The Heart of Two Worlds

by Anne Plichota

  “We can’t possibly be there already, can we?” muttered Oksa, terrified.

  “I don’t think so,” said Reminiscens. “Let’s go and ask our accomplished navigators; they’ll know where we are.”

  11

  A FRAUGHT BREAKFAST

  ABAKUM WAS IN CHARGE IN THE WHEELHOUSE. NEXT to him, his Incompetent was idly watching Dragomira’s Getorix doing its morning exercises. Nearby, Pavel was asleep in a hammock with a Squoracle nestled in the crook of his shoulder. As soon as Oksa walked into the room he opened his eyes, ringed by dark purplish shadows, and his face lit up with an exhausted smile.

  “Good morning!” said Oksa, with forced cheerfulness.

  “Morning, ladies!” chorused the two men.

  Reminiscens walked over to Abakum, who gave a slight start and looked shyly at her.

  “Is that the island?” she asked, motioning to the strip of land on the horizon.

  Her voice was trembling. Everyone held their breath, while Abakum stared out to sea.

  “No,” he replied eventually. “We’re only halfway there. That’s the Isle of Man.”

  Even though she knew it was only a brief respite, Oksa felt relieved. And she was obviously not alone, because everyone looked cheered by this news.

  “Well, I think it’s time for a hearty breakfast,” said Dragomira. “Come and give me a hand, girls. You too Pavel!”

  Baba Pollock obviously wanted to leave Reminiscens and Abakum on their own to talk in private. No one ever discussed the subject openly, but ever since the Runaways had found poor Reminiscens inside the painting, Oksa was convinced that Abakum was in love with her. She even had her own theory about it: inhibited by loyalty, the Fairyman had sacrificed his own happiness when young Leomido had confessed his love for Reminiscens in Edefia. Abakum’s feelings had remained constant, though, and he’d never stopped loving Reminiscens. It was so clear to the Young Gracious. Now that she was experiencing the pangs of first love, she could read the signs. The intensity of Abakum’s gaze when he looked at Reminiscens, the attention he lavished on her, his thoughtfulness, his jumpiness… He’d been forced to keep quiet for so long, and curb his feelings for so many years—had he ever dared to hope? Probably not. He’d stayed in the background, even when Leomido had disappeared for ever. For a second, Oksa tried to imagine what her life would be like if her feelings for Tugdual weren’t reciprocated. If Tugdual were to put his arms around someone else… She’d die, she just knew it! She looked again at Abakum’s slightly hunched figure as Reminiscens rested her hand on his forearm in a gesture of deep affection. With her long silvery hair tumbling around her radiant face, she looked like the Madonna. With his free hand, the Fairyman chastely pressed his beloved’s hand. Dragomira ushered Pavel, Zoe and Oksa out of the cabin.

  “Baba?” whispered Oksa, wanting to know more.

  “The past is dead and gone but we can always improve the present,” she replied enigmatically.

  Oksa looked at her quizzically. She’d have liked to know more, but it seemed destined to remain a private matter, since Dragomira was already changing the subject.

  “I could murder a nice hot cup of tea!” exclaimed Baba Pollock.

  “I’d need several pints of the stuff to recover from last night,” declared Pavel, pulling a face. “There’s no two ways about it, I’m getting much too old for this lark.”

  “Poor old fogey,” teased Oksa.

  She tried to glance back into the wheelhouse, but Dragomira had already closed the door. Well, it was worth a try…

  “Can you manage or would you like to lean your weary old bones on me, Dad?” she asked in the same vein.

  “Come here then, you sarky so-and-so!” replied Pavel, playing along. “What about you, Zoe? Will you lend an arm to help your prehistoric uncle too? I need all the support I can get in my decrepit old age.”

  He tousled their hair affectionately, and the three of them followed Dragomira towards the centre of the ship.

  When they walked into the mess room, almost all the Runaways were already sitting around a table laden with a gargantuan breakfast zealously prepared by the three Lunatrixes. The Fortensky clan was there, along with the Knuts and Cockerell’s family. As soon as Oksa came through the door the room fell silent, which did nothing to put the Young Gracious at ease. She met Tugdual’s deceptively casual but irresistibly intense gaze and was unable to stop her cheeks flushing bright red and her heart racing. “Well done, Oksa-san!” she thought angrily. “Now everyone knows you’re crazy about him.”

  “Hiya, Lil’ Gracious,” said Tugdual, chewing on a piece of toast thickly spread with marmalade.

  On the other side of the table, Kukka looked Oksa up and down, sniggering mockingly. Oksa was flustered. Kukka made her feel like a boring, stupid fool infatuated by a boy who was toying with her, like a cat with a mouse. She couldn’t seem to shake off that mental picture of a mouse… Kukka haughtily tossed back her luxuriant blonde hair and her beautiful eyes bored into Oksa’s. Oksa felt stung, as if Kukka had just poured vinegar into the wound she’d inflicted, and she shivered. Tugdual’s face darkened when he realized that his vindictive cousin was upsetting Oksa, and he quickly intervened: with a flick of his finger, he sent the roll she was buttering with excessive care flying into the air. She gave a yell of rage and hurled her plate at him, which he easily ducked with a mocking smile.

  “My respects, Young Gracious!” broke in Cameron, putting a halt to the quarrel between the two warring cousins.

  In complete contrast to Kukka’s haughty glare, Leomido’s son was gazing at Oksa with a deferential, almost fascinated, expression in his eyes, which made Oksa feel much better. She sat down at the breakfast table and took refuge behind a huge bowl of tea.

  “The honour is entire to welcome you to this refectory,” said Dragomira’s Lunatrix, greeting the three new arrivals. “Your domestic staff has multiplied his efforts to sheathe the taste buds and stomachs of the Runaways in satisfaction.”

  “I don’t doubt it, my dear Lunatrix,” answered Dragomira gratefully.

  “Your physiognomies make demonstration of great exhaustion and strong agitation,” remarked the little creature, his attention fixed on Pavel in particular.

  “My thoughts exactly,” agreed Dragomira, looking at the Runaways’ haggard faces.

  “But we all know you have a small phial hidden in the folds of your dress that will revive us. Isn’t that the case, my dear mother?”

  “That’s my son,” Dragomira said confidingly to lighten the mood. “He knows me better than I know myself… And what would you suggest, clever clogs?” she asked Pavel with a grin.

  “Well, even though your Elixir of Betony is marvellous, I’d have to go for your phenomenal Fortifax Concentrate this time,” replied Pavel, his tone half serious, half playful. “We’ll need something strong to help us recover from the interminable night we’ve had.”

  Agreeing with his choice, Dragomira rummaged around in the pockets of her voluminous grey wool dress and produced a tiny bottle. Then, walking around the table behind the Runaways, she added a few drops of opaque liquid to their bowls, making them pull faces and wrinkle their noses in disgust.

  “I feel much better already!” exclaimed Oksa, her eyes shining.

  “Your gran’s a real witch,” added Naftali.

  And he wasn’t alone in thinking that. The weariness that had been etched on the Runaways’ faces a few seconds ago was visibly fading: an invigorating surge of energy flooded their veins. Feeling revived, Oksa took a thick slice of brioche, then examined her father opposite. The Fortifax Concentrate had smoothed away the dark rings under his eyes, but they were still full of anxiety.

  Surreptitiously, Oksa turned to look at Tugdual. He’d clearly distanced himself by stuffing earphones in his ears and turning up the volume on his MP3 as high as it would go. He looked cold and unreachable and it upset Oksa to see him like that. She knew it was just an inscrutable facade. She was desperate to go over and s
nuggle up against him—just the thought of it made her head reel. She remembered Kukka’s scornful glance—she obviously thought she was just a stupid child and, what was worse, she might be right… And these feelings of uncertainty were chipping away at her confidence. For the first time in her life, Oksa felt unsure of herself. Her mind was seething with questions, even though she knew this was hardly the best time to be distracted by such matters. Although she didn’t regard herself as all that pretty, she knew she had a bubbly personality and was quite clever. But so were a lot of people. Looking at Kukka, she felt as though her best qualities were dull as ditchwater. What was happening to her? She was suddenly assailed by the fear that she might not be good enough and she came out in a cold sweat. She glanced again at Tugdual, who’d retreated into his own shell, and suddenly felt depressed. The seeds of doubt, which had been sown a few days ago, began to take root. Suddenly, as if he sensed her fears, Tugdual finally looked up. A slight frown creased his forehead and a look of concern darkened his steely eyes. The next minute, he reknotted his black scarf around his neck and his face resumed its aloof expression, leaving Oksa to struggle with her inner demons in front of Kukka, who was sardonically watching the scene.

  Zoe was the first one to point out that the Bellangers weren’t there. At the mention of Gus’s name, Oksa jumped and blanched. She was a horrible person. She gnawed her lip until it bled, appalled that she’d forgotten her closest friend. She was just about to get up and find out how he was when the Bellangers burst into the mess room with Bodkin and Feng Li. Oksa was even more annoyed with herself when she saw how dreadful Gus looked—his skin had a greenish tinge and his eyes were wild. Even Tugdual seemed shocked at how much Gus had changed.

  “Good Lord, what on earth is wrong with you, lad?” cried Dragomira, jumping up from her chair and going over to him.

  “He’s seasick,” said Pierre. “Oksa’s already given him Abakum’s Brugmansia remedy.”

  “I don’t feel seasick any more, Dad,” broke in Gus, holding his head.

  He turned to Oksa. As if smudged by the brush of an evil painter, his eyes, which were usually so blue, looked like the bottom of a murky swamp.

  “The remedy worked like a dream, Oksa, thank you,” he croaked. “It’s just this awful pain…”

  He just had time to grab his mother’s arm to stop himself from falling. Some of the Runaways cried out in surprise, others, led by Oksa, rushed to hold him up.

  “What’s the matter with him?” she cried, staring desperately at Dragomira.

  Baba Pollock looked worriedly at Naftali and Brune who, far from reassuring her, shook their heads as if to confirm a bleak diagnosis.

  “Come and eat something, Gus,” she advised.

  “I can’t…” groaned Gus, hunching over.

  “I’ll take him back to our cabin,” said Pierre gravely.

  He walked out of the mess room supporting Gus, followed by Dragomira, Reminiscens, Jeanne and Naftali. Oksa and Zoe trailed behind at a discreet distance. The adults hurried into the cabin, leaving the two girls outside. A moment later, Abakum and Reminiscens came out again, carefully closing the door behind them.

  “I think they’re trying to hide something, don’t you?” murmured Oksa.

  “Yes,” added Zoe. “And I think it must be something serious.”

  Oksa felt as if all her blood had drained from her body. Zoe took her hand: it was freezing—as cold as the dread gradually invading the two girls’ hearts.

  12

  BURNING QUESTIONS

  T HERE WAS A STRANGE MOOD ABOARD THE SHIP HEADING north towards the rough waters of the Sea of the Hebrides. The Runaways passed the time as best they could to mask their anxiety. Walking the entire length of the trawler and back again, Oksa and Zoe passed Cameron Fortensky’s three sons playing cards, Andrew the minister with his head in a book, Cockerell chatting animatedly to Naftali in a foreign language, and Kukka sulking in a corner. Although they’d been told nothing about Gus’s worrying condition, the two girls hadn’t stopped looking for clues. Anxiously, they’d sounded out everyone who’d accompanied Gus back to his cabin, but it was futile… all the witnesses seemed to have signed some secret pact. Every time, they were given the same reply: “Don’t worry, everything will be fine…”

  “They’re treating us like kids!” raged Oksa. “We’ll have to find out on our own since no one will tell us anything.”

  She tugged Zoe along behind her through the ship’s narrow gangways to the Bellangers’ cabin. A few minutes later, Oksa was kneeling in front of the cabin door, concentrating hard on unlocking it with the tip of her index finger.

  “See, Zoe? The door’s locked. That’s a bit strange, isn’t it?” Zoe silently nodded. Oksa stood up and triumphantly opened the door. Inside the cabin, Pierre was asleep, his large body turned to the wall. The faint light from the gangway barely disturbed him. His breathing faltered for a few seconds before regaining its steady rhythm. The girls closed the door behind them and looked around for Gus in the gloom. He was on the bottom bunk, his knees against his chest. Curled up on a pillow near him, the baby Lunatrix was snoring peacefully.

  “He doesn’t leave your side!” whispered Oksa sitting down next to Gus, as Zoe squeezed in beside her.

  “I think he thinks I’m his father,” murmured Gus, stroking the small downy head. “So what are you two doing here?”

  “We’ve come to find out what’s going on straight from the horse’s mouth,” whispered Oksa. “How are you?”

  Gus lifted his head: he looked ghastly.

  “Sick as a dog,” he said, pulling a face, before adding: “That’s such a stupid expression! I’ve never seen any dog as sick as I am right now.”

  “What’s wrong with you exactly?” asked Oksa.

  “No idea,” replied Gus, wrapping his arms around his knees.

  “Haven’t your parents told you anything? What about my gran? I’m sure they know something…”

  She noticed Zoe signalling to her to stop. Too late—she’d just stupidly given Gus something to worry about.

  “If they haven’t told me anything, then it must be serious,” concluded Gus, making Oksa feel even guiltier. “Perhaps even incurable.”

  Zoe put her hand on Gus’s shoulder in a gesture of comfort, while Oksa gnawed the inside of her cheek. She could be so tactless sometimes…

  “Don’t be silly, everything will be fine,” she whispered, realizing she was using the same words she’d found so hard to believe when Pierre or Dragomira said them. “Do you want a little spritz from my super anti-sickness product?” she added, taking a small spray from her pocket.

  Gus hesitated, then accepted.

  “If magic has to be my last resort, so be it. Wait, I’ll lie down.”

  He stretched out on his back, crossing his hands over his stomach, and Oksa couldn’t help thinking of those recumbent stone figures that had impressed her so much on a school trip to Westminster Abbey. She jumped up abruptly, feeling upset, and almost hit her head on the bunk above. Zoe caught her just in time to stop her falling over.

  “This will do you good, you’ll see,” said the Young Gracious quietly, spraying a liberal dose into her friend’s face. “Hang in there, OK? We’ll come back and see you soon.”

  But Gus was already unconscious. Before she left the cabin, Oksa turned to look at him once more. Despite the darkness, she could have sworn she saw Zoe whisper something in his ear. Unless she was dropping a kiss at the corner of his mouth… With a scowl, Oksa signalled impatiently to Zoe, who emerged from the shadows looking so solemn that Oksa immediately regretted her hostility.

  With heavy hearts, the two girls made their way up to the ship’s deck. The sea was rough and the sky looked ominous. The wind whipped into their anxious faces, but they did nothing to protect themselves. Oksa couldn’t forgive herself for tactlessly giving Zoe the hurry-up and her remorse made it difficult to stay with Zoe. Her cousin didn’t seem to bear a grudge, though, and linked arms with
Oksa, who almost burst into tears.

  They kept walking along the deck, lashed by the violent sea spray, until they reached the stern, where they could make out Tugdual’s dark figure leaning on the rail.

  “I’ll go back to the cabin,” announced Zoe.

  “Don’t feel you have to! I’m not going to throw myself at him just because he’s there!” exclaimed Oksa, blushing.

  “Except that you’re dying to!” retorted her friend. Oksa felt embarrassed. Was she so transparent? Was Zoe disappointed in her? She mustered all her courage and glanced at her friend: Zoe was looking sadly at her, but there was no sign of a smile on her kind face. What should she do? Should she go back, when she was dying to join him?

  “Go on,” said Zoe quietly. “Anyway, you can’t do anything for Gus at the moment.”

  Oksa broke down at these words. She slid to a sitting position on the deck and dissolved into tears. Zoe crouched beside her in a panic.

  “Oksa! I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “You haven’t done anything wrong,” sobbed the Young Gracious. “It’s me. I don’t know how I feel any more… I’m upset about Gus. I can’t stand seeing him in pain. I can’t stand the fact that things aren’t like they were before. That I need him as much as I need Tugdual. That I’m afraid and in love at the same time. That I’m acting like a psycho!”

  “You’re not acting like a psycho,” broke in Zoe. “You’re just doing the best you can. Gus has seen how much effort you’ve made to regain his friendship.”

  “Do you think so?” sobbed Oksa.

  “He knows you very well and he’s far from blind.”

  “Do you think he knows how important he is to me?”

  “I’d find it hard to believe anything else.”

  “Oh, Zoe, how do you cope with it?”

  “How do I cope with what?”