“What about you, Barbara?” asked Marie, trying to catch her eye.
Barbara McGraw shrank into her seat, as if frightened by what she was about to say. Her lower lip was trembling slightly, when she finally uttered the words.
“I’d like to come with you. To London. If you’ll let me join you…”
Greta gave a shout of rage.
“Barbara! How could you?”
“I want to, Greta. I want to go back to London,” she declared firmly.
Andrew looked at his friends. The women seemed unsure, torn between compassion and distrust. Gus couldn’t make up his mind about Barbara. All they’d seen of her until now was a meek woman terrified by the ordeals they’d been through. However, she was still Orthon’s wife. He may not have been the man she’d thought he was when she married him, but she’d lived with him for years and had borne him two sons. She probably didn’t know all her husband’s secrets—his origins, his ambitions, his deeply ingrained psychoses—but she couldn’t have been completely in the dark either. Gus studied her again, unable to work out whether she really was the sensitive, vulnerable woman he saw before him or someone different. Someone totally different. Someone dangerous.
“Gus?”
They were all waiting for his decision, as if it really mattered. Gus blushed and felt flustered. It was hard to feel that his opinion might count for so much! He hated this type of situation. He glanced over at Marie, who was nodding almost imperceptibly.
“I’m happy for her to come with us,” he heard himself say, with the horrible feeling that he might be making a big mistake.
49
STRONG-ARM TACTICS
THINGS WERE UNBELIEVABLY TENSE IN THE LARGE CIRCULAR Council Chamber. Oksa would have given anything not to be there. She felt more trapped than ever, glued to her chair facing Ocious and his Werewall clan.
“So you’re the one who’s going to restore equilibrium,” said the powerful old man, fixing her with his piercing dark eyes.
“…and who’s going to permit you to leave Edefia at last!” added Orthon, his voice quivering with pride.
He couldn’t help glancing defiantly at Andreas, whom he’d had to accept as his half-brother, but who had turned out to be his worst rival.
“Wonderful!” crowed Ocious, keeping his eyes on Oksa. “Would you come up here, please.”
Instinctively, Oksa turned round to look at the Runaways for reassurance. She felt so alone in front of these people who were examining her hungrily with hostile, inquisitive eyes. To everyone’s surprise, Abakum and Pavel stood up and started descending the steps in the hall, followed immediately by Tugdual. Orthon was about to send them back to their seats when Ocious stopped him, looking amused, the way only someone in perfect control of the situation can. Ignoring a score of buzzing Vigilians flying ominously near them, Pavel went to stand beside Oksa and took her hand.
“Don’t worry, Oksa-san,” he murmured quietly. “You’re the one with the power, not them.”
Abakum stood behind the chair with his hands on Oksa’s shoulders. She immediately felt comforted by his nearness. Tugdual went to stand on the other side of her chair and glanced at Oksa.
“Don’t let them rattle you,” he whispered. “They aren’t stronger than us.”
Oksa was trying to convince herself that her father and Tugdual were right, but she was terrified by the occasion and the Werewalls’ jubilation. Orthon muttered a few words to his father and Ocious immediately looked over at Tugdual.
“So you’re Naftali and Brune’s grandson, are you?” he said. “Did you know that your great-grandmother was one of the staunchest allies of our Secret Society?”
This was too much for Naftali, who leapt from his chair and hurled himself with all his might at the rostrum where Ocious was sitting. Everyone watched him shoot over their heads like a missile packed with explosives. The Werewalls tried to ward off the attack by firing Fireballisticos and Knock-Bongs, but they couldn’t stop the towering Swede, whose resolve was unshakeable. Followed by a swarm of Vigilians, he landed just behind Ocious and caught the Felon in a neck hold. He patted out the flames licking at his trousers, then declared belligerently:
“My mother was never one of your staunch allies. She was forced to join you!”
All the Werewalls had their Granok-Shooters trained on him. The tension was unbearable. Oksa could sense that her father was seething with rage and it wouldn’t take much for the Ink Dragon to put in an appearance. “We’ll all be killed,” panicked the Young Gracious. Naftali tightened his grip, white with rage. Ocious tensed.
“And I forbid you and your lot to go anywhere near my grandson!” thundered Naftali in his enemy’s ear.
“They’ve got no chance of winning me over to their cause,” rang out Tugdual’s firm voice.
Oksa turned to look at him. At first sight Tugdual looked unflappable, his face as expressionless as if made of wax. The only sign of his inner agitation was a throbbing vein that could be seen through the pale skin at his temple. Suddenly noticing a Vigilian dangerously close to Naftali, he fired a Fireballistico, reducing it to ash with a small burst of flame.
“And yet you’d be very welcome,” added Orthon, attempting to provoke him further.
Tugdual pretended to spit on the ground at this offer and eyed the Felon icily.
“Now, Ocious,” continued Naftali, “you’re going to tell us exactly what the situation is in Edefia. Spare us your boasts and charades and bear in mind that I have nothing to lose. I won’t hesitate to break your neck if I have to, nothing could be easier and nothing would give me greater pleasure.”
“But you won’t, because you need me,” said Ocious with a grimace. “You all need me!”
“Are you so sure of that?” asked Naftali sceptically, tightening his hold. “Don’t overestimate your power, or you’ll wind up dead. You’re nothing but an old man with overweening ambitions. What have you achieved with your life, Ocious? You caused the Great Chaos, which has now brought the two worlds to the brink of destruction, you have two sons who hate each other as much as they hate you, and your powers are limited to the terror you instil in other people.”
The Werewalls stiffened around Naftali, quivering with indignation. From the seats in front of the rostrum, a Felon fired a Granok at the Swede, but the Runaways were watching. Quick as a flash, Brune diverted the Granok with a flick of her index finger, defying anyone to attack her husband. Nimbly she leapt in front of the Felons, on the alert for the slightest move. Cameron and Pierre joined her as backup.
“Malorane was to blame for the Great Chaos, not me,” began Ocious hoarsely.
“Malorane shares the blame, certainly,” admitted Abakum, “but her plans were not as evil as yours. Her only mistake was her naivety in not realizing what kind of man you really were. If you hadn’t influenced her as you did, the Secret-Never-To-Be-Told would never have been revealed. The Supreme Entity would still be here and the Great Chaos would never have happened.”
“If it hadn’t been me, someone else would have put pressure on her,” retorted Ocious. “I wasn’t the only one who wanted to leave Edefia. As soon as Malorane began showing her Dreamflights to the people, most of us wanted just one thing.”
Abakum and the oldest Runaways had to corroborate Ocious’s remarks. Those who’d known Malorane well knew that she’d been an idealist, a gullible reformer unaware of the voracious appetites of some of her peers. Despite its fragility, Edefia’s secret had been safeguarded for centuries by the Graciouses. It had kept them safe by maintaining the Insiders in blissful ignorance or by misleading them about the supposed dangers on the Outside. Malorane had wanted to overturn this ancient precept by showing them what the Outside was really like.
“You’re conveniently forgetting that it was you who encouraged her to make her Dreamflights public!” exclaimed Reminiscens, pointing her Granok-Shooter at her father.
Ocious glared daggers at her.
“You don’t know what you’
re talking about!” he raged. “You all think Malorane was so innocent and so easily swayed. Well, I’ll have you know that she was a lot more stubborn than any of us here: she had a deep inferiority complex and was obsessed with standing out from earlier Graciouses. She wanted to ring the changes and introduce a different type of reign that everyone would remember.”
“Well, she certainly succeeded there,” muttered Oksa.
“That’s as may be,” broke in Abakum, “but you have to admit her character suited you down to the ground! You exploited it unscrupulously, but then manipulation has always been your weapon of choice, hasn’t it?”
“Is it my fault Malorane couldn’t resist me?” said Ocious, unable to hold back a twisted smile. “And things didn’t turn out that badly, whatever you say. After all, we did have our amazing twins!”
A mocking laugh erupted into the stunned silence. Reminiscens stiffened as Orthon jutted his chin proudly, yet scornfully. Zoe hunched even smaller on her seat, her heart filled with one desperate desire: to disappear for good. As if she could sense her cousin’s dark despair, Oksa turned round and looked at her, clenching both fists in a sign of support. A gesture which didn’t escape Ocious…
“Twins who’ve given us some wonderful descendants, despite a few improbable liaisons,” he added, before Naftali tightened his arm around his throat.
“Yes, why don’t we talk about that! Descendants who didn’t hesitate to murder their own flesh and blood!” burst out Reminiscens, white with rage.
Orthon’s self-control had reached its limits. A dense flash spurted from his fingertips and hit his twin sister in the throat. Jeanne and Galina immediately fired a Knock-Bong at Orthon, flattening him against the wall, although it was too late.
Abakum rushed over and Reminiscens collapsed in his arms. The impact had created a dark circular hollow on her delicate skin, and her eyes were wide with fear. The Fairyman knelt down to lay her on the floor. He took off his fleece-lined jacket and folded it into a pillow which he placed under the wounded woman’s head. When Dragomira’s Lunatrix—now Oksa’s—waddled over, some of the Felons couldn’t hold back their surprise: the Lunatrixes hadn’t set foot in the Glass Column for nearly sixty years.
“The family of my Old Gracious must not allow life to perform abandonment of her body,” said the small creature, taking Reminiscens’s hand. “The Lunatrix domestic staff cannot allow him who shares your twinship to experience the satisfaction of watching you encounter death.”
“I didn’t mean to kill her,” objected Orthon, in a steely voice, “I just wanted to silence that annoying windbag!”
“The strength of the blow received may however carry the kin of my Old Gracious towards death,” replied the Lunatrix, examining the injury. “The accumulation of years and ordeals aggravates the injury and prevents speedy recovery.”
“Orthon,” sighed Ocious, although he didn’t look all that bothered, “what have you done now?”
He was addressing him the way a father would scold a child for something stupid.
“I’m doing what you do, Father,” replied Orthon, straightening his clothes with shocking offhandedness.
Jeanne and Galina’s Knock-Bong had barely affected him and he seemed stronger than ever.
“Father and son develop identical cruelty in their hearts,” the Lunatrix said to Reminiscens. “But this cruelty does not reside in your blood. Perform the accompaniment of my gaze, that is my counsel.”
The old woman tried to keep her eyes on the large blue eyes of the creature, which were slowly spinning in their sockets. At the same time, the Lunatrix put his chubby hand on her burnt throat and hummed a few incomprehensible words. She began breathing more steadily and her eyes gradually lost the glazed stare of imminent death.
“Good!” said Ocious happily. “Now my daughter is out of danger, perhaps we might continue?”
Disgusted by this behaviour, the Runaways focused on Ocious, while remaining clustered around Abakum, Reminiscens and the Lunatrix.
“Edefia entered a state of unstoppable decline after the disappearance of the Supreme Entity and the advent of the Great Chaos,” continued the Werewall. “First the light faded, causing a drop in temperature. The climate remained mild, but nothing like before. Gradually plant life adapted, which is to say it became sparser. Crops failed and the harvests dwindled every year. Ten years ago, the first water shortages began to make themselves felt. We started water-rationing, which became more rigorous every year, but despite our precautions things got worse. For five years, we’ve been suffering from a terrible drought. The desert which bordered Green Mantle at the start of the Great Chaos suddenly gained ground, swallowing up the forests and plains which were once so fertile. The lakes and rivers have dried up, the reserves of drinking water are almost depleted and the temperature drops every year. Edefia is heading for disaster and nothing can stop it.”
He fell silent. It was impossible to know if he was pausing because he was overcome with sadness or whether he was simply, and perversely, doing it for effect. When he continued, everyone was riveted: even with Naftali’s strong arm around his neck, Ocious obviously relished the odd theatrical flourish.
“Then, a few days ago, I realized that Edefia’s tragic destiny was about to change: the New Gracious would soon appear among us.”
“How on earth could you know that?” asked Naftali.
“Oh! It’s very simple: the Cloak Chamber reappeared…”
“WHAT?!” exclaimed Abakum. “And you waited until now to tell us?”
“Just saving the best for last!” sneered the Master of the Werewalls. “Yes, in the Column’s deepest catacombs, directly below the centre of this hall, the Chamber is preparing to welcome our New Gracious. It should only be a matter of days.”
50
UNCERTAIN CONCLUSIONS
AFTER THAT DIFFICULT COUNCIL MEETING, THE Runaways had gone back to their quarters feeling drained. Naftali had agreed to release Ocious, despite his burning desire to break his neck. The Runaways aren’t killers, he’d said, as he athletically leapt from the rostrum to rejoin his clan. They’d each been escorted back by a Felon or Werewall, as well as a few enthusiastic Vigilians.
“It’s a bit stupid,” Oksa had groused, loud enough for Ocious to hear. “The equilibrium of the two worlds depends on me entering the Cloak Chamber, so I’m hardly going to run away, am I? I’m not stupid!”
“None of us have anything to gain by jeopardizing Oksa’s enthronement,” Abakum had added, his arm around Reminiscens’ waist to support her.
But the Master of the Werewalls would not be swayed: the Runaways were to remain confined on the second-to-last floor of the Glass Column.
“We could do without the praetorian guard, you know.”
Oksa was still fuming: a few zealous, enthusiastic Vigilians were buzzing in front of the door. Farther away, two helmeted, leather-clad Werewalls were guarding the lift.
“Can I at least see my father?” Oksa yelled in their direction.
One of the two Werewalls left his post and disappeared down the corridor. A few seconds later, Pavel appeared.
“Dad!” exclaimed Oksa. “Get out of the way, you,” she shouted at the Vigilians, who parted to allow Pavel through.
She slammed the door and snuggled against her father. The Lunatrix came over, his mouth stretching the entire width of his moon-like face.
“The father of my Young Gracious makes the contribution of exultation filled with relief.”
“Damn right!” said Oksa, finding it hard to hold back her tears. This was the first time they’d been alone together since their harrowing arrival in Edefia and Oksa felt on the verge of cracking up. Pavel led her to the sofa facing the vast bay window.
“I miss them so much, Dad,” she wailed, unable to stop thinking about her mother and Gus.
“I do too, Oksa.”
“Do you think they’re OK?”
“I’m sure of it.”
But his eyes betrayed
his doubts and he didn’t know what to do or say for the best. Unable to comfort Oksa, he remained silent, merely hugging her tightly. Oksa had never felt so weary. They clung together, tormented by similar feelings of powerlessness and grief, until Oksa slipped into a troubled sleep, her head on her father’s shoulder.
She was woken by the noise of the door opening: a young woman in a tightly buttoned leather waistcoat had just come into the room. Silently she put a tray laden with steaming dishes on the hammered-metal coffee table. Oksa studied her curiously, unsure whether to thank her or not. Despite her expressionless face, she looked the same as her but, then again, what did she expect? The Werewalls, Felons and Runaways were all human…
“Although you wouldn’t think it the way some of them behave,” she muttered.
“Did you say something, darling?” asked Pavel in surprise.
“No, Dad.”
She waited for the young woman to leave the room before examining the tray, because she had to admit she was ravenous. As if prepared by someone who knew just what she liked, the meal was perfect: pasta, mixed cooked vegetables—without a leek in sight!—warm rolls, cheeses and jams, served with cold water and fruit juice.
“Look! It’s just like we have at home,” she declared.
“Did you think they’d serve lightly grilled Abominari steak?” teased Pavel.
Oksa punched his arm gently.
“I just hope it isn’t poisoned,” she said, spearing some buttery tagliatelle with her fork.
“I’d very much doubt it, having seen how fond Ocious is of you.”
“Oh, Dad! I hate that self-important fossil, who thinks he rules the world!”
“Self-important fossil, eh? No one can accuse you of pulling your punches, can they?”
They ate in silence until they could eat no more, feeling their strength return as the tray emptied. The Lunatrix had joined them, warily at first; then, throwing caution to the wind, he’d devoured several small rolls covered in sunflower seeds and a large piece of smelly cheese.
The Heart of Two Worlds Page 24
