The Heart of Two Worlds

by Anne Plichota

  Oksa lay on the cold sand, the aching pain in her heart obliterating everything that made life worth living. Everything that made life… good. Dragomira, her Baba… The grandmother who’d been with her since birth, who’d guided her and supported her. The grandmother who’d taught her everything she knew about her inner magic. How could she have disappeared like that? Oksa sensed someone beside her. It was a white-faced Abakum with Dragomira’s Lunatrix. The Fairyman opened his mouth but nothing came out. He was choked with grief, unable to speak. The small creature with huge eyes put his chubby hand on Oksa’s forehead to soothe her.

  “My Young Gracious…”

  His complexion was ashen, as if every drop of blood had left his veins.

  “The Old Gracious has made abandonment of her fleshy and bony presence. Her domestic staff, reduced to the Lunatrix before you, now encounters the completeness of belonging to the New Gracious.”

  Oksa looked at him with red-rimmed eyes.

  “You’re… my Lunatrix.”

  She looked away to avoid crying again.

  “The heart of the New Gracious is stuffed with suffering, like that of all the Runaways, their Felon companions and your domestic staff. Have you the wish to share a few words?”

  Oksa shook her head.

  “Grief can’t be shared,” she said, squeezing her eyes shut as hard as she could.

  “The presence of your domestic staff is an assurance wrapped in permanence. The moment chosen by the New Gracious will for ever be in accordance with the moment accepted by your Lunatrix steward.”

  A heavy silence descended. All that could be heard was the quiet sobbing of clan members who’d left behind loved ones on the Outside. Oksa couldn’t even picture the people she might never see again. Everything had happened so fast. Everything had gone so wrong. She gave a low moan. Eventually, her mother’s face appeared in her mind’s eye. She looked surprised and horrified at seeing her family and friends pass through the Portal, abandoning her on the threshold of this new life. And what about Gus? She recalled the light in his eyes as she’d brushed his lips with a kiss. He’d been on cloud nine… She thought back to the last words they’d said to each other, to Gus’s desire to know what she felt for him and the harmless emotional blackmail which had felt more like unfounded scaremongering than a serious threat. Oksa imagined them eaten up with anxiety, wandering aimlessly in the middle of the Gobi Desert. Tears filled her eyes again. What would become of them? Would they be lost for ever? Would they survive the disasters? Suddenly the Lunatrix who’d been sitting on the sand, his little legs stretched out in front of him, said in a tremulous, but determined voice:

  “You must hold fast to the firmly moored certainty that only death brings about the non-consolation of hearts. And no death entails no lamenting. When death has not made its selection of the living, then hope experiences survival. The remembering of this truth must never be gone from your minds.”

  Oksa straightened. She glanced miserably at the bleak desert stretching out around her and gave the creature a resounding kiss on the cheek.

  “You’re wonderful, my Lunatrix! Thank you. You’re right, anything is better than death. But Baba—”

  Her voice caught in her throat again.

  “The opening of the Portal caused the demise of the Old Gracious, but her soul is in the magical company of the Ageless Fairies, who are now her species, and her future will elevate her towards a role full of amplitude and power.”

  The Incompetent waddled over to them. With its snout in the air, it was wearing its usual clueless expression, which Oksa loved so much.

  “I don’t understand a word that strange individual said,” he said, looking at the Lunatrix.

  All the creatures were clustered behind him. Although they looked sad, they were determined to show their solidarity with Oksa, who’d just tragically become their sole Gracious. A Squoracle fluttered over and gave her the small gold cage Dragomira had been wearing around her neck a few minutes ago.

  “The Ptitchkins!”

  Oksa released the tiny birds, while the Squoracle curled up in her hand and said:

  “Even though I’m relishing the relatively balmy temperatures of this place, I must tell you, my Gracious, that I share your sorrow. But the Lunatrix is right: only death matters. Your mother, your friend and all those who were unable to pass through the Portal are stronger than you think.”

  “Your domestic staff makes the addition of advice garnished with importance,” broke in the Lunatrix. “You must achieve the conservation of a conviction: you are the Gracious and your powers will encounter multiplication and expansion.”

  “The Secret-Never-To-Be-Told…” murmured Oksa.

  “The Secret-Never-To-Be-Told no longer exists,” objected the Squoracle.

  “Thanks for crushing our hopes!” grumbled the Getorix, gesticulating wildly.

  “But the Secret-That-Is-No-Longer-A-Secret may undergo evolution in the direction of a variation,” added the Lunatrix.

  Oksa took her time absorbing this stream of information, and her eyes widened. There was still a chance, a slim, but not insignificant, chance—one last hope. She looked at her father, his head in his hands, Abakum, Zoe, Tugdual… the Runaways and Felons devastated by the awful ordeal they’d just lived through. Then she wiped her dirty, tear-streaked cheeks furiously with the back of her hand and said in ringing tones:

  “I understand, my Lunatrix: where there’s life, there’s hope. And the opposite is also true: life cannot exist without hope!”

  The Lunatrix nodded wisely. Oksa rose to her feet and hugged him tightly. Hope was all they had left, but it was the only way they’d survive.

  42

  WELCOMING COMMITTEE

  ABAKUM SUDDENLY JUMPED UP, LOOKING WORRIED. Everyone followed his gaze to see a group of people rapidly approaching in Edefia’s steel-grey sky. Some were Vertiflying, others were clinging to what looked like flying boards, as if swimming through the air. Pavel went over to Oksa and protectively put his arms around her, while the Runaways gathered around them, flanked by the Gargantuhens, who had puffed out their necks and were sheltering the other creatures under their massive wings. As for the Felons, they clustered behind Orthon, who was impatiently scrutinizing the horizon.

  “The welcoming committee didn’t lose any time,” remarked Abakum, taking out his Granok-Shooter.

  Everyone followed suit, including Oksa.

  “That’s all we need!” she couldn’t help saying.

  “Don’t worry, Lil’ Gracious,” whispered Tugdual. “No one is going to hurt you.”

  Oksa realized she was showing her fear.

  “Not me,” she added. “But they could hurt the rest of you.”

  “Do you really think we’d let them?” asked Tugdual, his eyes fixed on the men who were now circling a hundred feet above them like vultures.

  Beside her, Pavel stiffened. Oksa could almost feel the tension coming off him. He was burning up as the fire from the Ink Dragon spread through his body in red-hot waves—it wouldn’t be long before he unleashed it.

  “Pavel,” murmured Abakum, putting his hand on Pavel’s shoulder. “It’s too soon, your dragon should remain a secret. We may need it as a last resort.”

  “That’s all very well!” growled Pavel. “But we’re in such danger…”

  “Lunatrix,” called Oksa quietly, without taking her eyes off the flying men.

  “Yes, my Gracious?”

  “Please help my father.”

  Immediately the Lunatrix took hold of Pavel’s hand and concentrated. His mysterious power allied to that of the Fairyman rapidly had the desired effect: it cooled Pavel’s blood, dousing the fire raging inside him and releasing him from the fever that was preventing him from thinking clearly. The fliers were still circling above their heads, forming a funnel whose mouth was gradually nearing the ground. The leader of this intricately choreographed arrival finally landed on top of the dune, followed by around thirty men and women. They
were all wearing the clothes that Oksa had seen when Dragomira had projected images of the Great Chaos on the Camereye: short baggy trousers, laced ankle boots, supple leather armour and helmet. They stared at the newcomers from the summit of the sand dune with daunting severity, before advancing together, kicking up small clouds of dust. Abakum and the oldest Runaways took a few steps back, recognizing the man at the head of the group, while Orthon stood straighter, his face glowing with renewed ferocity.

  With a wave of his hand, the leader silently gave the order to surround the two clans. He examined the Runaways and their creatures one by one, then the Felons, looking amazed and exultant. When his gaze rested on Oksa, she couldn’t help shivering.

  She was in no doubt that this was Ocious, the terrible Werewall. Despite his grand old age—everyone knew he was well over a hundred—he didn’t look like an old man. He radiated a greater sense of power and authority than the most intimidating members of his entourage. His perfectly shaped bald head enhanced a face that barely showed his years. He gazed at the Young Gracious for a few seconds in a silence thick enough to cut with a knife. His eyes were such a deep black that Oksa felt she could drown in them. His thin lips curved in a slight smile, furrowing his face with deep lines that disappeared into his short grey beard. Then he continued his inspection, before stopping at Orthon. He stepped forward resolutely holding out his arms. Orthon stood his ground, letting his father come to him.

  “My son,” said Ocious, putting both hands on Orthon’s shoulders and scrutinizing him with intense curiosity. “I thought it was you…”

  Everyone was wondering the same thing—what was Orthon thinking at that precise moment? Was he moved? Happy? Relieved? His father was alive… Even though this could complicate the Runaways’ crucial mission, everything rested on the outcome of this reunion between despised father and scorned son.

  Orthon was remarkably composed. His pale, slightly iridescent face remained impassive. Only his chest, which was rising and falling faster than normal, gave him away.

  “Yes, Father, it’s me,” he finally said, in perfectly modulated tones. “And, as you can see, I haven’t come empty-handed!” he added, glancing over at Oksa.

  “What?” immediately hissed Oksa indignantly. “Don’t imply you were the one who brought us here. That’s total rot!”

  Ocious turned to her, puzzled by these low words, which he hadn’t quite heard.

  “Oksa! Be quiet!” hissed her father.

  “But Orthon’s lying, Dad!”

  “Listen to your father, Oksa,” broke in Naftali quietly. “It’s in our interest for this reunion to go as well as possible.”

  Oksa clenched her fists, furious at losing her temper and frustrated that she couldn’t expose such a flagrant lie.

  “So this is our New Gracious, is it?” continued Ocious, with a predatory smile.

  “Yes, nodded Orthon with barely concealed satisfaction. “My mother Malorane’s great-granddaughter, and Dragomira’s granddaughter, in person! I scoured the world to find her and bring her back to Edefia.”

  “And it took you so many years to do it?” said Ocious.

  Everyone watching this scene was dumbfounded by this unexpected taunt. Orthon blanched. His steely eyes darkened. Then he raised his head, shrugging off the implied insult. Impressed by his son’s self-control, Ocious tilted his head.

  “You’ve been away a long time,” he said. “You’ve been much in my thoughts.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” replied Orthon, his hard eyes meeting those of his father.

  Orthon’s allies looked at each other in concern. Not even his most battle-hardened, loyal followers dared to move. Ocious inspected the group inquisitively and greeted those he recognized.

  “Lukas… Agafon… I’ve always known I could count on you. Fifty-seven years, and you’re still on our side.”

  “Our families have always been devoted to yours, Ocious,” replied Agafon. “In Edefia and on the Outside.”

  “Ah, family!” crowed Ocious, putting his arm round Orthon, who willingly let him do so. “Is anything more reliable? Or stronger?”

  “That’s what I kept telling my dear sister and… our extended family for so many long and pointless years,” said Orthon.

  The elderly ruler reacted sharply to this statement.

  “Is Reminiscens with you then?”

  “Not with us, Father. With them.”

  Orthon waved dismissively at the Runaways. Reminiscens left Abakum’s protection to stand in plain sight of the man who was her father. Ocious was clearly delighted, which seemed to upset Orthon, who frowned in annoyance as Ocious walked over to his daughter.

  “Reminiscens!” he exclaimed.

  “Stay right there!” replied the elderly woman frostily. “I forbid you to come anywhere near me.”

  Ocious paused, surprised and vaguely amused, then said:

  “I still recognize you, despite all these years. Your hair may have turned white and your face may be lined, but you still look the same. I can see you’re determined to make the wrong choice now, just as you did then. Isn’t your gallant protector—sorry, your half-brother—with you?”

  “Leomido passed away,” retorted Reminiscens, tense with icy rage, “because of you! And, if you want to know, Dragomira’s gone too.”

  Ocious looked shaken, as if an earthquake had occurred deep within him, wreaking havoc inside, but barely showing on the surface. His fierce eyes darkened with sorrow and regret, but he soon recovered.

  “So you’re your own brother’s widow. How ironic,” he said caustically to Reminiscens with his head held high.

  “Leave her alone!” broke in Abakum, standing between them. “You also ought to know that she’s been braver than your son Orthon ever was.”

  “Well, well,” replied Ocious. “Abakum—or should I say the Eternal-Backstage-Lackey?”

  “How dare you!” shouted Oksa, her cheeks crimson.

  Ocious gazed at her inquisitively.

  “Our New Gracious has a lot to say for herself, doesn’t she?”

  “I’m not your New Gracious!”

  “Oh, but you are!” replied Ocious. “You’re completely in my power, girlie.”

  At these words the Felons closed round the Runaways.

  “Don’t do anything,” murmured Abakum to his friends. “Fighting won’t do any good and will just put us in danger.”

  “Abakum!” objected Oksa, panic-stricken.

  “We can achieve more from inside.”

  “The maggot in the fruit, Lil’ Gracious,” added Tugdual, squeezing her hand.

  Curbing her blood-chilling terror with difficulty, Oksa walked forward, accompanied by the Runaways and creatures. Ocious smiled evilly at her.

  “Welcome to Edefia, my Gracious!”

  43

  A TEMPTING ESCAPE

  THE RUNAWAYS VERTIFLEW CAUTIOUSLY THROUGH Edefia’s murky sky, escorted by a steadfast band of reunited Felons. The creatures and Sylvabuls who couldn’t fly were perched on the back of the Gargantuhens, which were clucking shrilly as they beat their wings at a slow, steady pace. A regal Ocious led the way, accompanied by his son and grandsons.

  “He’s worse than Orthon,” remarked Oksa, looking at the patriarch of the Felons.

  “He certainly has a flair for killer put-downs,” nodded Tugdual, Vertiflying beside her.

  “Don’t forget he’s the one behind this whole mess,” said Pavel.

  “Orthon hasn’t made his move yet,” continued Tugdual. “And he’s holding all the cards. It could be dangerous.”

  “Very dangerous.”

  Oksa turned away from Ocious in his leather armour to contemplate the countryside. Edefia… the lost land which had now been found. Their long-hoped-for return. Edefia was in a bad way. Bathed in a metallic light, every living thing, even the smallest blade of grass, was blanketed in a layer of dust. The atmosphere had a twilight quality and everything seemed to be in its death throes, beyond rescue. Skeletons of tre
es brandished dead branches like wizened claws clutching at the sky. One of these trees stood so tall in its lost magnificence that it dwarfed all the others.

  “The Majestic,” said Brune, very upset. “What’s happened to our world?”

  The Majestic? Oksa remembered the images Dragomira had shown her on the Camereye: the lush forest surrounding the cool, clear waters of Lake Saga. The aptly named tree stood a good 300 feet higher than the crests of other trees. But this desert of dust and dead plants, extending as far as the eye could see, bore no similarity to what she’d been shown. Only the bright shifting shimmer on the horizon, which looked like the Northern Lights seeping into this strange world, gave her cause to hope that some life had been preserved. Other than that, the grey, heavy sky seemed moribund. Fascinated by the sights spread out before her, Oksa rummaged in her rucksack for her sunglasses to shield her eyes from the steely glare and a few of her flying companions followed suit. Her strained muscles were protesting and her body was tense—she’d never Vertiflown for as long as this, or as… openly. Even though this limited amount of freedom was controlled strictly by the Felons, it still felt like freedom. In Edefia, she could be herself. She would have to be herself. She stretched her arms in an attempt to ease her aching limbs, and groaned.

  “Would you like to join Abakum on the Gargantuhen?” asked Pavel in concern.

  She shook her head. The constant physical discomfort was proving less of a problem than her agitated state of mind. Oksa was experiencing all kinds of conflicted feelings and had never felt worse than she did now, even during the toughest times of her life. There were so many things upsetting her that she felt paralysed emotionally, which was the only thing actually stopping her from falling apart. She couldn’t do anything to make herself feel better in the short term, and her survival instinct was telling her to save her strength to deal with the immediate future. She had to be on her guard and as alert as possible if she was going to get the better of an evil despot like Ocious and his gang. There would be time enough later to tend to her wounds.