The Forest of Lost Souls (18 page)

O
KSA STOOD UP IMMEDIATELY, FOLLOWED BY THE
intrigued Runaways. The butterfly flew along the bank of the lagoon, leading the small group to the waterfall.

“Here it is!”

Abakum walked over and narrowed his eyes, his nose almost touching the curtain of falling water.

“I can’t see anything…”

“Poke your head through,” advised the butterfly. “You’re completely safe as long as your body stays on this side.”

Firmly held by Leomido and Pierre, Abakum followed the insect’s advice and put his head under the waterfall. Water pounded on his back, splashing the Runaways. A few seconds later he withdrew his head.

“Well?” asked Oksa, unable to wait a second longer.

Abakum wiped his face briefly and grimly replied:

“Well, my friends, I think we’re going to need all our courage and strength to endure the next ordeal.”

“May I see?” implored Oksa immediately.

“Of course,” agreed Abakum, sounding resigned.

Gripped tightly by her father and Pierre, Oksa put her head through the waterfall. She soon forgot the water beating down on her shoulders when she saw the bleak landscape on the other side—a vast, hostile plain covered in greyish, almost black dust, and scoured by violent flurries of
ash, stretched as far as she could see. Above it, a sky marbled with dark veins was split by flashes of pitch-black lightning which cast an
unsettling
glow over the deeply fissured ground. This frightening sight was accompanied by a deafening noise, which sounded like loud drum rolls interspersed with plaintive squealing. Horrified, Oksa withdrew her head from the waterfall and blinked, dazzled by the gentle radiance of their aptly named little paradise.

“What a horrible place…” she muttered.

“That’s the Endless Barrens,” explained the butterfly.

When they heard this, Reminiscens and Gus groaned apprehensively. Oksa looked at them in concern, aware that they were—for different reasons—the most vulnerable members of the group. It upset her to see that Reminiscens’s fortitude had been so badly undermined by her solitary wanderings in the picture. The elegant woman looked so tired and drawn, clinging to Leomido’s arm as if it were a lifebelt. How would she cope in the arid land waiting for them on the other side of the
waterfall
? And what about Gus? Despite being stronger and younger, he was actually more at risk than Reminiscens, who was still a Firmhand and a Werewall. Gus was just an Outsider and that made a huge difference: he possessed no magic powers and was entirely dependent on the others for protection from the continual dangers that beset them. Oksa’s gaze strayed to the Lunatrixa’s small grave. She shivered and, as if he could read her mind, Abakum walked over.

“We’re in a very perilous situation,” he said softly and sadly. “But we must do our utmost to avoid another tragedy and get out of this mess alive. It’s perfectly normal to be afraid, but don’t forget how many clear advantages we have: your father and his Ink Dragon, Leomido who has Gracious blood flowing through his veins, Reminiscens and Pierre with their Firmhand powers, Tugdual and his many gifts…”

“Not to mention a great big millstone around your neck,” broke in Gus crossly.

“Not to mention Gus, who’s proved time and time again how important
he is in keeping Oksa on an even keel when she has a tendency to
overreact
,” added Abakum firmly. “Everyone has their part to play.”

“Particularly as we’re all in the same boat,” remarked Tugdual with a shrug.

“Exactly!” nodded Abakum. “And let me remind you, Gus, that you weren’t the only one targeted by the sirens.”

“That’s true!” exclaimed Oksa. “Think about it. Even though Abakum is the Fairyman and I’m the Gracious, they didn’t treat us any differently.”

Gus agreed between clenched teeth, scuffing the ground with his heel.

“Hey, look at that! I just managed to shut Gus up!” announced Oksa, rubbing her hands together.

“That’s quite enough from you, show-off,” grumbled Gus, hiding a smile behind a strand of hair.

“And you, young lady,” continued Abakum, placing his hands firmly on Oksa’s shoulders, “mustn’t forget the most important thing: you’re the Young Gracious.”

Oksa frowned and gnawed at her lower lip.

“Yes… maybe… but I don’t feel like that’s an advantage. I can’t do very much compared to all of you.”

“Uh oh, it looks like our Lil’ Gracious has caught the ‘acute Gussonitis’ virus,” remarked Tugdual sarcastically. Abakum’s grey eyes looked deep into Oksa’s.

“It isn’t what you can do that’s important,” he said reassuringly. “It’s what you represent, as well as your potential. You aren’t always aware of it, but you’re our biggest asset, Oksa.” The Runaways nodded, looking thoughtful.

“Are you interested in any information about the next level?” asked the Squoracle suddenly, breaking the silence.

“See, Gus, that’s what I meant when I said we all have our part to play,” murmured Abakum with a wink. “Of course, Squoracle, we’re all ears!” he said, turning to the tiny hen.

“This level boasts some very extreme, and therefore very unpleasant,
weather conditions. The temperature is wonderful—around forty-five degrees centigrade—but when there is zero humidity, idyllic temperatures like this can cause intense suffering.”

“What do you mean?” asked Oksa immediately.

“I mean there’s no trace of water at all. It is totally, absolutely and utterly dry!” exclaimed the Squoracle. “I’ve never seen anything like it, but it doesn’t bode well at all, if you ask me. From what I can make out, the air is clogged with particles of very fine dust, like soot. We’ll have to protect ourselves from it, otherwise we’ll suffocate. I hope one of you will offer me the protection of a pocket, as I have no wish to die…” Abakum agreed and invited the Squoracle to continue.

“Other than that, I should warn you about the ground: it’s covered in bottomless fissures. If anyone falls into one, they’ll be lost for ever.”

“Great,” muttered Gus.

“What do you mean by bottomless fissures?” again asked Oksa. The Squoracle rolled its eyes and fidgeted irritably.

“It’s not rocket science!” it snapped. “There’s no bottom! You fall and whoosh, infinity awaits. The void! Nothingness!”

“Okay,” said Oksa flatly. “Well, we’ll do our best not to fall…”

“If only it were that easy!” retorted the Squoracle. “Anyway, once you’ve got through this level—if you succeed—you’ll reach the Sanctuary of the Soul-Searcher.”

“The Sanctuary is an ordeal in itself,” added the black butterfly. “The most important one too, because that’s where you’ll find out whether you will be Disimpictured or not.”

“I’ve got a bone to pick with that lousy Soul-Searcher!” complained Oksa. “I’ve a good mind to present it with an Inflammatoria—a few flames might teach it a lesson.”

“That’s as may be, but it might be a good idea to gather as many
provisions
as we can,” said Abakum. “We’ll need fruit and, most importantly, water… As for the dust, I suggest we use the plants I spotted over there, under those rocks in the shade. If memory serves, they’re Spongiphyles,
a kind of sponge with thousands of tiny holes, which makes them ideal as air filters. I’ll make some masks, which will come in extremely useful, I fear.”

Gus looked at him in alarm.

“You mean we’re going into that hellhole
now
?” he sputtered.

“What’s the point of waiting?” remarked Tugdual.

“It’s easy for you to say!” retorted Gus. “You’ll be in your element. The creepier the place, the better you like it.”

Tugdual shrugged and looked away.

“Contrary to what you might think, I’m not thrilled about what’s waiting for us,” he replied gravely.

“This is no time for arguing,” said Pavel. “Tugdual’s right: there’s nothing to be gained by waiting.”

“It’s so nice here…” murmured Oksa.

“Yes, it is,” agreed Pavel, grasping her hand. “But we want to get out of this picture more than anything, don’t we? And we won’t do that by staying here.”

There was no disputing his logic. Pavel was right and everyone knew it. Backing up his friend, Abakum took out his Granok-Shooter and uttered in a ringing voice:

He held the large jellyfish which had just emerged from the Granok-Shooter under the waterfall. Water surged into the Reticulata, filling it to the brim and making its transparent walls bulge under the pressure. Following his example, the Runaways each got out their Granok-Shooters and said the magic words, before plunging every Reticulata into the
waterfall
. Meanwhile, curbing his frustration, Gus had positioned himself under the trees, which were trying to outdo each other by lowering branches laden with fruit into his hand. When every Runaway’s bag was full to
bursting, he lingered a minute on the Lunatrixa’s grave, overwhelmed with grief. He wanted to say something—a thank you? an apology? a promise?—but the words stuck in his throat, almost suffocating him. Then, eyes downcast, he rejoined his friends, who were waiting for him.

“Come on, son,” said his father. “You can carry my bag of
provisions
—it’s my turn to carry the Incompetent,” he added, adjusting the harness for the creature.

Perched on Pierre’s back, the Incompetent looked around with a dazed expression.

“Where’s that nice lady who wears plaits around her head?” it asked. “I lived with her before moving here, and I haven’t seen her for ages… I hope she isn’t dead!”

Taken aback, Pavel rubbed his face, while Oksa looked at the Runaways, feeling a surge of panic at the thought that it might be a premonition. As if reading her mind, Abakum reassured her immediately:

“The Incompetent doesn’t have hunches,” he declared in what was meant to be a firm voice. “This creature has certain qualities and powers, but seeing into the future isn’t one of them, so don’t worry.”

However, Oksa sensed that the Incompetent’s remark had upset more than one of the Runaways, particularly her father. Even Abakum seemed rattled, despite his apparent confidence. Driving the nail of doubt deeper into their hearts, the Squoracle popped its tiny head out of the Fairyman’s jacket, where it had taken up residence, and squawked loudly:

“The Felons are calling the shots and their power is increasing with every passing minute!”

Abakum stuffed the little hen back in his jacket and resolutely strode towards the waterfall. The Runaways, armed with their diaphanous balls of water shimmering in the sun, held hands and followed the Fairyman. Oksa couldn’t help glancing once more at the small mound where the Lunatrixa had been laid to rest. She blew her one last kiss, before being pulled through the watery curtain by her father.

A
FTER BEING CONFINED TO BED FOR TWO DAYS
, D
RAGOMIRA
was recuperating slowly from the violent attack by the three Felons. With her talents as an apothecary, she’d been able to treat her physical wounds, particularly the many cuts caused by Catarina’s Tornaphyllon Granok and the devastating effects of Mercedica’s hefty punch. However, no potion or balm could raise Baba Pollock’s spirits. Nothing worse could have happened: not only had the Felons kidnapped Marie—which was a tragedy in itself—but they now also had the medallion and a Goranov plant.

“What a fool I am,” she sighed for the hundredth time that day.

Lying on a sofa, she watched with tear-filled eyes as Zoe applied Spinollias to the deep gashes on her arms.

“The Old Gracious should not condemn herself with these reproaches,” objected the Lunatrix.

“I was so rash,” continued the old lady, patting her swollen eye. “You see, my Lunatrix, I just made things worse with my over-inflated pride.”

“The domestic staff of your Old Gracious does not have understanding of this blame,” added the Lunatrix. “Pride is not the cause of the tragedy: the Felons hold a responsibility which no one can ignore.”

Dragomira sighed again. She struggled to sit up, aching all over. Quietly, Zoe hurried to prop her up against some cushions and looked at her sadly.

“Perhaps… Probably,” continued Dragomira. “But if I hadn’t been so sure I was strong enough to deal with those traitors, I’d have asked for
help and none of this would have happened. I wanted to prove that I was stronger than them. But I have to face facts: I’m just an old woman way past her prime.”

The Lunatrix came over and gazed at her with his big blue eyes. He looked heartsick, with bowed shoulders and colourless skin.

“Harshness is abusive,” he observed. “The Old Gracious is first and foremost the Old Gracious.”

“That’s profound, that is!” said the dishevelled Getorix, jumping onto the back of Dragomira’s sofa. “Bravo major-domo!”

“Sarcasm does not damage the heart of the Lunatrix,” retorted the plump creature. “It does not even reach its periphery.”

“Hey, servant, why are you looking so colourless?” asked the Getorix mockingly. The Lunatrix sniffled and slumped onto the carpet.

“The Lunatrix pair is shattered,” he said hoarsely.

Alarmed, Dragomira sat up on the edge of the sofa and seized the small creature’s pudgy hands.

“The female double has experienced the loss of her mind,” continued the Lunatrix, curling into an even smaller ball. “Reunion is abolished.”

“That isn’t possible!” exclaimed Baba Pollock in horror.

“That’s terrible news!” boomed Naftali in his deep voice.

The imposing Swede was standing with his wife at the door to Dragomira’s apartment. They both walked over to the Lunatrix and knelt down in front of him to stroke his large, silky head.

“You mean that the Lunatrixa is…” ventured Zoe, without daring to utter the fatal word.

“Ageless Fairies banished from their community have subtracted the soul of the beloved Lunatrixa,” confirmed the Lunatrix, letting fat, round tears flow freely down his cheeks.

“That can’t be true,” murmured Brune, gazing tearfully at the small, hunched creature.

“The risk of loss has accomplished its fusion with reality.”

The sympathetic Getorix hurried over to hand the Lunatrix a hanky.
Saddened by this revelation, it stood in front of him and hugged him.

“I’ve never thought you were just an ordinary servant, you know,” it said abruptly to hide its sadness. “Hey, come to think of it, one of your delicious cheese and ham toasties would go down a treat!” it added, changing the subject.

The Lunatrix stood up obediently and headed for the kitchen, where he busied himself with a great banging and crashing of crockery. Anxious to make up for its tactlessness, the Getorix tried to make him feel better by telling him jokes of its own devising. But the Lunatrix’s heart wasn’t in it—he remained unresponsive, locked in his grief. Dragomira stood up with a groan and, leaning heavily on the arm Zoe offered, went over to the miserable creature.

“You knew from the start, didn’t you?”

“The two Lunatrixes had the knowledge of the subtraction of their other half before the arrival in the picture,” he said, looking at Dragomira. “Their heart was prepared for endless separation, but not for the pain.”

“And neither of you said anything?” murmured Dragomira, taking him in her arms.

“The Old Gracious must not be forgetting that the Lunatrixes do not offer communication of what they know unless questioning is performed,” replied the Lunatrix with a sob. “An absence of interrogation brings the consequence of an absence of broadcasting.”

“Of course… it was unforgivable of me. I should have asked you what you knew before Impicturement.”

“To know and to say what one knows does not prevent destiny from striking without mercy whomever it chooses…”

“But we wouldn’t have made the Lunatrixa enter the picture!” exclaimed the old lady with tears in her eyes.

“My Lunatrixa received the appointment from destiny to practise the rescue of an Impictured Runaway. Her obedience was complete because choice has no existence.”

“No one can escape their destiny,” said Zoe softly, deeply moved.

“The friend of the Young Gracious possesses exactitude in her heart,” agreed the Lunatrix weakly.

His head fell back onto Dragomira’s shoulder and she staggered under the weight of her small steward. Naftali rushed over to help Zoe support Baba Pollock and all three took the Lunatrix over to a sofa.

“I do hope he’ll get over this,” whispered Zoe.

The Lunatrix turned to look at her.

“The friend of the Young Gracious has hope in her mouth and her wish will encounter satisfaction,” he announced, sounding exhausted. “The heart of the Lunatrix will remain ripped to shreds until the egress of his life, but his longevity will experience continuation.”

“I’m sorry to have to ask you this, my Lunatrix,” continued Dragomira looking troubled. “But—”

“The Lunatrix has knowledge of the anxiety of the Old Gracious,” broke in the creature. “The Runaways will make a return that is almost complete, that is a certainty.”

“Almost complete?” repeated Naftali in alarm, while Dragomira’s face fell.

“Eternal disappearance will occur again,” replied the Lunatrix. Dragomira gave a heart-rending cry:

“WHO? TELL ME WHO?”

“An Impictured Runaway will make surrender of their life. But the Lunatrix does not have knowledge of the identity. The Lunatrix is not destiny,” concluded the small, grief-stricken creature, huddled in a ball on the sofa.

This thought came as a terrible shock to the five helpless Runaways in the house on Bigtoe Square. Dragomira tottered back to her sofa, took a deep breath and shut her eyes, losing herself in dark thoughts. Brune and Naftali sat opposite on the armchairs, still in tatters after the Felons’
visit to Baba Pollock’s apartment. The elderly Scandinavian couple’s bewilderment could be read on their faces. Worn out with anxiety and hard work at the restaurant, Jeanne looked as haggard as her friends. Her large brown eyes, filled with panic, seemed to take up the whole of her face. As for Zoe, a strange feeling of emptiness came over her. A feeling she’d experienced a few months earlier when she’d lost her parents, then her gran Reminiscens and, finally, her great-uncle, Orthon-McGraw. They’d all disappeared so suddenly, taking a piece of her with them. There was no pain—she just felt numb. It was a highly personal defence mechanism that Zoe had created to cope with her profound
unhappiness
: survival by emptiness. Perhaps it was made easier by her Firmhand origins? Or the part of her that was descended from the Werewalls? Or the Graciouses? Maybe all three, she thought, surprised by her own cool reaction. Sitting to one side, she watched Jeanne, Naftali, Brune and Dragomira. She knew how worried they were. The Knuts had to be thinking about their grandson, Tugdual, and Jeanne about her husband and son. As for Dragomira, her son, granddaughter and brother were imprisoned in that picture. Who were the people she might think about? Her gran? Leomido, her brand-new grandfather? Gus? She forced herself to picture them, even though the pain might be unbearable. So bad she might never recover. This nudge to her memory brought her gran’s face to her mind’s eye…

She clearly remembered the last time she’d seen Reminiscens. It had been a Thursday and the weather had been glorious—only a few wisps of fluffy cloud in the sky. They’d walked briskly to school—Reminiscens always took her to school and met her afterwards. They’d kissed goodbye, wishing each other a good day, and Zoe had gone off to class. But that evening her gran hadn’t been waiting for her after school. Orthon, her great-uncle, had been there. His black eyes had gleamed with a strange
sadness when he’d told her that Reminiscens had drowned. This news, following hard on the horror of losing her parents in a plane crash a few months earlier, had stolen all the happiness from Zoe’s heart.

After this tragedy, Orthon’s family had welcomed her in. Everyone was very kind to her. Her great-aunt Barbara, who was a sweet-natured, affectionate woman, suffered from depression. She missed her native United States badly. Her cousin Mortimer was as protective and as kind as a real brother. And, despite his stern nature, her great-uncle Orthon made sure she lacked for nothing and she became accustomed to his brooding expression as he watched her with a strange curiosity. The three McGraws were her only family and her gratitude soon turned to deep affection.

Once she was living with them, Zoe reluctantly witnessed the
arguments
which often blew up between Orthon and Barbara over subjects which obviously had nothing to do with her—much to her great relief. It was always to do with something called Edefia and about Orthon going too far. It had been hard for her to understand everything then and she’d even thought that Edefia was a woman with whom Orthon might have had an affair! Now she knew all about the Pollocks and the Runaways—she was one of them now—she understood why Barbara and Orthon had fought so violently. But that hadn’t been the case at the time… One evening she’d come home from school and had walked in on Mortimer and Barbara in tears in the living room. Barbara was yelling and Zoe hadn’t understood what was going on. She’d simply realized that something serious had happened in the McGraw household.

That was the last time she’d seen them.