The Heart of Two Worlds

by Anne Plichota

  “Of course,” replied the Tumble-Bawler, aware of her unspoken thoughts. “I could carry out a reconnaissance flight to see what the situation is, if you like.”

  Oksa nodded, unable to speak because of the lump in her throat. The little creature respectfully stayed silent for a moment before continuing:

  “To the east and west of Green-Mantle, vast lakes surrounded by lush vegetation were the main centres for fish-farming and seaweed-farming. The Insiders were very fond of seaweed, you know. Around and beyond those lakes were areas devoted to growing cereals, such as Golden Pearl, which is like corn, except each grain is as big as an apricot.”

  “Just imagine the size of the popcorn!” quipped Oksa.

  “What a funny thought,” laughed the Tumble-Bawler. “They grew the same varieties of vegetable as the Outsiders, but they were fresher, more plentiful and bigger. A rich soil and a warm temperature that never got too hot—twenty-five to thirty degrees centigrade—are always conducive to farming. The carrots were three feet long, the potatoes a foot and a half in diameter and the strawberries weighed at least a pound… each strawberry, I mean. And no chemical fertilizers or pesticides were used! Energy was exclusively green: giant windmills on the plains, solar panels on all houses, and widespread use of geothermal and hydraulic energy. None of the vehicles, machinery or factories used polluting fuels. Just sunshine, wind or water.”

  “Brilliant!” cried Oksa. “And… what about the people? I know there were four tribes…”

  “That’s right, Young Gracious. The last census carried out before the Great Chaos recorded 16,245 people effectively spread across the four main tribes: Firmhands, Sylvabuls, Long-Gulches and Ageless Fairies.”

  “Not to mention the Diaphans,” added Oksa.

  The Tumble-Bawler couldn’t help shivering at the mention of the fifth tribe, which struck such fear into the hearts of Edefians and was the source of such shame.

  “As in all societies, a small minority of people chose to live on the fringes or opted for a life of crime. Disagreements could also arise. However, the whole system was based on notions of self-sufficiency and the idea of matching need with available resources. And the Insiders lived in complete harmony—everyone got on well with each other, even though each tribe had its own characteristic features. As you know, the Firmhands have highly developed senses, like animals, particularly birds of prey. In Edefia, they’re renowned for their great physical strength, which means they tend to gravitate towards the building trades, architecture, manufacturing and the processing of metal and glass, as well as stonemasonry. They are experts in science, chemistry and engineering: over 600 years ago, they discovered how to use solar energy to power flying machines, machinery and tools.”

  “Better than Leonardo da Vinci!” exclaimed Oksa.

  “Oh, but that inventor of genius was a great source of inspiration for the Firmhands. The Glass Column was governed by Gracious Laure-Amée at this period. Her Dreamflights often took her to Italy, to the studio of that brilliant visionary, and she made a few inspired suggestions to the best Firmhand engineers who carefully put da Vinci’s plans into action, using their own technology. But they were not only gifted in the fields of science and engineering, they also worked in mineralogy—they developed and perfected a body of remedies using stones 1,500 years ago, which has been such a useful addition to the Sylvabul pharmacopoeia. I don’t know how things are today but, before the Great Chaos, the Firmhands tended to live in the Peak Ridge territory in huge troglodytic dwellings in the cliffs, fashioned from precious stones.”

  “They must have been magnificent!”

  “They were, yes,” confirmed the Tumble-Bawler. “But the Sylvabuls were not to be outdone. They’d miraculously managed to build their houses in the trees, creating incredibly beautiful aerial cities that were moulded to fit the branches. Even now, their abilities and nature-loving sensibilities predispose them to work the land, even though it’s dying. The Sylvabuls possess the power of Greenthumb: their touch makes the vegetables, fruit and cereals grow more vigorously than when tended by any other Insider.”

  “I know,” interrupted Oksa, her eyes suddenly misting over.

  A wave of nostalgia washed over her at the mention of this power. She thought back to a few months earlier, when her father had shown her the French Garden, the restaurant he’d been so proud of creating from scratch. She’d been celebrating her thirteenth birthday at the time. She hadn’t seen her mother for a while and she’d been missing Marie unbearably. Like today… with the huge difference that she might never see her again. She shook her head to banish all thought of this awful possibility which she’d do everything in her power to prevent.

  “Do you think I have the power of Greenthumb?” she asked, trying to take her mind off these things.

  The Tumble-Bawler rocked from right to left on its rounded behind.

  “Yes… and you’ll certainly need it to rebuild Edefia, when equilibrium is restored.”

  Oksa imagined plunging her hands into the depleted soil and causing thousands of plants and trees to grow. That really would be magical. She couldn’t wait to get started—she’d love doing that!

  “Tell me some more about the Sylvabuls, please.”

  “That tribe monopolized any activities connected with food, as well as pursuits less well known on the Outside, like seaweed-farming, flower-growing, the breeding of creatures and Granokology, of course.”

  “That’s one discipline that’s certainly less well known!” exclaimed Oksa impishly. “What about the Long-Gulches?”

  “The Long-Gulches live mainly in Thousandeye City. They’re citizens and have an innate feel for structure and system design at all levels, whether it concerns road networks, town planning, education or the legal system. You could call them Edefia’s organizers.”

  Oksa studied Thousandeye City spreading out around the Glass Column. The city was badly damaged, but many parts bore witness to its glorious past. The size of the houses and the materials used to build them, the terraced design of gardens where nothing was growing now—everything pointed to bygone days of splendour.

  “Thank you for all this information, you’re a great help,” she said pensively.

  “I remain at your disposal, Young Gracious,” concluded the Tumble-Bawler, fluttering around her.

  46

  THE EXTRAORDINARY COUNCIL MEETING

  OKSA FLOPPED OVER ONTO HER STOMACH WITH HER chin resting on her hands. She had a pounding migraine and was really hoping she wasn’t about to have another attack—this was neither the time nor the place. Ocious had given the Runaways a few hours’ respite before they had to attend what was bound to be a tedious summit meeting. Each of the “guests”, allies or adversaries, had been allocated a room. The Glass Column was huge, so there was space for everyone. Pavel’s quarters next door were smaller but just as sumptuous, and there was an interconnecting door between the two rooms. However, like all doorways, it was guarded by a forbidding, and rather strange-looking, sentinel: a six-inch flying caterpillar with a blue abdomen and dangerous-looking hairs, called a Vigilian. When Oksa had tried to go to see her father, the caterpillar had suddenly positioned itself in front of her and had ordered her to step away.

  “What! Aren’t I allowed to speak to anyone?” she demanded, feeling nauseated by the insect, whose cilia were spinning at top speed like the rotor blades of a helicopter.

  “Everyone is to be confined to quarters until after the council meeting,” declared the caterpillar. “Those are the Docent’s orders.”

  “Who’s the Docent?”

  “The Master, if you prefer.”

  “I don’t prefer anything… what happens if I disobey?” grumbled Oksa, despite her loathing for the insect.

  “My stinging hairs are not deadly, but they can cause a very painful paralysis.”

  “Fine,” sighed Oksa, with a grimace.

  She threw herself onto her bed again, feeling worried and annoyed, and resigned herself t
o the interminable wait.

  “Young Gracious… Young Gracious…”

  Oksa opened her eyes. She’d finally dozed off for a few seconds, but just as she felt herself slipping into deep unconsciousness she heard a voice speaking softly in her ear. When she saw Annikki bending over her, she flinched.

  “Don’t be afraid, I don’t mean you any harm,” said Annikki. “I’ve just come to fetch you for Ocious’s council meeting. We’ve a little time to spare so perhaps you’d like to eat something? You must be so hungry.”

  Oksa was tempted to say no, just to be difficult, but the sight, and especially the smell, of a newly baked round loaf was too hard to resist. She reached for the tray at the foot of the bed and pulled it closer. A slab of fresh butter served with small cubes of cheese, figs and grapes overcame her reluctance. Annikki was right, she was starving. She buttered a piece of bread and devoured it, keeping her eyes fixed on Annikki. The young Felon’s face was drawn and pale, and her blue eyes were red-rimmed. Oksa suddenly realized she wasn’t the only one who was missing “absent” loved ones: Annikki’s husband was an Outsider. Like Marie, Gus and some of the others, he’d been left behind on the threshold of Edefia. Oksa’s gaze softened. Annikki came nearer and squeezed her hand. Oksa’s initial reaction was to pull away, but finally she accepted Annikki’s gesture in compassionate silence.

  “I’m a Felon and I realize you’re wary of me,” murmured Annikki. “But you should know that I took great care of your mother while she was with us on the island. Despite the situation, we got to know each other well and developed a mutual liking and respect. She’s a brave woman, whom I admire deeply. She helped me understand a great deal about other people in my clan, and about myself.”

  She turned away, her face strained: a Vigilian was buzzing near the bed, keeping a close eye on them. Oksa shivered.

  “Will you please allow the Young Gracious to finish her meal?” exclaimed Annikki hoarsely.

  The caterpillar hovered in the air.

  “The Docent is waiting,” it said.

  “Don’t worry, it’s OK,” replied Oksa, eating one last grape.

  She looked warily at Annikki who, while pretending to tidy Oksa’s hair, whispered:

  “Trust me…”

  Then she shoved her imperiously towards the door, which did nothing to reassure the Young Gracious. The Vigilian moved out of the way, then followed the pair closely to the glass lift, which enclosed them in gloomy silence.

  The massive Council Chamber was filled with unsmiling faces, which made the stuffy atmosphere feel even more oppressive. The space was flooded with light from a single source: a vast cylindrical shaft, descending through some ten floors from the top of the Column, which cast a bright milky light over the assembled throng. The circular design of the chamber perfectly mirrored the shape of this cone of light. On a small podium, Ocious and around twenty inscrutable men and women were sitting in dark leather chairs arranged in a semicircle. Only four of the chairs were unoccupied. Facing the podium was seating intended for the Runaways. Flanking this central section sat the Felons who’d been living on Orthon’s island. Above their heads, a few Vigilians kept guard.

  When the glass lift opened and Oksa emerged at the top of the tiered seats, all eyes turned in her direction. Absolutely everyone was there, and she cursed herself quietly for arriving late. There was little doubt that Ocious had deliberately summoned her after the others. The layout of the room showed that the man liked putting on a performance. The Runaways stood up, their shoes noisily scraping against the turquoise paving slabs. The Felons followed suit, some of them reluctantly, more to emulate Ocious, who was standing with arms open wide, than to show any respect for Oksa.

  “Here’s our Young Gracious at last!” Ocious thundered. “Come nearer, don’t be shy.”

  With a wave of his hand he indicated the seat in front of him with its back to the Runaways. Oksa hesitated, intimidated. The way the seats were arranged reminded her of a courtroom in which she was the accused, facing her judges alone. Her Curbita-Flatulo was undulating constantly and her heartbeat eventually slowed to the steady pace set by the small creature’s regular movements. Oksa looked up. The central aisle was lined with familiar, loving faces. Her father, Abakum, Zoe, Tugdual… the Lunatrixes… They were all studying her intently, their eyes anxious but full of strength. She could count on them, they were there for her. Not behind her, as Ocious wanted to symbolize by his unsettling arrangement of chairs, but by her side—come what may. So, escorted by Annikki, she walked down the steps less hesitantly than she’d feared, drawing courage from the eyes of the people she loved.

  Ocious was staring at Oksa with a certain amount of curiosity as she took her seat and she caught herself wondering what he was thinking. What did he see? On the Outside, she usually passed for an ordinary teenager in jeans and trainers, an unaffected, impulsive schoolgirl, but that formidable, lavishly dressed old man obviously saw something different in her and his piercing eyes were making her feel ill at ease. Challenging herself not to lose face, she forced herself to tolerate his scrutiny. Suddenly Ocious switched his attention to Orthon and his sons, who were standing with the “newcomers”.

  “My dear son and grandsons, we’re all here together at last. Who’d have thought such a miracle was possible? Please, come and sit by my side!” said the old man, indicating the four unoccupied seats on the rostrum. “You too, dear daughter,” he added, with a glance at Reminiscens.

  The pale old woman glared defiantly at her father without moving a muscle, while Orthon strode up to the stage triumphantly, followed by Gregor and Mortimer. All three sat down to the applause of the Felons and Werewalls. Oksa felt bitter: three generations of the worst Felons to walk the two worlds had been reunited. They could savour this happiness while the Pollocks and Runaways had been parted from the people they loved. It was so unfair…

  Oksa gnawed her lip, feeling raw inside, and watched the Felons and Werewalls congratulating each other with almost obscene exuberance. Only Mortimer didn’t seem to share their exhilaration. Despite his brawny appearance, he looked lost and alone. Of course, Oksa suddenly realized. Mortimer’s mother, Barbara McGraw, was an Outsider! Oksa remembered that frail woman and her deep love for her son. From what little she’d seen, Oksa could understand Mortimer’s sadness today.

  Orthon was unlikely to concern himself with anyone but himself. He was overjoyed at being officially recognized by his father. He was Ocious’s son, worthy to sit at last by his side. That had been his lifelong dream—a dream that was soon shattered by an unexpected revelation when, after lengthily embracing Orthon, Ocious turned to a tall, thin man standing on his right. In his early fifties, this latter was wearing a charcoal-grey suit with a high collar and an impassive expression.

  “Orthon, my son,” began Ocious, “our reunion wouldn’t be complete if I didn’t introduce you to Andreas. Andreas is my youngest son from my second marriage after your… departure to the Outside.”

  This was devastating news: the dream of holding the coveted position of the only son of the absolute ruler of Edefia had just been dashed. The Runaways were appalled. This was the worst thing that could have happened. Would Orthon tolerate direct competition? Abakum scrubbed his hand over his face. He looked miserably at his clan. How would all this turn out? No one knew. Sitting on her own out in front, Oksa stiffened, realizing the significance of this announcement. Wide-eyed, she watched the two half-brothers greet each other coldly. Orthon looked like he’d accepted the situation, but Oksa was well placed—in every sense—to know that the Felon had just been dealt a heavy blow. It was obvious from his clenched jaw. Ocious was watching this meeting between his two sons, and Oksa could have sworn that she detected a nasty glint of pleasure in his dark eyes, which didn’t bode well for the future. Ocious sat back down, followed by everyone else, and began to speak in ringing tones:

  “It’s been sixty-two years since Gracious Yuliana, the mother of our late lamented Malorane, appoi
nted me First Servant of the High Enclave. It’s not always been an easy job…”

  A few of the Runaways almost choked on hearing this and made no bones about showing their irritation with much coughing and spluttering. Annoyed by these interruptions, the Vigilians threateningly flew closer to the troublemakers, their stinging hairs erect on their repulsive bodies.

  “Fortunately, despite the hard times that have afflicted our poor land since the Great Chaos, I haven’t had to face any of these terrible ordeals alone. There are some whose loyalty has never faltered, no matter what.”

  With an expansive wave of the hand, he indicated the men and women sitting beside him.

  “My friends and my son, Andreas, who have provided such invaluable help for almost thirty years.”

  Sitting motionless on Ocious’s left, Orthon was controlling his every move, every blink of his eyelids, every line at the corner of his mouth. The only thing he couldn’t control was the pallor of his face, which showed anyone with eyes to see that he was seething with bitterness and resentment at discovering that he had a half-brother.

  “My family is now reunited, and we’ll be able to work together to bring our plans to fruition.”

  “Your plans?” asked Naftali flatly. “If you mean your age-old desire to conquer the Outside, let me tell you it’s too late. You may not know this, but the Outside, like Edefia, is dying.”

  Ocious paused to digest this information, which disturbed him more than he’d have liked to admit. Taking advantage of any sign of weakness in the enemy camp, Abakum rammed the point home:

  “Why do you think we came back?” He deliberately allowed the painful silence to linger before he continued: “I won’t deny that, ever since our departure from Edefia, we’ve been feeling homesick for our land and longing for the chance to return. But in fifty-seven years, we’ve all made lives for ourselves on the Outside. We became integrated as Outsiders, then grew to love that imperfect land with its extremes of good and evil. As you might imagine, our return has forced us to make some painful sacrifices: we’ve turned our back on what’s become our new homeland and which, for most of us, is and will remain our land of choice. Furthermore, we’ve left behind loved ones and you can appreciate what a wrench that is, you who value the importance of family ties so highly.”