The Forest of Lost Souls (7 page)

“What about the restaurant?” asked Oksa.

Pavel’s eyes clouded with bitterness.

“Jeanne will manage it while we’re gone.”

“So I’m coming with you, am I? It’s agreed?” continued the girl.

“I repeat that I’m dead against taking Oksa into the picture! It’s such a rash decision,” exclaimed Mercedica in annoyance. “You seem to be forgetting that she’s the Young Gracious! It’s crazy to put her in such danger… To put
US
in such danger! May I remind you that she’s the only one who can activate the opening of the Portal, which will let us back into Edefia.”

“As I was saying,” continued Pavel, doing his utmost to ignore Mercedica’s warnings, “virtually all of us have agreed that Leomido, Abakum, Pierre, you and I should be the ones who enter the picture to rescue Reminiscens and Gus.”

Oksa was speechless with surprise. It was so unreal! She didn’t know what to say, she was so overwhelmed by the contradictory feelings of fear, excitement and impatience churning inside her. Zoe looked at her sadly and gave her a weak smile of resignation and encouragement.

“You’re forgetting someone!” said Tugdual fiercely.

“Yes… I’m sorry, Tugdual,” murmured Pavel. “Tugdual is also coming with us,” he told his daughter.

“Wow…” was all that Oksa managed to say in reply.

Feeling a complete fool, she was immediately furious at herself. But, despite the awful circumstances, she was glad he was going with them.

“I’m the very Young Gracious’s Servant,” declared Tugdual, his
sapphire
eyes gazing intently at Oksa, who blushed to the roots of her hair. “Don’t ever forget that I’d do anything in the world for you.”

A
LTHOUGH
P
AVEL SAT MOTIONLESS IN HIS ARMCHAIR,
there was a storm raging in his heart—an invisible hurricane laying waste to everything in its path. His eyes, though fixed on the play of shadows from the street on the ceiling, revealed nothing of his inner turmoil. Leaning against the window, Abakum watched him gravely.

“I’m well aware of your reservations, and the huge effort you’re making in agreeing to be Impictured,” he said.

“You left me no choice…” retorted Pavel.

“None of us had a choice,” murmured Abakum. “The future of the Outside, our future and the future of everyone who follows us depend on it. And even if that’s not enough for you, there’s another reason preventing us from backing out.”

“What are you talking about? Isn’t being responsible for the future of the world enough?”

“The other reason is Marie,” replied Abakum, looking suddenly weary.

Pavel was speechless. He felt weak as a sudden wave of dizziness washed over him. His pulse raced with panic as he waited for Abakum’s explanation.

“Marie is dying,” announced the old man in a cracked voice. “The Robiga-Nervosa poison is stronger than any of the remedies that Dragomira and I know. We’ve tried everything. I’m sorry, Pavel. I’m really sorry.”

There was a frightening silence. Pavel felt as though the sky had come crashing down on his head.

“But… but…” he muttered desperately, “I thought the Vermicula were working well! And what about that remedy based on… what was its name… Lasonillia? It’s been very effective, Marie has made incredible progress, you said so yourself. She’s doing well! How can you say she’s dying? How can you tell me that, Abakum?”

His voice broke as despair claimed him. He put his head in his hands. He hadn’t felt such mind-numbing misery since his father had died. That had been in Siberia, eight years ago. Vladimir had been the grandson of the great shaman Metchkov, who’d given Dragomira, Leomido and Abakum a roof over their heads after they’d been ejected from Edefia. One icy day in December, shortly before Christmas, Vladimir had been dragged away by the KGB, the Soviet secret police. His arrest had been incredibly brutal. His wife and young son had seen him beaten up and insulted by the police before he’d been taken to a gulag where he’d been sentenced as an “enemy of the State”. Apart from the kindly inhabitants of the small Siberian village, who’d all known about the Pollocks’ “talents”, this was the first time Pavel had come into contact with Outsiders. This was also the last time he’d seen his father. A few weeks later, Dragomira received the dreadful news that Vladimir had been killed by his jailers while trying to escape. Neither Abakum nor Dragomira, nor any of the people who’d known him, believed this version of events: if Vladimir had wanted to escape, he would have done. Wasn’t he an accomplished shaman? Hadn’t he proved that he could match his wife and best friend, the Fairyman, who had such vast powers, in many fields? The
authorities
were lying: it was obvious, given the condition he’d been in when they took him away, that he’d had no strength left to do anything much, let alone escape. The truth of the matter was that Vladimir had been executed: killed like a dog because of his great powers. Pavel had never managed to get over it. Life had gone on, relentless and unstoppable, but the wound had never properly healed.

The awful news about Marie reopened this old wound. Disbelief gave way to indescribable fury and a bitter feeling of outrage—this was so unfair. Why Marie? Why the most inoffensive member of the Runaways? He hadn’t forgotten that Oksa had been the intended target of the poisoned soap, but she would have been able to defend herself against the effects of the Robiga-Nervosa despite being so young and inexperienced. Oksa… the Young Gracious watched over by the Ageless Ones… Oksa, so young and so determined, so vulnerable and yet so powerful. Oksa his only daughter and Marie his beloved wife. They were the most important people in his life. Pavel wanted to protect them so much and be a worthy father and husband. Instead, his paralysed wife was confined to bed and his daughter’s fate lay in the hands of a group of foolish old fossils. But what choice did he have? Albeit unwillingly, Abakum had struck the fatal blow with his last argument—it was a real deal-breaker.

“You’re right, Pavel,” Abakum said, his grey eyes brimming with tears. “Lasonillia, or the Imperial Flower as we call it, has worked miracles on Marie. It’s the antidote she needs.”

“So what’s the problem?” growled Pavel angrily.

“With the advent of the Great Chaos and before we were ejected into the Outside, I’d packed a selection of Edefia’s most important plants and creatures in my Boximinus,” continued the Fairyman, looking pale. “Among them was a young Lasonillia plant which I’ve struggled to keep alive. The care and attention Dragomira and I lavished on this specimen enabled us to obtain a few seedlings. But it wasn’t easy, believe you me: growing Lasonillia is complicated and demanding work, simply because the soil composition on the Outside lacks all the nutrients found in Edefia. We’ve sent for soil samples from all over the world to try to cultivate more of them and we’d thought we’d succeeded with a blend from the eastern banks of the River Amazon and the orange groves of Cordoba. This soil encouraged the seedlings to flourish, so we were able to perfect the antidote which has done so much for Marie. Indeed,
Pavel, Lasonillia is the only remedy that can save her.”

“I don’t understand… What’s the problem? You and Dragomira have come up against some obstacle, haven’t you? So what’s wrong?”

At that moment he was more afraid of the old man’s answer than anything else in the world. He knew Abakum was about to deliver an irrevocable verdict.

“Yes, we’ve found the remedy, Pavel. We’re adamant about that—” Abakum broke off once more, overcome by emotion.

“Tell me!” roared Pavel. “Tell me, please!”

Abakum gazed at him for long moments before answering.

“Two weeks ago, Marie took a dose of Lasonillia, which
considerably
improved her condition. That dose was the last. We have no more Lasonillia left, Pavel. Despite our best efforts, the last seedling didn’t survive. It died yesterday evening.”

“But… what can be done about it?” stammered Pavel, his features drawn.

“I’ve searched all over the world, but I know only one place where Lasonillia can be found,” explained the Fairyman. “A place where it grows abundantly, where you need only to stoop down and pick it.”

“We have to go there immediately! What are we waiting for?” exclaimed Pavel. Abakum placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder and, without breaking eye contact, said:

“That place is the Distant Reaches, situated in the remote plains of southern Edefia. Only there will we find the Lasonillia which can save Marie’s life.”

I
T HADN’T ESCAPED
O
KSA’S NOTICE THAT
A
BAKUM AND
Dragomira seemed very anxious. Although, in the circumstances, she supposed there were all kinds of reasons for them to be worried, her questioning nature made her suspect something even more serious and even more secret. She kept her ears open, trying to overhear snatches of the tense conversation they were having in the living room a few feet away. But, sensing they were under scrutiny, they spoke even more quietly, and she could only hear a few snippets. Feeling discouraged, the Young Gracious slumped lower in the crimson velvet sofa between her gran’s two Lunatrixes, who’d quietly sat down next to her. The two creatures gazed at her with huge, bulging eyes, waiting for her to start a
conversation
, but Oksa didn’t say a word. She just sat there, absent-mindedly stroking the downy forearm of the Lunatrix, her mind on other things. Their Impicturement was scheduled for the next morning. How strange that was… While some people were preparing to go on holiday, others were about to enter a bewitched painting.

“Each to his own destiny…” murmured Oksa, somewhat ironically.

“The words of the Young Gracious radiate sarcastic intent,” remarked the podgy little creature.

“Very perceptive, Lunatrix!” sighed Oksa, glancing at him out of the
corner of her eye. “Anyway, I’m glad the Lunatrixa will be travelling with us.”

“The Lunatrixes must never experience separation from their
mistresses.
The Graciouses represent the reason for the existence of the Lunatrixes and their accompaniment is unfailing, whatever the
conditions
. The Lunatrix is the Guardian of the Definitive Landmark, he will therefore maintain surveillance over the presence of the Old Gracious here and the Lunatrixa will escort the Young Gracious into the picture. Death will be the representation of the only separation possible.”

The mere mention of this possibility made Oksa shiver. There was no doubt it was all very exciting, but she was acutely aware of the dangers posed by this adventure and of what was at stake. The next morning, she’d be inside the bewitched picture with her father, Tugdual and a group of courageous Runaways on their way to rescue Gus. It wasn’t exactly your common-or-garden variety of experience… Even with boundless confidence and optimism, she wasn’t about to forget that there were no guarantees as to the probable outcome. But Gus’s life was at stake. And so was her mother’s. The constant treatment administered by Abakum and Dragomira—based on injections of Vermicula, which were
working
tirelessly on her nervous system—had successfully stabilized her condition, but the Robiga-Nervosa was relentless and the paralysis was spreading through her body like an unstoppable black tide. And now Oksa knew why. Lasonillia…

“Is the Young Gracious encountering anxiety?” asked the Lunatrixa, gazing inquisitively at her.

“Er… I’m just a tiny bit
terrified,
you know!” remarked Oksa with a tense laugh. “I hadn’t planned on spending my school holidays inside a deranged picture. Still, I’m sure I’ll get used to the idea. After all, we could have decided to go to Iraq or Chechnya for a complete rest. But no! That would have been far too ordinary for the Pollocks. Our tailor-made break is just what the doctor ordered! Anyway, it’ll be child’s play: we go into the schizo picture, we free Gus, then we pop over to Edefia to pick
some Lasonillia. Oh yes! And while we’re at it, we’ll save the world… Nothing like a package holiday with a difference, is there?”

The Lunatrixes didn’t say anything, they just looked bewildered by all this talk of a “package holiday with a difference”.

“I’d really like to know what they’re talking about,” she continued, looking at Abakum and Dragomira, who were still chatting in low voices. “What are they up to?”

“Ahem, ahem…” said the Lunatrix.

Oksa turned towards him, her eyes sparkling as a thought struck her.

“Oh! You know something, don’t you?” she said, tossing back her hair.

“The Lunatrix holds the knowledge of all kinds of things, the Young Gracious possesses that belief, is that not the truth?”

“I certainly do possess that belief!” said Oksa, nodding. “So tell me what you know… that I don’t.”

The Lunatrix looked around and then, reassured, leant towards the girl and rasped softly in her ear:

“The Young Gracious must receive the information that a traitor has given orders to begin surveillance of the Runaways.”

“What’s all this?” muttered Oksa, frowning.

“Treachery is at the heart of the activity, Young Gracious,” continued the Lunatrix, watched fearfully by his mate. “Treachery works at the heart of the Runaways. Interior and exterior perform the surrounding. The need for warning is severe: the Felons, like friends, have no obligation to coincide with our belief.”

“You know, Lunatrix, sometimes I find it really hard to follow what you’re saying,” remarked Oksa, scratching her head sceptically.

“But it’s crystal clear!” said a loud voice behind her, making her jump.

She turned round to see Tugdual leaning against the living-room door jamb. A lock of black hair was hiding part of his face but even though he had his head down, Oksa could see that his blue eyes were gazing intently at her. Tugdual brushed his hair away from his thin, handsome face and gave a strange half-smile, as kind as it was unsettling. Without
taking his eyes off her, he walked over and Oksa stiffened on the sofa. As for the Lunatrixes, they stood up with as much tact and discretion as they could muster and went over to curl up in the corner of the hearth.

“What the Lunatrix means is that friends and enemies are not always who you think they are,” explained Tugdual, flopping down in an
armchair
opposite Oksa.

Unlike her, he looked completely relaxed. He swung a leg over the armrest and began running his pierced tongue over his teeth with an irritating grating noise. Oksa sighed, annoyed at feeling so confused every time she was in his company. He was so unreadable. She tried to think of something to say, but the words got muddled in her head.

“So you’ve gone back to wearing your piercings, have you?” was all she managed, cursing herself for such a lame comment.

Tugdual’s eyes darkened briefly in surprise, then brightened again, reverting to that startling icy blue which—she suddenly realized—she found so attractive. She swallowed and gnawed at her lower lip, shocked by this discovery.

“Oh! You know,” replied Tugdual, “a leopard never changes its spots…”

His voice was serious, melancholy and cold as the winter wind. Tugdual aroused such conflicting feelings in her: his catlike nature and strong instincts made her feel safe, but he had another side which she found scary, almost intimidating. The only thing she was sure of was that he made her heart race whenever he was near, and that she’d never felt so confused. Oksa studied him: dressed in black from head to toe, eyebrows, ears and nose pierced with countless tiny precious stones, Tugdual looked and acted the same as when she’d first met him on the evening she’d learnt the secret of the Runaways. The only difference now was that he was watching her much more searchingly than he had before. “Oksa-san, get a grip on yourself!” she rebuked herself. She folded her legs beneath her in a bid to conceal her embarrassment.

“The most important thing is to know who you are and to accept it,” he continued.

“So who are you?” asked Oksa immediately, amazed at her own daring.

Tugdual shot her a half-surprised, half-amused glance, which made her feel as if her face was on fire. He thought for a few seconds before answering in a voice which was as throaty as that of his striking
grandmother
, Brune:

“Who am I? Do you want the official or unofficial version?”

“I want the real version,” answered Oksa boldly. “I want to know who the real Tugdual is.”

“You’re very inquisitive, Lil’ Gracious! I’m not sure you’re ready for the truth…”

“You think I’m such a baby!” retorted Oksa angrily, clenching her fists. “It’s so…
humiliating
!” Tugdual looked at her in astonishment, his lips twitching, as if about to burst out laughing. Which unexpectedly infuriated Oksa.

“You really get on my nerves,” she muttered furiously, looking away so as not to see his blue eyes burning into her.

“You really want to know then?” asked Tugdual, after a few seconds of sheer torture.

“Of course I do,” she mumbled, biting a nail.

“Well, I’m descended from two of the most eminent members of the Firmhand tribe exiled from Edefia. I have gifts which the most powerful men on this planet only dream of possessing. I could actually be the most powerful man in the world and yet I have to bury what I am deep inside because to show it would mean death for me and my family. But that also holds true for your father, your gran, Abakum or my grandparents… and for you, of course. Particularly for you… Apart from that, I’m a sixteen-year-old boy who’s drawn to the dark, hidden side of all living creatures, human or animal. Some people call me neurotic and accuse me of having a morbid obsession but, the way I look at it, darkness and moral ambiguity are like food and drink to me. They’re just a route to self-fulfilment. I can be just as good as I can be bad. I can be the most loyal friend and the vilest traitor, and I never do things by
halves. I thrive on danger and, of course, death, particularly when they allow us to transcend our mundane existence. And, since you want to know everything, meeting a certain Lil’ Gracious rescued me from a terminal state of boredom. I was about to be carried off by the spectre of world-weariness when you appeared on the scene, like a little miracle. Basically, Lil’ Gracious, it could be said that you saved me from a deadly dull demise…”

With these words, he stretched like a cat, the smug smile on his lips in sharp contrast to his icy stare. Fascinated but confused, Oksa had the unpleasant feeling that she was nothing but a plaything in his cruel claws. She thought for a couple of seconds, remembering the Lunatrix’s words of warning, before demanding:

“You say that you can be the most loyal friend and the vilest traitor… so which one are you, right now?”

“What do you think?” mocked Tugdual, teasingly.

“Don’t make yourself out to be worse than you are!” rang out Abakum’s voice suddenly.

Oksa turned round and saw the Fairyman, standing ramrod stiff in the doorway to the living room. At his side, Dragomira was looking wearily at Tugdual.

“This is our young friend’s favourite game,” explained Abakum,
walking
over to join Oksa. “He likes to make people think he’s on the wrong side when, deep down, he’s probably the most fervent defender of our cause. Isn’t that right, Tugdual?”

Tugdual’s only reply was to aim a dazzling smile at Oksa, which almost knocked her off her feet. She clenched her fists so tight that it hurt and smiled back with an expression on her face which she hoped was as dispassionate as his. Although she knew that this perplexing boy wouldn’t be so easily fooled…