The Forest of Lost Souls (16 page)

T
HE TUNNEL, WHICH SEEMED TO GO ON FOR EVER, GAVE
the worrying impression that it was leading straight down into the centre of the earth. What was worse, the gently sloping terrain was strewn with sharp-edged pebbles which made walking very painful, particularly for Reminiscens, whose lightweight sandals had thin soles which afforded her sore feet next to no protection. Although Oksa was wearing sturdy, comfortable trainers, she soon became tired of turning her ankle and cursing with every step. She quickly proved her worth as a Young Gracious, though, by coming up with a clever solution:
launching
a Tornaphyllon Granok at the ground every twenty yards or so, she cleared all obstacles from the path. The violent wind sent the stones flying to the sides of the tunnel, where they clattered into piles with a deafening noise.

“Well, at least that solves the problem of those rotten pebbles,” she declared triumphantly, putting her Granok-Shooter away.

Illuminated by the Polypharus and escorted by the threatening sirens, the Runaways forged ahead for quite some while. They had the strange feeling that time had ceased to exist. Their watches had stopped when they’d been Impictured, so it was impossible to know if they’d spent two hours or two days in the ill-fated picture. However long it had been, though, they were beginning to feel tired. They kept one eye on their friends, the other on the sirens, and it was exhausting to concentrate on
two things at once. As the group walked down the tunnel, Oksa felt her resistance ebbing away. Her legs seemed to weigh a ton and she had an overwhelming desire to sleep. Tugdual was walking on her left with the supple gait of a cheetah and, unlike her, didn’t seem to be flagging at all. Or if he was, he didn’t show it… Suddenly he turned round and looked surprised at the tiredness etched on Oksa’s face.

“I’ll fire the Tornaphyllons if you like,” he suggested, taking out his Granok-Shooter.

The Runaways kept walking, their silence broken only by the noise of pebbles colliding down the tunnel. Their pace was slowing, but they were all making it a point of honour not to show any weakness. Reminiscens was the first to give way: ashen-faced, she crouched down on the dusty ground with a sigh.

“I can’t go any farther…” she gasped.

“Perhaps we could take a short break?” suggested Abakum, to his friends’ great relief. “But we must remain on our guard.”

They looked at each other, their faces drawn with tiredness and concern.

“Why are we so tired?” asked Reminiscens. “We haven’t been walking all that long.”

“Perhaps it’s the sirens?” suggested Oksa. “Maybe they’re trying to make us fall asleep?”

As she said this, one of the creatures floated nearer and hovered a few inches from Oksa’s face. Filled with chilling cruelty, the siren’s eyes bored into Oksa’s, while her long, floating hair stroked the schoolgirl’s face. Oksa shivered violently as a wave of unexpected images washed over her: she was no longer in the tunnel, but at the very top of something that looked like… the Glass Column in Edefia! From a balcony high above the city, she could hear a crowd shouting her name. Men were
performing
acrobatics in front of her in the middle of the sky. She looked round, her heart spilling over with happiness. By her side, she recognized her father, despite the few extra years which had left their mark on his face. A
man entered the room and Oksa gave a start. It was Gus! He also looked older, or rather
more grown-up
. His face had become more angular and his shoulders were broader, but he was just as handsome. He brushed his black hair away from his face, revealing dark-blue eyes that studied her intently. He walked over and she felt his lips against hers.

“Happy?” he murmured, holding her tight against him and stroking her back.

Oksa nodded rapturously, her cheek grazed by the stubble on the chin of the man Gus had become. She then noticed a woman walking towards her and smiling and, in an instant, she realized it was her mother. She certainly looked older… but what was more important, she was standing on her own two legs.

“Mum! You’re better!” she exclaimed.

Immediately, Pavel leapt up and punched the siren so hard that she was sent flying against the wall of the tunnel. The subliminal image of Marie standing there vigorously on her own feet vanished from Oksa’s mind. Astonished, Oksa looked at the anxious Runaways.

“I was hallucinating!” she exclaimed, frightened by the strength of her vision.

“Watch out, Pavel!” Pierre yelled suddenly, his eyes popping out of his head.

The Airborne Siren knocked out by Pavel had just regained
consciousness
. With her mouth wide open in a silent scream, she swooped down on Oksa’s father. Pavel immediately adopted his fighting pose and struck the creature hard with the edge of his hand. But the siren was ready for this: she took the blow, but remained motionless a few inches from Pavel. Her eyes narrowed and she glared at him, before another identical and equally frightening head emerged from her mouth.

“What’s going on?” muttered Oksa, aghast.

“I’ve missed you so much,” said Abakum groggily.

They all turned in alarm to see a siren stroking the Fairyman’s face with her hair. His vacant eyes showed the strength of the illusion.

“Good Lord!” cried Reminiscens. “I wasn’t watching him!”

“My dear parents,” drawled Abakum quietly. “It would have been so lovely… so lovely to
love you
…”

Acting on instinct, Oksa jumped up and grabbed the siren by her hair. Recovering his senses, Abakum saw her hurl the head with all her might at a pile of stones, yelling:

“Filthy creature! Leave Abakum alone!”

The head smashed open like a watermelon, causing the Young Gracious to pull a disgusted face. However, this only won them a very brief respite: two new heads, eager to avenge their sister, sprang from the pieces of shattered head. They flew over to the other sirens and the hovering circle advanced on the Runaways with a threatening gleam in their eyes.

“Get out your Granok-Shooters,” instructed Abakum. “No mercy, my friends!”

In the next few seconds the sirens came under fire from a continuous stream of Granoks. Pierre, Abakum and Tugdual began pelting them with Putrefactios and Colocynthises. Pavel, who had opted for the martial arts, was running up the stone walls of the tunnel and smashing any heads in his way with massive kicks. Oksa tried the Arborescens Granok first, ensnaring the vile sirens in a net of sticky creepers, but the artful creatures found it too easy to free themselves so Oksa decided to use fire, like Reminiscens and Leomido. The three of them decimated the ranks of the sirens with their consummate mastery of Fireballisticos. The terrible stench of rotting and burnt flesh filled the air and soon the hovering heads were all lying on the ground. Some were decomposing, their skin rotting as the Runaways watched, while others, which had been sliced in two, were writhing wildly. The worst hit were the heads which had been hit by Fireballisticos: flames were sizzling in their hair, producing an acrid smoke that caught in the throat. It was a sickening, apocalyptic sight. A leaden silence descended on the tunnel, rooting the Runaways to the spot. Everyone held their breath. They had a nasty feeling that, despite their defeat, the sirens wouldn’t let things
rest there. Oksa, who couldn’t wrench her eyes away from the slowly decomposing heads, took her father’s hand and squeezed it. It wasn’t long before they were proved right: from every head sprang two more identical heads with vicious, menacing faces. The Runaways couldn’t help taking a few steps back from this frightening phenomenon,
clutching
their Granok-Shooters defensively. Oksa bent down, picked up a large stone and hurled it at one of the heads. The stone found its target, smashing the head with a loud splat. However, a few seconds later two new heads emerged from the previous one, increasing the number of sirens to around fifty.

“Don’t do anything else!” warned Abakum, raising his hand. “Don’t do anything else, my friends. Violence is only making things worse. We have to find another solution.”

“It’ll have to be quick,” murmured Oksa, again targeted by a siren.

She was so tired… and the siren’s hair stroking her face felt so good… it was impossible to resist the urge to sleep. Or the desire to experience that wonderful vision again. Her body went limp and she felt herself slipping into a delicious drowsiness, while feelings of intense happiness flooded her mind. How long had it been since she’d felt this happy? Suddenly she snapped out of it so abruptly that it took her breath away. In front of her, huge flames were decimating the sirens, including the one who’d just been guiding her towards that irresistible mirage. There was an agonizing cry: her father was writhing in pain a few yards from her, his Ink Dragon rising from his back, furiously belching long,
ravaging
flames.

“Dad! Don’t! It’s okay, I’ve woken up!” yelled Oksa.

Immediately everything stopped. The Ink Dragon withdrew, sinking back into Pavel’s body, and he rushed over to Oksa.

“My darling—I thought they had you!”

The fear he’d felt made him hug her much harder than usual but, feeling shaken, Oksa didn’t complain.

“I couldn’t help myself, I’m sorry,” Pavel said to the Runaways.

“No father or mother would have acted any differently, Pavel,” said Reminiscens. “You followed your heart and none of us can blame you for that. But now look what we have to deal with.”

The fifty charred heads had stopped burning, and the horrified Runaways were now confronted by a mass of about a hundred sirens, their cruel eyes even fiercer than before.

“R
UN!”
BAWLED THE BLACK BUTTERFLY
. “
RUN AS FAST
as you can!”

Frantically flapping its wings, the Wayfinder disappeared deep into the tunnel. Pavel grabbed Oksa’s hand and raced after the butterfly,
followed
by the other Runaways. The sirens immediately pursued them, surrounding them at the rear and on either side. Although she was being pulled along by her father in a headlong rush, Oksa couldn’t help glancing at them and instantly felt herself sinking into an irresistible trance. Her pace decreased, her legs seemed to be moving in slow motion and her heartbeat grew more sluggish. Pavel looked at her and growled angrily when he saw her vacant eyes. Oksa was caught between two worlds: the one where her mind was taking her—a world suffused with light where she was with her parents, in Gus’s arms, free from pain or fear—and the dark, hostile one, where she was struggling against the baleful power of the sirens. She was finding it harder and harder to resist the power of the first world, even though it was just a glorious mirage. After all, how can you fight something you want so desperately, even if you’re not aware of it? Realizing that his daughter was surrendering to the sirens, Pavel picked Oksa up and continued his frantic flight through the tunnel cradling her tightly in his arms.

“Listen to my voice, Oksa!” he said loudly. “Listen carefully to what I say! Focus on my words, okay?”

Slumped in her father’s arms, Oksa nodded, concentrating hard on his voice.

“You’re awake, Oksa!” he declared firmly. “You’re with your friends in a tunnel somewhere deep inside a painting. We’re being chased by malevolent sirens, who are trying to trap the most soft-hearted among us. Those ravenous creatures have no power over me, because my deepest desires are suppressed by my Ink Dragon and can’t be used against me. You can’t fight them, darling, because your heart is an open book. But you have to banish the sirens’ lies from your mind. The sirens are deceitful, Oksa. What they’re showing you isn’t real—it’s just what you want to see! You need to focus on the harsh reality of our situation. Look at the stones piled against the walls of the tunnel! Look at the pebbles flying around us! Look at the butterfly showing us the way! Think about your friends… think about Gus, about Tugdual… Tell me everything you can see! Come on, Oksa, tell me what you can see around you. Where are we, Oksa? Where are we?”

Despite the sirens’ assault on her mind and the terrifying drowsiness that seemed about to claim her at any moment, Oksa tried even harder and followed her father’s advice. Clinging to him, she looked around and, to prevent herself sinking into sleep again, she started loudly listing the Runaways, who were running together in a close-packed group.

“We’re in a tunnel,” she began, so loud she was almost shouting. “Vile heads are floating around us and we’re running to escape them. I can see Reminiscens behind us, Abakum is holding her right hand and Leomido her left. Reminiscens looks exhausted and there’s a strange expression in her eyes, as if she’s finding it hard to resist the sirens. Tugdual is just beside her, he’s carrying the Lunatrixa on his shoulders. Poor Lunatrixa… her eyes are closed and she’s almost transparent, I think she’s frightened to death. Tugdual looks okay, he seems to be keeping a very clear head.”

Her voice suddenly tailed off. A siren had just stroked her face with her long, silky hair. Oksa’s head lolled onto her father’s shoulder.

“Don’t stop, Oksa!” he bellowed, shaking her. “Don’t stop! What else can you see?”

Oksa jumped, as if she’d just been woken from a deep sleep, and obeyed her father’s order.

“I can see Pierre!” she replied, yelling as loudly as him. “The Incompetent is clinging to his back and he’s carrying Gus in his arms. Oh no! Gus looks completely out of it.”

She fell silent, horrified by what she was seeing. Pierre was racing along, his cheeks wet with tears, cradling Gus in his arms. Five sirens were gathered around them, their hair hanging over part of the boy’s face. Oksa could only see his eyes, which were empty and devoid of expression.

“Mum!” he stammered. “I’ve always wanted to meet you so badly…”

“They’ve got Gus, Dad!” cried Oksa in alarm. “He’s seeing his mother. It’s awful! Aaarghhhh! Oh no, what’s the Lunatrixa doing?”

Pavel immediately stopped, as did the Wayfinder, the other Runaways and the sirens. They all turned to look at the Lunatrixa, who’d just leapt from Tugdual’s shoulders towards Pierre and his unconscious son, lost in the mirage created by the floating heads. There was an ominous silence and time seemed to stand still, until the small creature started speaking.

“Regret fills my heart to arrive at this extreme measure,” she began, brushing the sirens’ hair from Gus’s face with her hand.

She sniffled and continued, fixing her large, protruding eyes on Oksa, who shivered apprehensively.

“The sirens will continue their hunt of hearts wide open until they succeed in their possession of one of them. The Fairyman has revealed a weakness which missed being fatal, but he has managed to make his mind as impervious as concrete. The Young Gracious, her friend and Reminiscens are the most accessible targets and their resistance weighs too little to withstand the virtuosity of the sirens. Great unhappiness is inevitable: the sirens will produce permanent perseverance until one heart yields. The young friend of the Young Gracious was unable to provide a fight and has begun the surrender of his heart.”

“NO!” screamed Oksa, heartbroken. “NOT HIM!”

The Lunatrixa walked over to her and put her plump hand on Oksa’s shoulder.

“The domestic staff of Your Gracious possesses the solution,” she said, sounding sad, but determined.

“What is it?” spluttered Oksa, wiping the tears from her eyes.

The small creature edged even closer, and motioned to Oksa to bend down so that she could whisper a few words in her ear. Oksa blanched and put her hand over her mouth to stifle a cry, as tears streamed down her cheeks. She looked miserably at Gus, then at the Lunatrixa. As if they’d understood, Abakum and Leomido came over and each of them in turn hugged the Lunatrixa with great sadness and gratitude.

“The sirens desire a noble and loving heart,” the small creature told the other Runaways. “The heart I possess is pulsing with a deep wish to perform the rescue of the friend of the Young Gracious. This wish contains a strength more fierce than any of the desires that each one of you may enclose within and the sirens cannot muster resistance to this attraction. I utter my determination and my farewells…”

Then, without waiting for any reaction from the Runaways, she bounded towards the swarm of floating heads and cast herself into their waving hair, which wildly engulfed her.

Gathered around the small mound of freshly dug earth, the Runaways looked downcast as Abakum delivered a moving eulogy to the Lunatrixa.

“Our gratitude will know no bounds,” he said, his voice breaking. “Never doubt that we’ll remember you for ever: the memory of your devotion will last for eternity, like a precious stone.”

Oksa gulped back a sob more noisily than she’d have liked. She felt exhausted and very sad. She blew a kiss towards the small makeshift grave and joined Gus, who was sitting under a tree a few yards away.
The boy looked heartbroken. His black hair hung over his tearful eyes, his face was pale and stricken, and he held his head in his hands. When Oksa sat down next to him, he turned away so that she was left looking at his hunched back. Oksa didn’t say anything for a few minutes, then she placed a hand on his shoulder. Gus flinched and scowled even harder.

“It should’ve been me, not her,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

Hearing this, Oksa saw red. She jumped up and went round to kneel right in front of Gus. Grabbing his chin, she raised her friend’s head with a roughness that surprised her.

“When will you stop making such stupid remarks?” she raged. “You should be ashamed of yourself! Out of respect for the Lunatrixa—”

Her voice cracked and she turned away, gnawing at her lower lip. Then she stood up, her grey eyes fixed on Gus, and continued:

“Out of respect for
her
, you need to do everything you can to show that you deserved her sacrifice. If you don’t, it’s like she died for
nothing
!”

Shocked by what she’d just said, Oksa stood in front of Gus, her hands on her hips and her eyes defiant, despite her rough words. Gus looked back at her. The pain and anger in her friend’s eyes unsettled her and she suddenly felt cross with herself for going too far. Again… Gus tried to speak, but nothing came out. He continued looking at her and the suffering in his eyes disconcerted her. She hesitated, then put her hand on his arm in a conciliatory gesture.

“Sorry, Gus,” she whispered. “I can be like a bull in a china shop sometimes.”

“Often, you mean,” he replied, sniffling. “I didn’t want things to turn out like this, you know,” he added, referring to the Lunatrixa.

“No one wanted things to turn out like this,” said Oksa. “And no one expected it. But we were trapped in that tunnel and it was a tragedy waiting to happen. One of us had to stay behind. And the fact that the tunnel and those revolting heads disappeared as soon as the Lunatrixa plunged into the midst of the sirens proves it.”

As if trying to accept it, Gus looked around at the landscape that Oksa was showing him with arms outspread. The immediate effect of the Lunatrixa’s sacrifice had, in fact, been to eliminate that hideous level and its malicious occupants. The Runaways had immediately found themselves in an oasis of lush greenery, a paradisiacal place filled with the sweet sound of birdsong and the murmur of a waterfall splashing into a clear lagoon. They’d looked at each other in amazement, stunned to find they were still alive. Reminiscens had collapsed onto the soft, fine sand, exhausted by the relentless battle with the Airborne Sirens. Her feet were red-raw and bleeding and there was a painful scratch on her cheek. Abakum and Leomido had rushed over to her and the Fairyman had taken from his bag a phial of Spinollias—those clever seamstress spiders—watched gravely by Leomido. Pierre had still been holding Gus who, a few seconds earlier, had been held in fatal thrall by the sirens. He’d fallen to the ground too, his eyes still gleaming with the profound despair he’d felt as he watched the life drain from his son. Pavel had laid Oksa on the soft sand and had immediately clapped his hands to his back, which seemed to be incredibly painful. He’d arched his spine as if to stretch it with a loud cracking noise. After making sure that her father was okay, Oksa had then looked around for Tugdual. The young man was kneeling beside the body of the Lunatrixa. His long fingers, adorned with silver rings, were sombrely stroking the colourless head of the small, valiant creature. They’d all stood there, in silence, gazing at the lifeless Lunatrixa until Tugdual had stood up at last. Without a word, he’d picked up a large, flat stone and used it to dig a hole in the earth under a tree with thick foliage. Now, numb with tiredness and grief, they were all anxiously waiting for the next leg of the journey to begin, taking care not to let their eyes stray to the Lunatrixa’s grave. Only Oksa dared to do so, with a heavy heart and red-rimmed eyes. She swallowed her tears and looked away again, taking a deep breath to try to stifle the sob that was threatening to explode from her chest. It was then that she noticed some magnificent flowers blooming beside the lagoon. Their petals
were such a bright red that it looked as though they were little flames. Oksa walked over, intrigued. The plants, which were tall and elegant like reeds, were swaying gently, even though there wasn’t a breeze. Her first impression had been correct: sparks were flying from the petals as if a tiny fire were burning at the heart of every flower.

“Unbelievable,” whispered Oksa in wonderment.

She edged closer and waited for the fire to burn itself out, but nothing happened: the petals forming the flamboyant corolla of those magnificent flowers weren’t on fire, they
were
flames!

“I’m sure she’d love these,” murmured Oksa, glancing sorrowfully towards the Lunatrixa’s unadorned grave.

She stretched out her hand to pick one of the flowers—a perfectly natural reaction on Earth, but not in a bewitched painting, as she soon realized.

“What are you trying to do, wretched girl?” screeched the flower Oksa was trying to pick. “Let go, you’re strangling me!”

Oksa did what she was told immediately, less taken aback by hearing the plant speak—she was getting used to that, after all—than by a puff of hot gas which burst from the petals and headed straight for her. Eyes wide in amazement, she took a few steps backwards as the small, glowing cloud came dangerously close.

“What is that thing?” she muttered, putting her hands out in front of her. “Ouch! That’s really hot!” she cried, shaking her fingers, which the cloud had barely touched.

“It’s an Inflammatoria,” said Abakum informatively. “It’s like a miniature volcano and I think you caused it to erupt. Look!”