The ship moored up in heavy silence, with all its lights off. The wind had dropped, strangely, so the waves had abated and the sea was as calm as a millpond.
“The lull before the storm,” murmured Tugdual, looking up at the clear sky.
“Perhaps,” said Oksa in a low voice, stepping onto the tiny sandy beach which glowed in the moonlight.
One by one, the Runaways disembarked in the small inlet, relieved to arrive safely and eager to confront their enemies: Insiders and Runaways who had so much in common with them, except for one big difference—they’d chosen Felony.
“Are you OK, Oksa?” whispered Zoe, catching up with her friend.
“Um… hard to say… I think we probably arrived in the nick of time. I’d have gone mad if I’d had to spend another hour on that ship!”
“It’s always better to act than to wait,” declared Cockerell pompously.
“I hope so,” remarked Zoe, gazing around anxiously.
The towering cliffs surrounding the inlet only increased the Runaways’ doubts. Tilting back their heads, they looked up at the sharply ridged cliff face.
“Has anyone seen Gus?” asked Oksa suddenly.
“I’m here…” came a groggy voice.
Gus was sitting hunched on the sand, elbows on knees, with Dragomira and Jeanne crouched beside him, while Bodkin held up the Polypharus, bathing them in a pool of light. Hanging on to Gus’s jumper, the baby Lunatrix was watching him with large gentle eyes and gurgling quietly. Dragomira offered Gus a small phial and urged him to drink. Oksa hesitated, then decided to go over to her friend, her heart racing. He looked terrible—his eyes were bloodshot, his cheeks gaunt and he seemed to be struggling to catch his breath. Bodkin moved aside to let Oksa through and handed her the Polypharus.
“Thank you,” murmured the Young Gracious. Bodkin bowed and walked off.
“How do you feel?” she ventured to ask, forcing herself to look Gus in the eye.
“Like death,” he replied.
Oksa couldn’t help smiling: that was so typical of him!
“If you’re here to put me out of my misery, then go right ahead,” he went on, pretending to bare his chest for the death blow. “I’m ready!”
“Don’t be daft!” scolded Dragomira gently. “This potion should ease your migraine in a few minutes.”
“Have you got a migraine?” asked Oksa in surprise.
“Not only a migraine, but hellish tinnitus too,” replied Gus, with a glassy stare. “The Grim Reaper’s really dragging this out, the sadist…”
Oksa laughed nervously, pleased that her friend sounded like his old self but really worried about his condition. She instinctively looked behind for Tugdual, who was leaning against the cliff, casually examining his Granok-Shooter. “I love them both,” she thought, alarmed at reaching this conclusion now, on the Island of the Felons.
“Perhaps it might be better if he stayed on the ship,” remarked Jeanne tensely, interrupting Oksa’s thoughts.
“Oh no, mercy!” groaned Gus. “Not the ship—I’d rather die on the sand.”
He put his head in his hands.
“I really am a millstone,” he continued. “I get myself bitten by one of those vile Chiropterans, then I get myself Impictured, and now I’m slowing everyone down with my pathetic human ailments…”
At these words, the baby Lunatrix snuggled up to him and rubbed his little head along Gus’s arm, while Oksa raised her eyes heavenwards.
“It’s been ages since we’ve had to put up with your Eeyore routine…”
Pierre, who’d been standing near his son, suddenly walked over to Abakum and Reminiscens a few yards away and the three of them began conversing in low tones. Wanting to find out more, Oksa used her Volumiplus power to eavesdrop.
“We’ve run out of options,” said Reminiscens. “There’s no time to lose. If they do have the antidote, it’ll slow down the process and Gus may have a chance…”
Oksa stifled a cry. Gus may have a chance to do what? SURVIVE? Her heart hammered in her chest. Her horrified eyes met Abakum’s—the Fairyman seemed to have realized she’d been listening to their conversation. He gave her a long stare. Following his gaze, Pierre and Reminiscens turned in her direction too. In a daze, she pretended she was looking up at the cliffs.
“Come on!” announced Pierre, going back to Gus. “I’ll carry you.”
“It might do me good to walk,” said Gus, struggling to get up.
When he was on his feet, he had to cling to his father’s arm to steady himself. He shut his eyes for a few seconds, then reopened them with a wan smile at the Runaways around him. His eyes lingered on Oksa, who was still holding the Polypharus and biting the nails of her free hand.
“See, Oksa?” he remarked shakily. “I’m in great shape! So you can stop biting your nails!”
“I just finished the last one…” she replied, smiling back at him.
“You’ve always been such a pig,” he teased, clutching his father’s arm.
“Well, I think it’s time to go and meet our hosts,” rasped Pavel. “Anyone who can’t Vertifly should get on my back!”
He concentrated hard and they all watched as the majestic Ink Dragon rose from the tattoo on Pavel’s back in the moonlight.
“Dad… you’re magnificent,” whispered Oksa, tears welling in her eyes, overwhelmed by the courage and kindness in the look Pavel shot her.
Awed, Abakum, Virginia, Kukka and Andrew hoisted themselves onto the back of the fantastic creature and it rose into the air with a few powerful flaps of its wings. Pierre was Vertiflying with Gus in his arms. Oksa and Zoe took flight too, followed closely by Dragomira, Reminiscens and the Fortensky clan. The Knuts, all of them Firmhands, had elected to climb the high, steep cliff bare-handed. Like enormous spiders, they scaled the sheer rock at incredible speed, taking any sharp outcrops easily in their stride. Oksa flew back and forth, fascinated by the ease with which they were climbing—particularly Tugdual, who seemed to be racing his uncle Olof. Behind them, safely carried by his mother, who was sensibly Vertiflying, little Till was screeching with joy.
The Runaways finally reached the cliff top and, suddenly, the vertiginous drop behind them into the dark sea didn’t seem so frightening. In front of them, the vast moorland led towards the brooding house which held the key to the future of the two worlds.
15
OVERHEAD DANGER
A WINDING FOOTPATH CROSSED THE MOOR TO THE HOUSE in the middle of the island. With Pavel and the Ink Dragon providing an air escort, the Runaways exchanged glances. Conflicting feelings of impatience and anxiety were etched on their faces, but they couldn’t turn back now…
The Runaways quietly separated into three pre-planned groups: Baba Pollock took Oksa’s hand and they stood in front, flanked by Reminiscens and Abakum, with Olof and Zoe behind, followed by the Lunatrixes, Incompetents and Getorixes. The Squoracles curled up snugly in the pockets of Dragomira’s long wool jacket, while the Ptitchkins settled down in the tiny gold cage she wore around her neck as a pendant. The second group, comprising the stronger members of the group—the Knuts, Pierre, Cockerell and Feng Li—raced across the moor like a pack of wolves and quickly disappeared behind the house. It had been decided that the Outsiders would wait inside the small chapel in relative safety, protected by the Fortenskys, Jeanne, Bodkin, Helena and Tugdual, who was seething in sullen silence at being put in this group. Hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans, he fumed at his mother’s side until, unable to bear it any longer, he eventually broke ranks to join the first group, ignoring Dragomira’s disapproving look. Abakum turned to look at Helena, who nodded in answer to his silent question, and Tugdual officially took his place behind the Young Gracious.
“We’ll be OK now,” Gus couldn’t help muttering. “Zorro’s in pole position.”
“He might make himself useful, you know,” remarked his mother.
“You’re probably right,” sighed Gus.
“Let’s go!”
>
The two groups set off resolutely. The bright moon bathed the countryside in a strange milky light.
“They’ll see us coming!” cried Oksa in alarm.
“It doesn’t matter, Dushka. Orthon and his friends would know we were here, even if we were under cover of impenetrable darkness.”
“That’s so annoying!”
Oksa looked up for reassurance: her father had deployed his Ink Dragon and was gliding through the sky. She waved at him, then focused again on the footpath and the house. All the windows were dark, but they knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that behind each one stood a Felon watching the Runaways’ approach.
“It’s so annoying,” repeated Oksa.
Dragomira squeezed her hand tighter. What else could they do? The Runaways were fulfilling their destiny and they’d burnt all their bridges. Suddenly a smothered cry made everyone look round. Gus was bending over, his hands clamped over his ears, clearly in unbearable pain.
“Look!” exclaimed Tugdual, pointing at the sky.
A flock of birds was hovering above them, silhouetted against the moon. Pavel cautiously flew closer, skirting the fluttering creatures, and banked back to cover his friends with his massive wings.
“They aren’t birds!” he hissed. “They’re Death’s Head Chiropterans!”
Struggling against feelings of panic, the Runaways immediately formed a defensive wall, bristling with Granok-Shooters. But the swarm of Chiropterans overhead didn’t move. Hundreds of tiny red eyes gleamed in the semi-darkness, testing the Runaways’ nerve.
“There are so many of them!” exclaimed Oksa. “We’ll never survive if they attack.”
“They won’t attack,” said Abakum. “Orthon just wants to give us a bit of a fright.”
“You’re right,” agreed Dragomira. “It’s not in his interest to attack now. We have nothing to fear.”
“Those birds look a bit under the weather,” remarked Abakum’s Incompetent. “Have you seen how bloodshot their eyes are?”
“You’re right, Incompetent!” retorted one of the Getorixes. “They’re suffering from a bad bout of conjunctivitis.”
“Oh, poor things,” the Incompetent remarked sympathetically with disarming sincerity. “I’ve heard that cornflower water can work wonders for that…”
“The Fairyman has produced the gift of words sated with truthfulness,” broke in Dragomira’s Lunatrix. “The Runaways can fill their hearts with relief: the Death’s Head Chiropterans have no premeditated belligerent intent.”
“Hmm… they’re not exactly out-and-out pacifists either,” objected the Getorix, hopping up and down.
Feeling a little more reassured, the Runaways set off again, keeping a wary eye on the droning swarm of glittering red eyes above. Gus seemed to be getting worse as he trailed behind the group in front. Supported by Jeanne and Galina, he was struggling to keep going.
“I feel so dizzy,” he groaned. “My head’s… spinning… It’s unbearable…”
Oksa suddenly found herself thinking back to the time when Gus had been bitten by one of those vile insects during the hot-air balloon battle between Orthon and Leomido the year before. She cast around in her memory—Leomido had said. “Gus was injured, but the bite is superficial. Dragomira has done what was necessary and he’s out of danger.” “What about after-effects?” Naftali had gone on to ask. “Chiropterans are extremely—” But Leomido had interrupted him, saying, “Let’s not complicate matters for no reason.”
Oksa rubbed her face, putting two and two together. Feeling horrified, she stopped dead in her tracks.
“What’s wrong, Dushka?” asked Dragomira softly.
Oksa started walking again, holding on tightly to her gran’s hand.
“Baba, answer me honestly, please,” she whispered. “Is Gus sick because of the Chiropterans?”
“Yes,” admitted Dragomira, after a brief hesitation. “The Chiropteran bite has remained inactive for months, but the poison seemed to start spreading through his veins as we drew closer to the island.”
“That’s terrible!” said Oksa in a choked voice. “Does being near the Chiropterans make the pain worse?”
“Yes, in a manner of speaking.”
“Then we’ve got to get him away from here! Why would we make him go closer to creatures which are causing him such agonizing pain?”
“We don’t have a choice,” whispered Dragomira. “The Chiropterans are merely speeding up an irreversible process that began as soon as Gus was bitten. He has to come with us.”
Oksa felt tears fill her eyes. Her nose prickled and her breath came faster.
“What do you mean an irreversible process?” she asked, sounding choked. “Is?—”
“Orthon has an antidote,” said Dragomira, interrupting her.
“ORTHON?”
“He knows more about the Death’s Head Chiropterans than anyone. Reminiscens is sure of that: he knows how to tame them, command them and turn them into formidable weapons of war. He can use them and, crucially, he can counter the effects of their bite.”
“You mean we’re relying on him to save Gus?”
“That’s exactly what I mean, Dushka… Unfortunately.”
This time, Oksa couldn’t hold back her tears. She felt as if her heart were breaking.
“We’ll sort this out, I promise,” said Dragomira, squeezing her hand even tighter.
“No matter what,” added Reminiscens, pressing her shoulder. “You have my word too.”
Oksa wiped her tear-stained cheeks before turning to look at Gus again.
“My head’s spinning…” he groaned. “I can’t bear it…”
In the white light of the moon, Gus looked very weak. Oksa signalled to him encouragingly.
“Hang in there, Gus!” she called.
Although the second group was about to reach the chapel, Gus nodded to show he’d got the message. He staggered inside, with the baby Lunatrix trotting behind him, and Oksa glanced away to hide her anxiety. She eyed the Chiropterans warily; then, taking a deep breath, she let herself be led away by Dragomira and Abakum, who’d started walking again at a vigorous pace. They had to be quick. For Gus. For Marie. For the two worlds. This was no time to start having doubts. Tugdual had said as much a few days ago. She sensed him behind her, on her left, so she glanced back at him. His pale, impassive face was even more disconcerting than usual. He seemed to be looking at her, but the hair falling over his eyes stopped Oksa from reading the expression in them. Suddenly Dragomira and Reminiscens stopped. Oksa’s blood froze and her heart pounded: the Felons’ house was just a few yards away. It looked enormous, silent and threatening. Dragomira murmured a few words to her Tumble-Bawler, which immediately took off from its mistress’s shoulder to return a few seconds later with some priceless information.
“Just behind the eight-foot-high front door is a hall twenty feet long and twelve and a half feet wide,” it informed them, rocking back and forth on its rear. “A double door on the left leads into a 947-square-foot living room, divided into two equal parts. Another door on the right opens into a 452-square-foot kitchen. At the end of the hall, a five-foot-wide staircase with twenty-two seven-inch steps leads up to the first floor. Under the stairs, a six-foot door leads down into the basement. This door is concealed by a trompe l’oeil design and opened by a clever hydraulic system hidden in the ironwork of the banister.”
“Excellent work, Tumble,” said Dragomira, patting its small head in thanks. “And… did you detect any human beings?” she continued, her voice trembling.
“There are twenty-eight people on the premises,” informed the Tumble-Bawler. “Nineteen Felons, six of whom are Werewalls ejected from Edefia and thirteen of whom are direct descendants, plus nine Outsiders. Without counting the Young Gracious’s mother.”
Oksa felt a surge of anger at the mention of her mother. Pavel, whose Ink Dragon had reverted to a harmless tattoo, hugged her, then raced off to join his friends behind the house. Oksa straightened up, lo
oking fierce, and Dragomira began walking towards the sinister house.
“It’s time to meet our destiny,” she murmured.
16
AN ACRIMONIOUS REUNION
A FLICKERING LIGHT WAS SPILLING OUT PAST THE DARK wooden door, which was slightly ajar. Dragomira walked up to the house, followed by the six other valiant members of this vanguard. Abakum kept Oksa by his side, escorted by the Incompetent and Dragomira’s resourceful Lunatrix. Dragomira pushed open the heavy door with a loud creak, to reveal the large hall described by the Tumble-Bawler.
Wall-mounted glass candle globes bathed the room in a shifting radiance that was vaguely unsettling and the crystal pendants of the ceiling chandelier glittered in the candlelight. The draught from the opening door caused this ornate central light to tinkle and sway, covering the walls with myriad glints. On the parquet floor, darkened by the passage of years and the salty island air, they could make out a lighter geometric pattern which looked strangely familiar: it was the eight-branched star that was the symbol of Edefia—the Mark around Oksa’s belly button. She rested her hand on her stomach, feeling emotional. She knew how important the star was—she’d understood its significance and all it implied, but seeing such a large representation of it on the floor reminded her of the power she’d inherited. She, Oksa Pollock, an ordinary fourteen-year-old girl, who loved rollerblading and pop rock, had an extraordinary destiny… She was here in the middle of this hall in this house on this island. At the centre of the world. She took a deep breath and lifted her head high. Deep down, and for the first time, she really felt that she was the Heart of Two Worlds.
The Heart of Two Worlds Page 8
