The Forest of Lost Souls (17 page)

After expelling the cloud which had hit Oksa, the plant was in the middle of a volcanic explosion, spitting out sparks and an orangey substance similar to molten magma.

“That plant seems very cross,” remarked the Incompetent, watching this surprising sight. It took Oksa’s hand and her burnt skin immediately felt soothed by a delicious cooling sensation.

“Don’t think you can get away with anything you like, just because you’re the Young Gracious!” spat the Inflammatoria, expelling a stream of burning lava.

“I’m very sorry,” replied Oksa, brushing a spark from her T-shirt. “You’re so pretty… I just wanted to pick you to put on the Lunatrixa’s grave.”

“Just pick me? Just pick me?” said the plant, working itself up into a temper again. “Haven’t you learnt anything? Inflammatorias
aren’t for picking
!”

“Sorry,” repeated Oksa, pulling a face.

“Inflammatorias aren’t for picking,” repeated the plant, “but they do multiply. Huh, no one could ever accuse me of being mean-spirited!” it added, projecting a stream of lava over Oksa’s head.

“Look, Oksa…” urged Tugdual, pointing to the Lunatrixa’s grave.

On the small mound of earth where a drop of lava had landed, a magnificent Inflammatoria had just bloomed, accompanied seconds later by a cluster of others, each blazing more brightly than the last. Tugdual winked at Oksa, while the Incompetent murmured:

“Everything’s going up in flames around here.”

Oksa couldn’t help smiling. She leant over to pick up the Incompetent, took one last look at the grave, covered in Inflammatorias, and turned on her heel.

“Well,” she said, wiping away a tear. “Let’s have a look at where we are.”

T
HE
S
QUORACLE
SCRAMBLED OUT OF
A
BAKUM’S JACKET
, its little beak quivering with satisfaction.

“At last!” it exclaimed. “This is the perfect habitat for my ultra-sensitive constitution. I’m glad someone has finally listened. Thirty-one degrees centigrade, seventy per cent relative humidity, no wind, and a light that’s bright but not blinding—ideal!”

“Where are we?” asked Oksa, turning to the Tumble-Bawler, which had perched on a rock overhanging the lagoon.

Nodding gently, the Tumble-Bawler concentrated hard, then replied:

“All co-ordinates within our current location have been obliterated by the spell cast on the Soul-Searcher because, as I said, none of the cardinal points exist here, nor is there any height and depth. All conventional methods of measuring distance and time have disappeared inside the picture. However, our external location has changed, Young Gracious. We’re now in south-central London. The Thames is beneath us and we’re 317 feet above ground, resting against an opalescent circular glass wall measuring twenty-three feet in diameter, facing south.”

Abakum and Leomido blinked in astonishment at this revelation.

“Are you sure?” asked the Fairyman, aware that it was a pointless question.

“I’m absolutely certain, you can rely on my infallibility,” replied the Tumble-Bawler, bowing respectfully.

“So the painting is 317 feet up from the ground?” asked Abakum, anxiously.

“That’s right!” confirmed the Tumble-Bawler.

“But we don’t live that high!” pointed out Oksa. “Unless London is at that altitude… Do you mean the height above sea level?”

“Not at all, Young Gracious. I mean the height above ground level.”

“That’s very strange… not even Baba’s private workroom is that high. It can only be about thirty stairs up from the ground floor, no more.”

“We’ve climbed exactly 437 steps,” specified the Tumble-Bawler.

“Something must have happened,” murmured Abakum, concerned. Reminiscens looked enquiringly at him, then turned to Leomido.

“There has to be a sensible explanation,” said Oksa’s great-uncle wisely. “I think we just have to trust Dragomira and focus on our immediate future.”

“You’re right,” nodded Abakum. “Wayfinder, do you know where we are?”

The black butterfly fluttered closer to them and hovered in the air in the middle of the circle of Runaways.

“We’ve passed through three levels: that of the Forest, that of the Maritime Hills and that of the Sirens’ Tunnel,” began the Wayfinder. “We’re in a Medius where we can recharge our batteries before entering a new level.”

“Before
enduring
a new level, you mean,” murmured Oksa bitterly.

“You’re right, Young Gracious,” nodded the butterfly. “Every level is an ordeal to be endured and, above all, overcome.”

“And will the Soul-Searcher kill one of us every time?” asked Oksa angrily.

The butterfly flew over to her and hovered a few inches from her face.

“No, Young Gracious. You don’t understand. The Soul-Searcher has nothing to do with this. It means you no harm for the simple reason that it’s in such a bad way it’s incapable of doing anything.”

“Yeah, right,” remarked Gus, shaking with rage.

“None of the tragedies that befall you are actually intended for you,” explained the Wayfinder. “The ordeals you’re encountering along the way were designed for someone else entirely!”

“Although, unfortunately, we’re the ones who have to overcome them,” added Reminiscens.

The butterfly gave a small sigh.

“The Airborne Sirens weren’t for or against you: they’re merely a manifestation of the Evil which now controls this picture. Don’t forget that Orthon-McGraw was the person who should have been Impictured.”

Oksa thought for a few seconds, then continued:

“And what were they supposed to do to him?” she challenged.

“Make him confront a past which he’s blotted out and which has made him the man he is. The sirens explore what’s buried deepest in us. They know how to extricate desires and regrets we’re not even aware we have. That’s how they lure us into their trap.”

“But you talked about fantasies and illusions,” remarked Gus. “That isn’t the same!”

“Isn’t making us believe that our desires—or regrets—have become a reality which we can control, the most powerful illusion of all?” asked the black butterfly, turning to him.

“It’s devastating…” murmured Oksa.

So her innermost desires included her mother being cured, Edefia… and Gus. She glanced at her friend and immediately blushed, flustered by the thought that the others might have found out about a feeling that she herself didn’t want to admit she had. She turned away and met Tugdual’s no less unsettling and perceptive gaze. He looked at her enquiringly and she felt as though she was glowing as hot as an Inflammatoria and melting with embarrassment.

“What about you, Gus, what did you see when the sirens captured your mind?” asked Tugdual, without taking his eyes off Oksa.

Gus hesitated. He ran his hand through his hair and said in a low, breathy voice:

“I saw my mother. The mother I’ve never met.”

Pierre jerked, as if stung by a wasp, and stared miserably at him.

“So did I, Gus,” added Abakum. “I saw the mother I’ve never met and will never meet. My mother and father… those damned sirens knew exactly what they were doing: they went straight for the jugular.”

Pierre clenched his fists and Gus looked timidly at him.

“Why?” muttered the Viking. “Why now?”

“I didn’t even realize I felt like
that
inside, Dad,” he mumbled, ashamed.

“This isn’t your fault, Gus!” cried Oksa. “Why should you feel ashamed about wanting to meet the woman who gave birth to you? It’s no big deal. Don’t go making a mountain out of a molehill. That’s all we need!”

“I’m sorry, Dad,” continued Gus, still feeling shamefaced. “I didn’t know… I didn’t want… I love you and Mum so much!”

Pierre came over to his son and hugged him tightly with tears in his eyes.

“I know, son, I know,” he murmured hoarsely.

“Where we come from is fundamental to our knowledge of ourselves,” said Abakum diplomatically. “If we don’t know our origins, we’re nothing. We can’t be complete if we only have a partial understanding of who we are—we’ll always lack a vital part of our identity.” Gus’s father turned away and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

“It’s completely normal for Gus to be seduced by that fantasy,” added Abakum. “It’s something he’ll feel all his life, although it won’t stop him loving you and Jeanne. Look at me, Pierre! I’m over eighty, I was raised by wonderful people for whom I had a deep and abiding love. And if I could have just one wish, it would be to meet the people who brought me into this world. No one can do anything about that desire. It’s not a betrayal, because Gus loves you and Jeanne. He loves you more than anyone. We all know it. So don’t spoil what you have between you.”

Pierre gave a loud sob, roaring like a wounded bear. He hugged Gus even tighter and murmured something in his ear, which made Gus look up at him with a sweet, tremulous smile.

“W
ELL
!”
SAID
O
KSA
,
SOUNDING MORE LIKE HER UPBEAT
self. “Are we going to explore this paradise or not?”

She jumped up and clambered onto the rock where the Tumble-Bawler was perched. Her heart felt heavy with grief. She turned her head away and her vision blurred with tears as she recalled the Lunatrixa’s chubby face. She wondered what illusion the small creature had seen when the sirens had swooped down on her. The apartments in the Glass Column where she’d lived with Malorane? The fabulous forests of Green Mantle? Poor Lunatrixa… Oksa stifled a sob and took a deep breath to quell her tears. They couldn’t afford to sink into melancholy—they had to keep going. She forced herself to look around. The tropical, dreamlike beauty of this place seemed to have come from the mind of some visionary creator and, after that gloomy tunnel, couldn’t fail to raise their spirits.

“It’s fantastic here!” she exclaimed, hoping her enthusiasm would be contagious. “Have you seen this water? How can it be so blue and so clear at the same time? It’s really… magical!” she said with a nervous laugh.

Around the lagoon, the trees were bowed under the weight of
enormous
fruits that looked delicious. As if it could read her mind, one of the trees bent down until its most heavily laden branch was level with Oksa, who suddenly realized how hungry she was.

She reached out and picked the plumpest fruit she could see, a sort of huge apricot, and bit into it. Sweet nectar flooded her mouth, making her feel better immediately. Devouring it greedily, she peered into the lush foliage. Little golden birds were cheeping and darting between the shiny leaves, their tiny wings sparkling in the rays of the strange mauve sun.

“I don’t believe it!” cried Oksa. “Ptitchkins!”

She held out her hand and one of the golden birds, a fraction of an inch big, landed tamely on her palm.

“Hello, Ptitchkin!” she said, stroking it gently.

“I hope the Young Gracious will accept my kindest regards,” replied the remarkable bird, bowing its microscopic head.

Oksa burst out laughing, as usual, embarrassed at being addressed so verbosely.

She grinned at her father, then the other Runaways, Gus, Tugdual…

“You’re so cute, Ptitchkin!” she continued. “Did you know that my gran has two of your kind? She carries them around on little perches which she wears as earrings.”

“It must be a huge honour for my companions to adorn the ears of the Old Gracious, how fortunate they are!” exclaimed the small bird in a shrill voice. “Are they worthy of their lucky lot in life?”

“Um… not always!” replied Oksa laughing. “They do have a few issues with discipline, but they’re so lovable they’re always forgiven in the end.”

“Hey, that reminds me of a certain Young Gracious,” said Gus, with a meaningful glance at his friend.

“Oh, you!” growled Oksa, letting the Ptitchkin fly away. “You’ve really got it coming this time!”

She charged at him and they both fell backwards on the soft sand at the foot of the Inflammatorias, which gave off a few surprised sparks. They rolled down to the edge of the lagoon bellowing with laughter and ended up in the translucent water.

“Come on in!” cried Oksa to the Runaways, who were watching this scene in amusement. “It’s lovely!”

“Why not?” replied Abakum, taking off his kimono jacket and ankle boots.

The Fairyman climbed onto an overhanging rock about six feet above the lagoon and dived into the warm, clear water. In a few strokes, he swam over to join Oksa, who was playfully splashing Gus.

“Talk about a Young Gracious! She’s more like a young mad dog!” laughed the boy, his eyes shining mischievously.

“Argh!” growled Oksa, pouncing on him. “Do you want to know what this mad dog is going to do to you?”

Merrily she tried to duck Gus, but unexpectedly he foiled her every attempt.

“You won’t sink!” she grumbled. “Are you refusing to bow to the will of the Young Gracious, you philistine?”

“Not at all, I assure you, Young Gracious,” replied Gus, crying with laughter. “I’d love to obey and sink like a stone, but look—I can’t! I just stay on the surface!”

“Look over here, youngsters!” called Abakum.

The Fairyman was standing right in the middle of the lagoon, where the water was at its deepest. He rolled over to dive below the water, but only managed to flip over on the surface.

“It’s impossible to sink to the bottom,” he remarked. “The water’s too dense.”

“You’re right,” remarked Oksa, floating closer to him, water up to her neck, her body vertical. “The water’s at least thirty feet deep and I’m not moving at all so I should sink! That’s insane!”

“Wow!” cried Gus in delight, walking over to Oksa. “Dad, come in!”

Pierre needed no urging. He threw himself into the water, leaving the Incompetent, which had picked him as its protector, on the sandy shore.

“I can’t remember if I like water sports or not,” it said with its
customary
nonchalance. “Will I get wet?”

“There’s a high probability you will,” replied Tugdual, pulling off his black T-shirt.

Oksa couldn’t help looking over at his pale torso, gleaming in the light. Ignoring her, Tugdual dived in and swam over to the small group floating in the middle of the lagoon.

“All right, Lil’ Gracious?” he asked in a deceptively casual tone.

“I’m more than all right, this place is wonderful!” she replied enthusiastically.

Then, to hide her agitation, she floated on her back in the water, her heart pounding, as Tugdual swum around her like a shark.

“He must be in a great deal of pain,” he said, looking at Pavel.

Oksa returned to a standing position and watched her father crouching on the bank of the lagoon. He was trickling water over the Squoracle’s feathers, making it cluck with joy. The tiny hen’s delight made him smile, but she could see from his tense features that he was in pain.

“Dad!” called Oksa, upset to see how much he was suffering. “Come in for a swim! Come on!” Pavel stood up and stretched with his hands planted on the small of his back.

“I’m coming,” he called, with a grimace.

He hesitated for a second, then decided to pull off his tattered T-shirt. No one looking at him face-on would have suspected the existence of the Ink Dragon, except for the tattooed talons appearing over his shoulders. Pavel walked into the lagoon cautiously, even though the water was warm and the sand at the bottom of the lagoon was soft. He carefully splashed the upper part of his body and Oksa could have sworn she saw a plume of white vapour rise from his back where the droplets had just landed. Her father pulled another face and gave an almost inaudible moan. Oksa couldn’t look away and, not far from her, Tugdual was also watching with an intrigued expression. Pavel sank into the water. A dense cloud of steam rose from his sizzling back and he gave a scream, his eyes rolling back in his head. Oksa had obviously not been seeing things after all.

“Dad!” cried Oksa, rushing over to him.

The surface of the water was covered in plumes of steam evaporating around Oksa’s father, who looked as if he might faint.

“Dad!” repeated Oksa. “Lean on me, I’ll help you get out!”

“No, I’m fine, Oksa,” Pavel reassured her shakily. “The water’s soothing. It’s extinguishing all the fire in me. It’s such a relief… You have no idea…”

“Are you sure?” asked Oksa dubiously.

“I thought my back was going to catch fire,” said Pavel, who seemed to be looking better with every second. “I felt like I was burning up.”

“That’s awful!”

“Seriously, I just need to learn to control my Ink Dragon so that I don’t end up cooked to a turn,” said Pavel with his customary wry sense of humour. “Unless you fancy ‘barbecued dad’?”

“Dad!” exclaimed Oksa indignantly, punching his arm. “How can you joke about
this
?”

“Better to laugh, Oksa-san,” he murmured bitterly. “Better to laugh.”

Better to laugh than suffer? Better to laugh than die? These questions whirled round Oksa’s mind as she kept her eyes on her father. They stood there, face to face, the water lapping around them, until Pavel took her hand and led her beneath the fruit trees.

“You looked as though you were having quite a feast just now,” he said gently, indicating that the subject worrying Oksa was now closed. “Aren’t you going to let me taste those juicy apricots? We should probably refuel and regain our strength, shouldn’t we?”

Oksa didn’t even have to stretch up: the tree she was standing beneath with her father bent down until it was within easy reach and let her pick its finest fruit. Everyone was resting beside the lagoon, relaxed by the swim and soothed by the idyllic setting.

“Look at Reminiscens over there!” said the girl, her mouth sticky with apricot juice. “Leomido is waiting on her hand and foot.”

Farther off, Reminiscens was swaying lazily in a hammock woven by Leomido out of creepers from a spectacular banyan tree, while a large green dragonfly fanned her with its iridescent wings. The Spinollias appeared to have finished their work mending the cuts and scratches on her feet and she’d fallen asleep with her hands crossed over her chest, her
exhaustion obvious from the purplish rings under her eyes. Leomido was leaning against a tree beside her, keeping watch while eating a piece of fruit similar to a large mango.

“It must be hard for him,” murmured Oksa. “Being reunited with the woman he loved, after all these years…”

“Particularly after believing she was dead,” added Pavel.

“Do you think Abakum was in love with Reminiscens too?” asked the girl suddenly, noticing the expression of the Fairyman sitting some distance away.

Pavel cleared his throat.

“I’m sure he was,” he replied, following Abakum’s gaze as he stared at Reminiscens. “But don’t forget that Abakum has a strong sense of duty and is used to remaining in the background. From the moment he was born, he’s devoted himself to the Gracious’s family: first Malorane, then her children, Leomido and Dragomira. And now us, her descendants. Although he’s stronger than the lot of us, he’s always taken a back seat.”

“That really is devotion!” exclaimed Oksa.

“That’s what Abakum is like: he puts loyalty before anything else.”

“Even before love…” rang out Tugdual’s voice.

Oksa whirled round: the young man was stretched out on the lowest branch of the apricot tree.

“Now that’s true strength!” he continued. “Dominating something that has the power to dominate you.”

“What do you mean?” asked Oksa, bewildered, as her father looked on in amusement. Gazing at the sky, Tugdual scratched his head casually.

“Being dominated is a disaster waiting to happen,” he replied. “If you can keep the upper hand over something that has the power to enslave you, you’re stronger than anyone or anything.” Oksa frowned.

“I get the impression that the Lil’ Gracious would like an example,” continued Tugdual, with a devastatingly mocking smile. “Take a feeling with great potential for domination like love. It’s dangerous to surrender to it because it’s so hard to control. If you can master it, in other words
ignore it and go your own sweet way, that’s quite a feat! That kind of inner strength makes you unbeatable.”

“Perhaps,” admitted Oksa. “But that must really hurt!”

“Of course it does!” nodded Tugdual, with a loud peal of laughter. “Otherwise it would be too easy. There’s no such thing as a fairy-tale ending…”

“There’s no danger of forgetting that with you,” muttered Oksa, turning back to the black butterfly, which was fluttering closer.

“Young Gracious, Runaways, you should come and see this,” announced the winged Wayfinder. “I think I’ve found the way to the next level.”