access,” continued the Lunatrix, “and your domestic staff is now in possession of the knowledge of its location accompanied by precise geographical directions.”

  Dragomira went white and looked so devastated that the Runaways were surprised. Oksa was more taken aback than anyone. When Abakum leant towards his old friend and gazed deep into her eyes, Dragomira nodded her head gravely. Then she stood up heavily and announced in a choked voice:

  “The Guardian of the Definitive Landmark has spoken: the Portal has appeared, Edefia and the Insiders await.”

  28

  TWELVE DAYS AND TWELVE NIGHTS

  “IF YOU THINK WE’RE GOING TO FOLLOW YOU LIKE CRINGING lackeys, you’ve got another thing coming!” thundered Orthon.

  “Well there’s absolutely no way we’re going to let you go ahead of us,” replied Dragomira. “Anyway, we share a common destiny and you know it, so why don’t you stop pretending to be so hard-done-by! We’ll go together and you’ll follow wherever I lead and that’s final.”

  Baba Pollock banged her fist on the table in front of a furious Orthon. The two enemies stared each other down for long seconds.

  “I don’t trust you,” stormed Orthon.

  “Nor I you, if you want to know the truth,” retorted Dragomira. “Anyway, you have the medallion so that makes us equal.”

  Orthon pulled a face.


  “That’s as may be. But permit me to acquire an additional insurance policy!”

  With these words he swiftly grabbed the Lunatrix, who turned transparent with surprise. Pavel and Naftali threw themselves at Orthon to stop him, but Gregor and Agafon were already barring their way. The Runaways immediately took out their Granok-Shooters and stood facing a serried line of Felons who’d reacted exactly the same. Impulsively, Tugdual rushed at Orthon, like a cheetah pouncing on its prey, knocking over Mortimer and seizing the terrified Lunatrix by the waist to return him to Dragomira.

  “You’re wasting precious time,” cursed Baba Pollock, glowering at Orthon. “When will you realize there’s no point fighting? We’re equally matched in numbers, after all.”

  With that she bent down and picked up her Lunatrix, who was trembling violently, and strutted out, leaving her half-brother white with rage.

  “Well, Dragomira? Where is the Definitive Landmark?” asked Abakum.

  “I don’t know yet,” confessed the old woman. “But my Lunatrix will soon tell us!”

  The small group of Runaways was at the top of the Felons’ house, in the turret overlooking the roof. Cockerell and Olof were standing guard at the foot of the staircase leading to the small lookout tower.

  “We’re listening, my Lunatrix.”

  The small creature opened his eyes incredibly wide, took a deep breath, almost suffocating himself, and finally divulged the precious information in a whisper:

  “The Definitive Landmark has broadcast the location of the Portal into Edefia. The Old Gracious and the Young Gracious, their friends, the Runaways and their enemies, the Felons, must effect a removal to the Gobi Desert, forty-two degrees north, one hundred and one degrees east. The Portal has established the fixing of its position on the west side of Gashun-nur.”

  Tugdual immediately began tapping on the keyboard of his mobile and, after a few seconds, provided more information.

  “Gashun-nur is a lake about twelve miles south of the border between China and Mongolia. The River Xi flows into it and a small road runs around it.”

  The Runaways felt a mixture of relief and apprehension on hearing this information. The Portal had been located at last, but it sounded like it would be difficult to get there, to say the least…

  “It’s a long way from here,” remarked Oksa, sounding worried.

  “Four thousand, four hundred and two miles to be precise,” said Tugdual, consulting his screen.

  Oksa whistled between her teeth.

  “Will we get to the Portal in time? And there’s another thing: Lunatrix, you’ve said before that the Definitive Landmark, which will allow us to find the Portal, isn’t fixed. Will it change position before we get there?”

  The Lunatrix cleared his throat and shifted from one leg to the other.

  “Edefia is at the edge of the world and the Definitive Landmark experiences mobility, that affirmation is absolute. But your domestic staff provides the confirmation: the phoenix is awaiting the arrival of the Two Graciouses at the locational exactitude indicated by your major-domo, in other words the Gobi Desert, forty-two degrees north, one hundred and one degrees east, on the west side of Gashun-nur. The phoenix will evince patience for a duration of twelve days and twelve nights. Once this time has been consumed, the Portal will cause the disappearance of the Definitive Landmark and the phoenix, like the two worlds, will experience permanent disappearance.”

  Pavel cursed softly. The Runaways felt light-headed with panic. The future was taking shape…

  “We should probably get going then, shouldn’t we?” murmured Oksa, after a long silence.

  “Let’s wish ourselves luck, my friends,” said Abakum, speaking with emotion. “We’re going to need it.”

  Clustered around Dragomira, the Runaways on one side and the Felons on the other, they all listened carefully to information that was vital for their next move.

  “So we only have twelve days to travel 4,000 miles and find the Portal, is that what you’re saying?” asked Agafon, breaking the heavy silence that had followed Dragomira’s announcement.

  The Old Gracious nodded unblinkingly.

  “Don’t tell me you don’t know any more than that!” broke in Orthon.

  “I have all the necessary details,” replied Dragomira stiffly. “But I’m not going to give them to you. You’ll find out when the time is right.”

  Orthon clenched his fists and glared at her. Then he held out his palm commandingly towards Mercedica and, without looking at her, ordered:

  “The medallion, please!”

  Seconds passed but Mercedica didn’t move a muscle. Irritated, Orthon turned to her.

  “The medallion, Mercedica!” he repeated in a steely voice.

  The haughty Spanish woman jutted her chin.

  “The medallion no longer belongs to you, Orthon,” she said, glaring at him. “It’s mine now.”

  29

  THE CONFESSIONS OF A FELON

  “WHERE’S THE MEDALLION?” ROARED ORTHON. “WHAT have you done with it?”

  The Felon was beside himself with anger, his eyes burning with fury. He raised his hand with the obvious intention of slapping Mercedica, who’d just publicly defied him so insufferably, but Mercedica stopped him. Orthon’s hatred knew no bounds.

  “I won’t ask again!” he spat, a few inches from the face of his former ally. “WHERE’S THE MEDALLION, YOU TRAITOR?”

  Everyone was appalled and there was a growing sense of panic in the room. Oksa shifted nervously from foot to foot.

  “Being described as a ‘traitor’ by the Master of the Felons sounds more like a compliment than an insult,” she heard herself mutter, surprised at her own daring.

  Oksa was trembling. Without the medallion, Edefia was and always would be a Lost Land. Gus and she would die a long and painful death and her mother would continue to be consumed by the disease that would eventually kill her too. And none of that would matter because the two worlds would soon be annihilated—all because of a lousy medallion and a hateful Felon.

  “I’ve been loyal to you since the first day I met you again,” Mercedica suddenly declared imperiously. “Just as I was loyal to your father for the eight years I spent within the High Enclave. But I’d like all of you here to know the reasons for my behaviour.”

  Mercedica glared at the assembled throng, before sitting down in the central armchair that Orthon had occupied a short while ago. He gave her a murderous look and remained standing, his fists clenched.

  “You and I have always been motivated by the same desires and the same ambitions,” continued Mercedica, staring at him. “Power is our driving force. When I arrived on the Outside, my lust for power was what kept me going and I used all my gifts to achieve my goals. I started off playing a leading role in the financial world, because I soon realized that, in this world, money means influence. After amassing a huge fortune with disconcerting ease, I dabbled in international relations. And I have to admit that I really enjoyed acting behind the scenes for various governments, particularly in South America and the Near East… All those conflicts resolved by signing dishonest treaties only confirmed what I’d thought about human weakness. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed pulling the strings for twenty years and the art of manipulation has always been central to my activities.”

  “No doubt about that,” murmured Dragomira sadly.

  “Then, by the greatest coincidence, I crossed paths with Orthon in the corridors of the CIA in spring 1978,” continued Mercedica. “In my life, I’ve been wooed by many men, but I’ve only really loved two: the father of my daughter Catarina and you, Orthon.”

  The voice of the proud Spanish woman trembled a little. Everyone in the room looked incredulous. Orthon’s eyes were like slits, which gave him the appearance of a ferocious cobra.

  “Despite the ten-year age gap, I immediately fell under your spell. From that moment, I gave myself to you body and soul. Why? For love, plain and simple.”

  “For love o
f power, you mean!” retorted Orthon, tight-lipped.

  “Oh, that too, I’d never deny it. But mainly out of love for you. Don’t you think I had more influence working with the most powerful men in the world? Don’t you think it wasn’t more exhilarating, and more gratifying, to conspire with them? The most obscure and most corrupt South American governments showed me more gratitude than you ever did. And yet, for the thirty years I’ve spent by your side, have I ever let you down? Have I ever disappointed you? And what good has that loyalty done me? I’m now over eighty. All these years, you’ve never shown me anything other than ambitious self-interest in return for my love. Well, I’ve had enough, Orthon. You used me like you use all your slavish followers.”

  “That’s not true!” shouted Agafon. “We follow Orthon because he shares our beliefs!”

  “Maybe,” retorted Mercedica frostily. “But I’ve had to make some really hard concessions for him: I agreed to betray Malorane first, then Dragomira and the Runaways, whom I was so happy to see again.”

  Dragomira spluttered with indignation at these words. Mercedica turned to her and sadness darkened her haughty eyes.

  “Yes, Dragomira, believe it or not,” she said quietly. “I may well have been pitiless and Machiavellian in my work, but seeing you again was one of the happiest days of my life. I’ll never forget it. Orthon had finally tracked down your family a few years earlier and had sent me to Paris to make contact. It was a huge shock for me when I saw you through the window of your herbalist’s shop, even though I’m not given to displays of emotion. You’d become a woman and yet I recognized you immediately. Abakum was standing nearby like the worthy Watcher he’s always been. You welcomed me with open arms, of course. I was moved by your close bonds with family and friends, but it couldn’t sway my inmost nature, or my love for Orthon. So I betrayed you. With some regret, but without hesitation because, I now know, there’s nothing stronger than love. Or more destructive than scorned love.”