The Heart of Two Worlds

by Anne Plichota

  A different image suddenly appeared on the wall. Oksa smothered a groan as she recognized her mother’s face. The shot zoomed out to show a rustic house behind Pavel, who was surrounded by many of the Runaways, all of whom looked about fifteen years younger. Pavel and Marie, radiant in their wedding outfits, were bathed in sunshine and glowing with happiness. They waltzed around the open-air dance floor gazing into each other’s eyes and Oksa’s heart swelled with love as her mother’s laugh rang out. She was so lovely… She missed her so much…

  The Camereye leapt forward in time, showing Oksa’s parents a few years later, as could be seen by the decor of the Pollocks’ Parisian apartment. Sitting on a sofa, his hand resting on Marie’s rounded stomach, Pavel was leaning back, looking thoughtful. In front of them, Dragomira appeared to be making tea.

  “What about calling her Oksa,” said Marie. “That’s a pretty name, isn’t it?”

  A shadow darkened Pavel’s face. “It might be a boy…”

  “I’m sure it’s a girl! She’ll be gorgeous and intelligent and we’ll love her to bits and live happily ever after.”

  She gave him a tender look, then nudged him with her shoulder.

  “When will you stop worrying so much? It’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

  The Camereye suddenly winked out with a crack, like a small explosion of light, ushering in a heavy silence. Oksa thought about the contrast between Orthon and herself. The love—or lack of love—from the people who’d brought them into the world had shaped their lives. It had made them who they were and had become an inextricable part of their destiny. Such an imperceptible power was both frightening and fascinating. Her heart full of resolve, Oksa turned to Dragomira and repeated Marie’s final words:

  “It’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

  Dragomira nodded knowingly.

  “I’m sure it will, Dushka…”

  5

  THE NEW RUNAWAYS

  THE PLAN WAS TO SET OFF FOR THE ISLAND IN THE SEA of the Hebrides the next morning.

  “Let’s not put it off any longer,” Pavel had said, with a glance at the black skies and torrential rain.

  The house was buzzing with activity. The creatures and plants belonging to Abakum, Dragomira and Leomido had been enjoying a noisy reunion—some of them hadn’t seen each other since Leomido had moved to Great Britain, several decades ago. With the exception of the three Incompetents, which were content to be idle bystanders, all creatures with wings or legs were rushing about in excitement. Despite their enforced immobility, the exuberant plants were making just as much noise as their feathered and furred companions. Even the sensible, authoritarian Centaury couldn’t help joining in. Oksa was listening with some enjoyment to four Goranovs talking in doom-laden tones about the Felons’ abduction of Dragomira’s specimen.

  “Will they know how to look after it properly?” asked one.

  This was followed by a piteous discussion about the different techniques for extracting Goranov sap and their respective repercussions.

  “The Felons are so cruel… If they don’t milk our companion, it will die in terrible, and needless, agony, that’s for sure!”

  “Our species is facing extinction…”

  Emotions were running high and all four plants had the same reaction: they fainted, appalled by the harrowing fate of their unfortunate former companion and their own uncertain future. In another part of the house, huddled in front of the huge fireplace, the tiny Squoracles, true to form, were complaining endlessly about the terrible weather. Not that anyone would disagree… fresh disasters were spreading panic throughout the world: an abnormally hot undersea current in the Pacific was disrupting incoming tides, causing flooding along the west coast of the United States. Things were no better above ground either, as various parts of the globe were being hit by colossal tornadoes. The whole planet was suffering and the worse things became, the more damage the elements inflicted.

  “I never thought it would happen so fast,” murmured Abakum, his eyes glued to images of global chaos on the television. “Oh, there you are, Oksa!” he said, noticing her.

  “Do you think we’ll succeed?” she asked anxiously.

  The Fairyman turned and looked gravely into her eyes. “We must!” he said, a hint of anger in his voice. “I can’t believe this could be—”

  He broke off with a lump in his throat, unable to continue.

  “…the end?” asked Oksa, finishing his sentence.

  By way of an answer, he put his arm round the Young Gracious’s shoulders and led her into the huge living room. The Tumble-Bawler and Veloso had spared no effort in finding Runaways to join the “Island of the Felons” expedition. They’d all now arrived at Leomido’s Welsh home, forming a tight-knit community that resembled a small army. Some twenty people had teamed up with the core members of the group—Abakum, the Pollocks, the Knuts, the Bellangers, Reminiscens and her granddaughter, Zoe. Although they had all led very different lives since leaving Edefia, they shared the same origins and they all had one desire: to work together to help the Young Gracious return to Edefia. She was the only one who could gain entrance to their lost land, and the future of the world and its billions of inhabitants depended on her success. Oksa walked into the lofty room followed by Abakum and all conversations immediately stopped. The Runaways who didn’t see her on a daily basis jumped up from their chairs and bowed in respect. She awkwardly muttered a few words of welcome and shot her father a despairing look. Pavel smiled encouragingly, aware of the burden of responsibility his beloved daughter had to shoulder. Oksa scanned the sea of unfamiliar faces gazing deferentially at her and her gaze alighted on Gus, who was standing in the darkest corner of the room with Zoe. At first glance, Gus looked miserable, but Oksa, who knew him better than that, wasn’t fooled—his downturned mouth was a clear sign of annoyance. Mustering all her courage, she began walking over to him to declare her friendship in front of everyone but, after a few steps, she came up against an invisible barrier. She glanced at Zoe quizzically in surprise. Her second cousin had raised her hand in front of her to stop Oksa advancing and, like a guardian angel, was shaking her head. Oksa blushed to the roots of her hair. Zoe was right… this was neither the time nor the place. Annoyed at her own insensitivity, she turned round and took refuge beside her father.

  “We’re all together at last!” said Dragomira, her voice shaking. “Oksa, sweetheart, let me introduce you to the Runaways who’ve just joined us.”

  Oksa already knew Leomido’s children, Cameron and Galina. She’d only met them three times before and the last occasion had been with their father a few months ago, when the Pollocks had moved to Bigtoe Square. So much had happened since then… In his mid-fifties, Cameron had his father’s gaunt face and penetrating eyes. His lean frame displayed the supple elegance of Malorane’s descendants and Oksa couldn’t help seeing a resemblance to Orthon. Virginia, his wife, an unassuming, delicate-looking woman, was standing quietly by his side. Although Cameron hadn’t found out about his origins until late in life, he’d always suspected he wasn’t like other people. Truthfulness and wariness had always been his watchwords in life: truthfulness towards his family and wariness towards the rest of the world. As a result, he’d made no secret of the Runaways’ lot to his wife and sons, three young men with mournful eyes and a very English air of refinement.

  Galina was three years younger than her brother Cameron and, due to some genetic quirk, was the image of Dragomira—a resemblance only enhanced by her sparkling blue eyes and long plaits intricately woven into a heavy bun. She’d fallen madly in love with Andrew, a handsome and intelligent minister, when still very young and, fortunately for Galina, Andrew had been open-minded enough to accept her remarkable origins. They’d married and their two daughters were now in their early twenties. Oksa remembered them as a fun-loving, slightly eccentric family with a robust sense of humour—nothing like the people anxiously studying her now with drawn faces. The Young Gracious couldn’t help thinking about all th
e lives that had been turned upside down by the threat of extinction and their headlong flight—all those abandoned houses and unsaid goodbyes… Would she prove worthy of the Runaways’ trust?

  “Thank you for joining us,” said Dragomira, overwhelmed with emotion at being in the same room as her beloved Leomido’s children and grandchildren.

  “Despite the dire circumstances, it’s an honour to help you, Young Gracious,” said Cameron, his eyes bright.

  “Our place is here,” added Galina gravely. “We’re Runaways, whether we like it or not!”

  “Even if some of us are only Runaways by marriage, everyone counts, don’t they?” added Andrew, glaring at his sullen daughters.

  “Absolutely!” agreed Abakum gratefully. “We’re indebted to all of you for coming.”

  Bodkin—the former Firmhand industrialist who had retrained as a master goldsmith in South Africa—and Cockerell—Edefia’s former Treasurer, and now a banker—greeted Oksa in their turn. Making the most of the prevailing chaos, these two smartly dressed old men had travelled thousands of miles to join the Runaways by means they’d never have dared to use normally. Sheer necessity had forced them to abandon all precaution: the Outsiders were so busy coping with disaster after disaster that they were unlikely to have batted an eyelid if they’d seen someone running improbably fast or shooting through the clouds. Even if they’d been seen, what would have happened? All over the world, people had one overriding concern: to find shelter from seawater floods, erupting volcanoes and cataclysmic earthquakes. These highly respected dignitaries were standing beside Feng Li, another Runaway born and bred, and Cockerell’s wife and son, Akina and Takashi. Three more pairs of dark, almond-shaped eyes staring enigmatically at Oksa.

  6

  THE ICE QUEEN

  EVEN BEFORE DRAGOMIRA INTRODUCED NAFTALI AND Brune’s eldest son, Oksa had no difficulty recognizing Olof Knut, who was as tall, solemn and charismatic as his father. Standing behind his wife—the statuesque, golden-haired daughter of two Runaways—he looked ready to brave a thousand perils. It was the striking couple’s daughter, though, who gave Oksa pause for thought. Tugdual’s cousin was about fifteen years old and a typical Scandinavian beauty. Dressed from head to toe in beige—jeans and baggy cable-knit jumper—her translucent complexion offset by dark brown lipstick, she was as radiant as fresh snow. Oksa immediately named her the “Ice Queen”, feeling inexplicably troubled. Kukka favoured her with a chilly yet inquisitive gaze. The Young Gracious shivered, rather daunted by her startling beauty, while Dragomira was reminding everyone about the close ties between the Pollocks and the Knuts. Kukka’s gaze slid away from Oksa and alighted on Tugdual, who’d just walked over. Kukka’s face immediately lit up with an icy smile.

  “And here’s my beloved cousin,” she said, straightening up.

  Her clear, clipped voice cut through the air like a broken shard of crystal. Quick as a flash, she grabbed a vase from the table she was leaning against and hurled it at Tugdual, who just had time to duck to one side to avoid being hit in the face. The china exploded against the wall, shattering into a thousand pieces. Oksa screamed, while Kukka’s parents cried out in indignation.

  “That’s some welcome, little cousin!” said Tugdual, sidling closer, hands in pockets and a mocking expression in his eyes.

  Fragments of china crunched under the soles of his heavy shoes.

  “I’ll have you know I’m taller than you!” Kukka retorted.

  She took a couple of steps forward to stand in front of him so everyone could see she was really a couple of inches taller than him, which didn’t faze Tugdual at all—on the contrary.

  “I wasn’t talking about height, little cousin, but maturity,” he answered smugly.

  “That’s rich coming from you!” retorted the Ice Queen, tossing back her mane of blonde hair. “Ruining the lives of your entire family is a brilliant way of showing how mature you are! Thanks a million, cousin, on behalf of all the Knuts…”

  This time it looked as though her barb had hit home. Tugdual went pale and took a step back, his fists clenched. His face was gaunt and his nostrils quivered, as if he were struggling for air. Oksa would have given anything to be able to soften the blow dealt by Kukka’s remark. The other Runaways filed out of the room in embarrassment, leaving the Knuts alone. Oksa was the only one who couldn’t contain her curiosity. Although she reluctantly went out, she sat down on the steps of the main staircase in the shadowy hall so that she could watch them unseen.

  “In case you’ve forgotten,” continued Kukka spitefully, “may I remind you that my aunt Helena—who also happens to be your mother, remember?—struggled with severe depression after her darling son decided he was a great black magician. Ring any bells? Or that, due to the selfishness of that pseudo-magician and his dubious experiments, eight people were forced to flee a country they loved, where they were doing just fine…”

  “Kukka!” thundered Olof.

  “He ought to know, Dad!” spat Kukka. “It’s been much too easy for him to bury his head in the sand. We had a nice, peaceful life before his nibs began having sordid dreams of glory. He put us all in danger. Because of him, none of us was safe in Finland. Do you think that’s fair? I lost everything because of him—my country, my school, my friends, everything! And what did he lose? His friends? He didn’t have any… who’d want to be friends with a monster like him?”

  “Kukka, if Tugdual is a monster, then we all are!” boomed Naftali.

  “I’m not!” growled Kukka. “I’m normal!”

  There was a murmur of disapproval. Oksa had a funny feeling that she didn’t understand what was going on. How could Tugdual’s cousin be more normal than anyone else? Kukka turned and glared at Tugdual.

  “You don’t understand anything…” muttered Tugdual tonelessly.

  “I wish you’d never been part of my family!” yelled Kukka. “You ruined my life.”

  “That’s enough!” shouted her father, losing his temper.

  But a simple rebuke wasn’t going to stop Kukka, who was beside herself with anger. She walked over to Tugdual, who was rooted to the spot, and angrily jabbed her finger into his solar plexus.

  “Do you know where your father is now?” she asked nastily.

  Tugdual staggered.

  “What?” continued Kukka triumphantly, a cruel smile on her lips. “You don’t know that he’s on an oil rig in the middle of the North Sea. He ran away, my darling cousin. He ran away from all those secrets and all that madness. He ran AS FAR AWAY AS HE COULD FROM YOU!”

  Tugdual’s face seemed to crumple. They both stood there for several seconds, without moving. Kukka, bright as a snowflake, and Tugdual, with a face like thunder. Suddenly, Tugdual seized his cousin’s long golden hair and yanked her head backwards, bringing his face a couple of inches from hers.

  “Never mention my father again!” he hissed, carefully enunciating each syllable.

  “MONSTER!” shouted Kukka defiantly.

  From where she sat, Oksa could hear Tugdual’s threatening strangled growl. Realizing the danger, Naftali rushed over to stop his grandson from silencing his treacherous cousin, but he was a fraction of a second too late… A flash of light blazed from Tugdual’s furious eyes and Kukka collapsed senseless in Naftali’s arms, as Olof and his wife rushed to her aid. Meanwhile Tugdual, paler than ever, leant against the wall and slid down to a sitting position on the floor. From the stairs, Oksa could see the pain etched on his face. Kukka had definitely scored a bullseye…

  “Your boyfriend certainly has a knack of causing trouble!” Gus said loudly behind her.

  Oksa jumped. Gus was bitterly eyeing her from a few steps higher. She was about to reply when a woman crossed the hall and went into the living room, carrying a little boy in her arms. Everyone fell silent, watching her as she scanned the room until she spotted Tugdual, struggling to control his anger. The toddler held his arms out towards Tugdual and cried: “Tug!”

  Tugdual looked up in amazement
and gasped. The woman set down the toddler and, moved to tears, went over to help Tugdual to his feet and put her arms around him.

  “Hello, Helena,” said Naftali, coming over.

  Oksa gave a start. Helena! Tugdual’s mother! Like Olof and his parents, she radiated a strange mixture of delicacy and strength. She was very tall with slender arms and legs and her pale face was framed by chestnut hair threaded with silver. Her eyes were filled with deep sorrow and she inspired both respect and admiration. She stopped hugging Tugdual and greeted her parents, Naftali and Brune. Nearby, Tugdual appeared to have regained his usual haughty expression. Only the dark fire blazing in his eyes—and no doubt his heart—belied his apparent indifference.

  “Here you are at last,” Naftali said emotionally to his daughter. “And you, little Till, you’ve grown so much!” he added, bending down towards the little boy who was clinging like a limpet to Tugdual’s leg.

  “I’m five now!” he declared.

  Oksa looked at Tugdual in astonishment, realizing he’d never mentioned his family. Then again, she’d never asked him much about anything, which she felt bad about. In just five minutes she’d learnt so many things… She smiled as she watched angelic little Till telling his brother about the Knuts’ eventful journey to Wales. Tugdual replied with a tenderness that amazed Oksa and made him even more irresistible.