The Forest of Lost Souls (15 page)

T
HERE WAS A DEATHLY SILENCE
. T
HE MOUTH OF THE
cave was now blocked by a dark, roiling mass. The Runaways stared at this frightening phenomenon, shocked by what they’d just experienced.

“If anyone had told me I’d be pursued by the Void one day, I wouldn’t have believed them,” whispered Oksa. “Brrrr, it gives you the shivers!”

She looked round for her father, who was crouching in the darkest corner of the cave, his arms wrapped around his knees, his face hidden. He gave a quiet groan, which all the Runaways heard. They gazed at Oksa, and Abakum put his hand on her shoulder, murmuring:

“Go to him, Oksa. Go to your father.”

Oksa looked at him doubtfully, but walked over to Pavel. She slid down the rough wall of the cave to a sitting position beside him. Without looking at her, Pavel put his arm round her shoulders and squeezed hard, inviting her to lay her head on his shoulder.

“Dad, what’s happening to you?” she whispered after a while. “That was your Ink Dragon, wasn’t it?”

Pavel tensed, surprised at hearing Oksa speak openly about something he’d kept hidden for so many years. Then again, Oksa had a talent for uncovering secrets. She was a real expert, in fact… He sighed.

“My Ink Dragon has always been there,” he said, sounding resigned as he tightened his embrace. “I suppressed it for years and, in the end,
it took refuge deep inside me where it lurked, silent and unmoving. But I can’t control it any more.”

“Is it a real dragon, then?” asked Oksa.

“You’ve seen it with your own eyes,” said her father. “You already know, don’t you, that an elderly monk initiated me into the secrets of the martial arts when I was in China? I lived with him on the mountain for months. He was my master and I was his student. I realized from day one that he knew about my origins and the depth of my suffering. For ages, I wondered if he was a Runaway too, but we never felt any need to talk about it—it wouldn’t have changed anything. After a difficult period during which I couldn’t find any answers to the many questions that plagued me, that venerable monk offered to give me a tattoo. I was taken aback and I told him I wasn’t keen. Naturally, this was a special tattoo—which was no big surprise given the magical nature of my master’s teachings. Its purpose was to gather my worries in one place, instead of allowing them to run riot, as they’d been doing up until then, poisoning my heart and soul. In some respects, it was a way of dealing with my darkest thoughts and of staying in control by transforming my pain and suffering into a form of energy combining will with power. You, Oksa, are much stronger than I was at that age: you can handle your powers.”

“Um… not always!” broke in Oksa, thinking back to certain episodes.

“The big difference between you and the young man I was,” continued Pavel, “is that you’re not afraid. Being a descendant of the Runaways doesn’t frighten you. As far as I’m concerned, you know, it feels more like a problem than—how shall I put it—a
motivation
?”

This wasn’t the first time that her father had mentioned how difficult it had been for him, but Oksa couldn’t help asking:

“Are you afraid of what you are then?”

“I’m not sure I’m ready to talk about it,” replied her father, looking embarrassed. “Let’s just say that I’m growing less afraid as time goes by… the appearance of my Ink Dragon is proof of that.”

“It also means you’re becoming a great sorcerer, Dad!” added Oksa, nudging him.

“You mean a monster!” retorted Pavel with a bitter laugh.

“Oh stop it, I’m so proud I’ve got a father like you!” cried Oksa. “It means I can tell people: ‘Yes, my father’s a direct descendant of the Gracious of Edefia and has a dragon living inside him… you should see his
ma-gni-fic-ent
pair of wings! Yes, I know, he is pretty
extra-ordi-nary
,’” she continued, pretending to stick her nose in the air.

Pavel laughed openly this time and tousled his daughter’s tangled hair. Oksa was delighted to see he was looking more relaxed.

“I certainly have to keep my end up with a daughter like you!” he said with a wink. “I can’t let myself slide into mediocrity without running the risk of being disowned by my own child. I may have gone a little overboard, but you can’t be afraid of making grand gestures if you want to keep up to the mark.”

“Mockery is eternal in the mouth of the father of the Young Gracious,” declared the Lunatrixa, clapping.

“Mockery is a method of survival,” explained Pavel, whose smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Each to his weapon of choice.”

Saying this, he stood up, taking care not to look at anyone. Realizing the subject of Pavel’s mysterious Ink Dragon was now closed, Oksa took her father’s hand and they joined the group of Runaways standing at the centre of the cave. The black butterfly was fluttering frantically above their heads. As soon as it saw Oksa, it flew over, causing the girl to step back in alarm.

“Sorry, Wayfinder! I’ve never been very comfortable around insects,” she felt obliged to explain.

“What the Young Gracious actually means is that she loathes and detests insects,” said the Squoracle, being a good deal less diplomatic than Oksa. “They disgust her! She thinks they’re repulsive, foul,
sickening
, despicable…”

“That’s enough, Squoracle!” broke in Tugdual. “We already knew you
have a very extensive vocabulary.”

“Fine!” retorted the cross little hen. “Why don’t you do something useful, like finding a way out of this horrible place. It’s freezing—the temperature has dropped a good twenty degrees and it feels like we’re trapped in a fridge!”

Oksa looked around: the dark cave was illuminated only by the bright tentacles of the Polypharus summoned by Abakum’s Granok-Shooter. The grey, rocky walls rose to an irregular ceiling some seven feet above their heads. The turbulent Void seemed to be standing guard in the cave mouth while, opposite the opening, a narrow passage led into the unknown.

“It’s certainly not very warm,” remarked Oksa, agreeing with the Squoracle, which had taken refuge in Abakum’s jacket. “Where are we, Wayfinder?”

The black butterfly fluttered in front of her and replied in its
remarkably
deep voice:

“We’re in the Medius, Young Gracious.”

“What’s that?”

“Before you reach the Soul-Searcher and the Sanctuary which stores all historical data, you have to pass through several levels. I heard your Young Gracious’s Tumble-Bawler referring to Russian dolls: it’s the same principle. The Soul-Searcher is like the smallest doll, the one at the centre of all the others.”

“Are there many dolls?” asked Oksa, frowning.

“I don’t know, Young Gracious,” admitted the butterfly, still fluttering. “You’ve already passed through two levels: the Forest of No Return and the Maritime Hills. Between every level there’s a transit zone similar to this one: the Medius will lead us to the next level. You’ll have to face an ordeal on every level.”

“What kind of ordeal?” asked Oksa again, interested despite her concern.

“The ordeals existed to make the Impictured individual a better
person. That was the original purpose of Impicturement. Unfortunately, the Soul-Searcher is in a coma and I’m afraid the ordeals may not be as meaningful as they once were. The Felon Orthon took an Imagicon with him during the Great Chaos. He informed it of his misdoings and breathed on it, so the Soul-Searcher received details of the crimes committed by the person we all hate, along with his breath. Given the serious nature of Orthon’s misdemeanours, the Soul-Searcher had no choice but to Impicture him. However, as you know, Orthon had other plans and was careful not to place a drop of his blood on the Imagicon, which would have led to his Impicturement. As a result, his twin sister, Reminiscens, was Impictured in his place.”

Leomido grimaced and put his head in his hands. Beside him, Reminiscens put her hand on his shoulder and looked down. Then, with great emotion, she carried on where the butterfly had left off:

“When Orthon realized I thought he’d become an unscrupulous madman and that I might give the game away about his monstrous aspirations, he saw me as a potential danger. He didn’t care that I was his twin sister—brotherly love went out of the window! Everything happened so quickly but, quite frankly, he’d laid his plans very carefully,” explained the old lady bitterly. “We were arguing again, when
suddenly
he unrolled the Imagicon. He breathed on it and the pale canvas immediately began shimmering with a strange dark light that gave it the appearance of a stormy sky. I didn’t understand what my brother had in mind at first, but when he took out a knife and advanced on me with a steely gaze, ordering me not to fight him, I remembered all the stories about Impicturement I’d heard when I was a girl. That was when I realized what my brother was planning to do and I tried to run away. But an Arborescens Granok stopped me in my tracks, binding me hand and foot. Orthon grabbed my hand and cut my palm, making it bleed. I struggled, speechless with horror, but I wasn’t strong enough to fight the Arborescens—or my brother. That monster looked me straight in the eye and said frostily: ‘Goodbye, sister. It’s a shame you couldn’t
understand.’ And, even though these words sounded like a final verdict, I was sure he’d change his mind. I gazed at him, hoping there might still be some shred of humanity or compassion left somewhere inside him. I saw something flicker in his eyes and a shadow of doubt passed over his face, making my heart lurch. For a few seconds, things might have been different, but then my brother showed his true colours: he grabbed my hand, dipped his finger in the blood pooling in my palm and allowed a drop to fall on the Imagicon, whose shimmering surface turned into a kind of vortex. Orthon pushed me and I was immediately sucked inside. The Soul-Searcher had Impictured me instead of my twin brother.”

“This first mistake severely unbalanced the Soul-Searcher,” continued the butterfly. “It had never made a mistake before. The main problem was how to adjust the ordeals: they’d been designed for Orthon, not Reminiscens, even though she was his twin sister. The task was
further
complicated by the fact that Reminiscens couldn’t be accused of any wrongdoing punishable by Impicturement. In short, she wasn’t Impicturable! And yet… The Soul-Searcher did what it could to correct its mistake and Disimpicture Reminiscens. But only a Gracious has the power to do that. And Graciouses aren’t ten a penny, if you’ll forgive the turn of phrase. When the Soul-Searcher sensed the Young Gracious’s presence in the science room at St Proximus, it dared to hope again. It tried everything to attract her attention, but she was never alone, which made Impicturement impossible. However, one day, it sensed she was there, on her own and susceptible. It only took a few seconds to suck her in…”

“It’s such a compliment to be mistaken for Oksa,” muttered Gus, pulling a face. “Your Soul-Searcher must really have gone haywire!”

“It didn’t detect you,” explained the butterfly. “What it sensed were the Young Gracious’s tools—you were played false, so to speak, by her Granok-Shooter and Caskinette. And that second blunder proved fatal to the Soul-Searcher.”

The butterfly fluttered frantically, then landed on Oksa’s shoulder.
She shivered at the feel of the insect’s rapid breathing against her neck.

“Here you are, Oksa, have your things back,” said Gus, holding the small bag out to his friend. “I’m really sorry… this is all my fault!”

“Oh, you’re impossible!” snapped Oksa, her eyes shining with anger. “It’s been ages since we’ve been treated to your ‘pathetic-loser-who’s-
to-blame
-for-everything’ routine! Perhaps you’d like a whip so that you can indulge in a spot of self-flagellation? If the Soul-Searcher could help you solve this problem and convince you that all this isn’t your fault, it’d be doing everyone a big favour, that’s for sure.”

She cupped her hands either side of her mouth and shouted:

“Soul-Searcher, if you can hear me, please do something! We’ve had about as much as we can stand!”

Crimson with anger and embarrassment, Gus threw the bag on the ground and fled to the back of the cave. Pierre rushed after him, while Oksa, taken aback by her friend’s reaction, gnawed her lower lip. Perhaps she’d gone too far… but Gus could be so infuriating sometimes. When would he get some self-confidence? Shaking with anger, she bent down to pick up her bag, avoiding Tugdual’s amused—and exasperating—gaze, when a terrible cry echoed from the dark passage which Gus and his father had just entered.

T
HE
R
UNAWAYS SWAPPED WORRIED GLANCES, THEN
ran to the back of the cave in the direction of the cry, Abakum in front lighting their way with the Polypharus. They heard another terrified yell.

“Leave us alone! Go away!”

When Oksa recognized Gus’s voice, her blood ran cold. “What’s happened to him now?” she couldn’t help thinking wryly. “That boy has a real talent for landing himself in trouble.” But no amount of sarcasm could stop her worrying about her friend. Grabbing the Incompetent, which was still standing in the middle of the cave, she ran to join the group in the narrow passage. Tugdual was waiting for her.

“You mustn’t ever be on your own!” he said disapprovingly. “It’s very reckless. Don’t ever stray too far from us.”

Despite the dim light, Oksa made out an expression of concern on Tugdual’s face. He held her gaze and she felt unable to break eye contact for what seemed like ages, although it was only seconds.

“Did you hear something?” asked the Incompetent, interrupting this silent exchange. “It sounded like a cry. A human cry…” it added.

Tugdual and Oksa apprehensively walked into the passage, which soon widened to the size and unappealing appearance of a railway tunnel. In the light from the Polypharus, they immediately spotted the Runaways standing around Gus and Pierre, about twenty yards away.

“Phew!” whispered Oksa, relieved to see her friend safe and sound. “But—what’s that?” she asked anxiously.

She couldn’t quite make out what was floating above the heads of the Runaways. Bats? Giant moths? She took a step forward, but Tugdual held her back by the arm.

“Wait,” he murmured. “Don’t go any nearer.”

“What are they?” repeated Oksa.

“Incredible… I didn’t think they existed! That’s amazing,” he said,
staring
at the swarm hovering in the air. “Have you got your Granok-Shooter, Lil’ Gracious?” he asked, without taking his eyes off the strange cloud.

“Um… yes,” mumbled Oksa.

“Maybe you could provide us with a small Reticulata?” he suggested.

“Yes, of course!”

Oksa took out her small, elaborately worked blowpipe and whispered the magic words:

A bubble immediately emerged from the Granok-Shooter and turned into what looked like a large jellyfish. Tugdual moved closer to Oksa and, with his fingertips, lightly directed the girl’s shaking hand to point the magnifying membrane at the mysterious swarm. The girl trembled at this unexpected contact, but when she saw what was hovering above the Runaways, she couldn’t help grabbing Tugdual’s arm.

“Aaarghhhh!” she screamed.

As soon as she cried out, everyone seemed to freeze. The Runaways, alerted by her cry, turned round and looked at her anxiously. Unfortunately, the horrible creatures she’d just glimpsed didn’t seem to be either deaf or blind: they turned their terrifying eyes on her and were instantly hanging in front of her face. Startled, Oksa dropped her Granok-Shooter and the Reticulata burst with a soft pop as it hit the ground.

“Don’t be afraid,” murmured Tugdual, handing her the Granok-Shooter he’d just picked up.

Protectively he took a step forward, but they were surrounded by the creatures, which had formed a perfect, inescapable circle around them.

“They’re… hideous…” said Oksa, fascinated by what she saw.

The scene was alive with terrifying magic. A few inches from Oksa, about fifteen bodiless heads were suspended in the air. Their long hair was gently floating around them, framing delicate faces which seemed totally at odds with their cruel eyes. One of the heads floated nearer to Oksa and stared at her. Oksa gazed at her with a mixture of fascination and nausea. She was extremely beautiful, with a flawless oval face and perfectly shaped mouth, but her eyes held a harsh cruelty and merciless ferocity which shocked Oksa to the core. It was making her feel sick to hold the creature’s gaze so she lowered her eyes in confusion.

“Airborne Sirens,” whispered Tugdual, unable to wrench his eyes away from the circle of terrifying floating heads. I’ve always thought they were a myth.”

“Some myth!” retorted Oksa, pulling a face. “So what do these Airborne Sirens do?”

“Make us fall asleep, so they can carry us off and possess us for ever,” whispered Tugdual.

“You’re joking, aren’t you,” replied Oksa, turning to look at him.

But he didn’t look as though he was joking. Pale and tense, he didn’t move a muscle. Oksa touched his arm: it was rock-hard. Tugdual seemed to be in a state of shock.

“Tugdual? Tugdual? Can you hear me?”

Outside the circle formed by the sirens, the Runaways watched the scene fearfully. To everyone’s surprise, Pavel came over. The silently floating heads parted to let him through, their eyes focused on every member of the group. Pavel began leading Oksa and Tugdual towards the others, not forgetting the Incompetent, which was gazing blissfully at the creatures.

“I can’t help feeling they’ve got something missing,” it remarked with its customary powers of observation.

Oksa gave a nervous giggle, glancing back anxiously at the heads, which were following them.

“Look at them, Gus!” she asked quietly. “It’s mental, isn’t it?”

“No kidding,” the boy replied, looking scared. “I feel like I’m going mad. It’s like I’m trapped in a nightmare.”

“A nightmare that could last for ever if the sirens manage to send us to sleep,” added Tugdual bleakly.

“What’s he on about?” asked Gus.

“Tugdual is right,” said Abakum. “The Airborne Sirens were spawned by a fallen Ageless Fairy, who’d been banished from the Island of the Fairies.”

“Why?” asked Oksa.

“Don’t go interrupting him again!” snapped Gus in annoyance, nudging his friend. “Why don’t you try to control yourself for once!”

Oksa’s eyes widened in surprise at Gus’s authoritarian tone. This made him smile more than he’d have liked to admit, so he looked down, allowing a long strand of hair to hide part of his face. Abakum gestured to the Runaways to sit around him with the Polypharus in the middle providing warmth and light. The alarming Airborne Sirens continued to float soundlessly above their heads.

“The fallen Ageless Fairy was called Cremona,” continued Abakum. “Her heart had been warped by greed and a lust for power—because even Fairies are not immune to such fatal flaws. Cremona had plotted a conspiracy to take leadership of the Ageless Fairies so she could reign over the Inside and force the Insiders to do her will. Her plans were thwarted in the nick of time and the Ageless Ones banished her from their community, after casting a spell to deprive her of her body. Feeling misunderstood and humiliated, Cremona held a bitter grudge against her former sisters from that time onwards. Over the centuries, she persuaded several corrupt Ageless Fairies to join her cause and they formed the
clan of the Airborne Sirens.”

“Are they dangerous?” asked Pierre.

Abakum looked at him gravely.

“Very,” he admitted. “What Tugdual said about them is true: the sirens strive to make living things fall asleep so they can steal their souls. That’s tantamount to killing us because, without our souls, we’re nothing but empty shells. We’ve not yet had to fight their fatal attraction, but it’s only a matter of time. We must remain on our guard and not give in to the temptation to fall asleep, which is what they’re bound to try to make us do.”

“Would you have the will to hear a substantial detail inscribed in my knowledge?” asked the Lunatrixa.

“Of course, Lunatrixa,” nodded Abakum. “What do you know?”

“Sleeping isn’t inevitably the state of slumber,” announced the Lunatrixa. “Sleeping may be a mirage that pursues the aim of
misleading
the mind of the person who abandons his consciousness to follow it. The mirage is powerful and the sirens have hearts filled with cunning and seduction. They are the mistresses of traps riddled with illusion.”

They all remained silent, paying heed to the Lunatrixa’s warnings.

“The Runaways must protect themselves against the power of illusion!” added the small creature. “Illusion is a lure intended to bring sleep and spirit away souls.”

“I understand exactly what you mean,” declared Abakum, sounding worried. “It’s much more ingenious than it appears, you did well to warn us, Lunatrixa.”

“Are they listening to us?” broke in Oksa, looking at the long-haired creatures.

“Airborne Sirens do not have interest in the words that emerge from our mouths,” explained the Lunatrixa. “They draw their information from the heart.”

“My friends,” continued Abakum, shaking his head, “we must be very vigilant. I suggest we keep an eye on each other and warn the group if
anyone seems to be giving in to the attraction of the sirens. Let’s keep going and stay together. I’ll lead the way. Reminiscens will keep watch on me and Leomido on Reminiscens, Tugdual on Leomido, Oksa on Tugdual and so on. Pavel, I’ll give you the Incompetent. Lunatrixa, you stay with me. You must all raise the alarm if anything seems to be wrong. Is everyone okay with that?”

“Oksa has to keep watch on Tugdual?” muttered Gus, annoyed. “Isn’t that a little—”

“A little what?” added Tugdual, with a casual amusement that irritated Gus.

“A little dangerous!” spat Gus. “Because you’re not exactly the sharpest tool in the box, are you?”

Tugdual’s only answer was to flex his fingers and crack his knuckles with a mocking look at Gus.

“You two are a real pain,” grumbled Oksa. “Shall we go?” she continued, looking at her father. “We’re not going to stay in this tunnel for the rest of our lives, are we?”

Pavel nodded, with a wary glance at the sirens, who were still hovering in the air above the Runaways. Then he put his arm around his daughter’s shoulders and, without saying a word, they all started walking down the dark tunnel.