Oksa Pollock: The Last Hope

by Anne Plichota

  “Mother!” yelled Dragomira.

  The arch was now very close.

  “HOLD TIGHT!” shouted Leomido.

  And the wall on which Dragomira’s memories were being projected showed nothing except a sort of black vortex, spinning at top speed like a hideous helter-skelter. When the descent finally came to an end, Dragomira’s shaky gaze turned to show a desolate, arid landscape. It must have been extremely cold, because Leomido’s teeth were chattering.

  “Where are we?” rang out Dragomira’s terrified voice.

  “All I know, Young Gracious,” replied Abakum, “is that we are on the Outside. Where? I don’t know.”

  The wall screen blurred over and the images were obliterated by the tears brimming in Dragomira’s eyes.

  18

  CONFUSION

  OKSA GAZED AT THE COLOURED PATCHES OF LIGHT ON the walls thrown by the sunbeams filtering through the leaded glass windows of the classroom. She’d certainly had the shortest, most intense and most amazing night of her whole life and, even though she was tired, she felt wide awake. By turns euphoric and anxious, she was being besieged by thousands of conflicting emotions that made her tense and over-emotional. This study hour was a real bonus! Bent over her geography book, Oksa could let her mind wander without anyone accusing her of daydreaming or being lazy. She couldn’t stop thinking about the Inside and Edefia. She was drawn to that land in a deep, almost visceral way. The only person she couldn’t fool was Gus. Her friend kept glancing at her impatiently after she’d told him she had something extremely important to tell him. They finally managed to contrive some time alone together, just after lunch. To do so, they had to resort to trickery and hide out in the first-floor storeroom—the Statues’ Den was already occupied by students quicker than they. So it was among the brooms and floorcloths that she gave him a detailed and breathless account of the night’s revelations.

  “THIS IS FAN-TAS-TIC!” exclaimed Gus, open-mouthed with amazement. “What an incredible story!”

  For almost an hour, Oksa had talked nonstop. Then, exhausted and relieved at confiding her big secret, she looked at Gus in feverish excitement.

  “Wow! How do you feel?” he asked, running his hand through his hair. “What difference does… all that… make to you?”

  “I’m not sure,” admitted Oksa, her wide grey eyes shining with elation. “The fact that I now know my powers are hereditary counts for a lot. It makes me feel better. But at the same time, it’s so strange to find all this out and I keep thinking that if I hadn’t shown that mark to Baba, no one would have told me anything. I would never have been any the wiser and I’d have spent my whole life in the dark!”

  Gus looked at her, surprised to see her face cloud over so suddenly. With her jaw set, Oksa continued:

  “Just think, Gus, they’ve kept it to themselves all these years. They could have spoken to me about it… what’s more, they’ve never said anything about it to my mother, imagine that.”

  “There may not have been any point in telling her,” suggested Gus, trying to reason with her.

  “But Gus, that’s not the problem!” shouted Oksa, losing her temper. “It’s a matter of trust! It’s still important to know where we come from and why we’re like we are, isn’t it?”

  Gus lowered his eyes as Oksa’s words hit home. Suddenly realizing how tactless she’d been, Oksa bit her lip.

  “I’m sorry, Gus, I didn’t mean that, I’m such an idiot,” she said quietly, her voice trembling.

  “It’s fine, don’t worry,” said Gus bravely. “See, you were just like me and you didn’t even know it… I understand what you’re going through. When my parents told me where I came from, I was only seven or so, and it made me happy and angry at the same time. Happy because at last I understood why I was different. I’d realized for years that I looked nothing like my father or mother. Anyway other people had no problem pointing that out. When I learnt who my biological parents were and what had happened, it was as though an enormous weight had been lifted. My differences were no longer a mystery and I felt almost proud, even though it was always hard for me to talk about it. When things weren’t good, I’d think about it all and I’d tell myself that it was an interesting story, that I was lucky and that I ought to prove myself worthy.”

  “So why were you so angry?” asked Oksa, listening closely to what Gus was saying.

  “Because I felt as though I’d wasted so much time. I was furious with my parents for waiting so long to tell me, because it was such a relief to understand and know about it all. I could have felt like that so much sooner! That’s what drove me crazy. I didn’t cope very well over the next few months, as you might remember—we were in Year 3.”

  “Yes,” admitted Oksa. “You withdrew totally into your shell. You were even more uncommunicative than usual.”

  “I was bottling up all that anger,” continued Gus. “You know me, I’m not the demonstrative type. But this was worse, it was all pent up inside me. I felt like it was killing me! One day, I was sitting on my bed playing a video game. I’ll never forget it. My dad sat down opposite me; he took the console from my hands, looked me straight in the eyes and began talking to me. Then I understood that there’s never a right time to learn things like that. Whether you find out at five, ten or fifteen, it turns your life upside down, it hurts, and it changes everything. That’s what’s happening to you.”

  Oksa gave him a long look. It was unusual for Gus to talk about himself so much; in fact, he looked more surprised than she was. He ran his hand through his hair for the umpteenth time and in embarrassment began twisting a paperclip he’d found lying on a shelf.

  “Anyway, your story trumps anything anyone could have made up,” he remarked. “I’d so love to see what this Edefia is like. I hope you won’t forget your old pal from the Outside and that you’ll invite me over when you’re the Supreme Queen… er… what should I call you, anyway?”

  “Yaaahhoooo! Call me Oksa-the-fearsome-ninja-Gracious!” shouted Oksa to let off steam.

  She’d risen three feet above the floor and had assumed a kung-fu attack position, raising her leg to one side, as she’d seen Malorane do during her gran’s Camereye session. But the storeroom wasn’t really suitable for that kind of activity and she sent all the bottles of cleaning products in her way crashing to the ground. Gus burst out laughing.

  “Not a very well-controlled attack, if I may say so, Oksa-san! There’s still room for improvement…”

  Coming out of their bolt-hole, they were unpleasantly surprised to find themselves face to face with a few of the students from their class, including the dreaded Hilda Richard—Cave-Girl—and her sidekick, Axel Nolan, who seized their opportunity to launch an attack:

  “Look who we have here: Miss Super-Smart and Mister Faithful-Little-Doggie-Woggie, hiding behind the dustbins together! Isn’t that a little bit stinky for a romantic chat? What do you think, Axel?” chortled Cave-Girl, suddenly pinning Oksa against the wall. “Huh, not half as stinky as them!” replied Axel with a snigger.

  Oksa was seething inside. Grimacing contemptuously, she took a few steps forward to stand right in front of Hilda, as if about to smash her fist in her face. Although she was dying to make arrogant Cave-Girl eat her words, she managed to control herself after a fashion.

  “Hey, losers!” said Merlin Poicassé, who’d just witnessed the scene. “Isn’t it time you learnt to read? You probably didn’t see what’s written on the door: it says ‘Cleaning equipment’ not ‘Dustbins’. Although you must be familiar with the dustbin store, because I should think it’s pretty much a home from home, isn’t it?”

  “Shut your face! Stop acting like you’re top of the class!”

  “He isn’t acting,” retorted Oksa. “He is top of the class.”

  “Drop it, Oksa,” said Merlin, embarrassed.

  The two girls looked him up and down scornfully and walked off, laughing like hyenas.

  “Great. Now everyone will know where we were i
n a matter of minutes,” muttered Oksa, her fists clenched.

  Beetroot-red, Gus looked at her in embarrassment.

  “That’s for sure, with those two,” said Merlin wryly. “You can count on them to spread the news all over the school. But what on earth possessed you to hide away in that storeroom?”

  “We needed to talk,” replied Oksa defensively. “The Den was taken.”

  “Yes, that’s the problem with good hideouts! Er… I don’t mean to pry but… what was so important that you had to hide in there to discuss it?”

  Disconcerted, Oksa turned to Gus for support. But he was busy studying the granite floor and couldn’t tear his eyes away from the stone slabs.

  “Um, just family stuff, that’s all…”

  “It must have been pretty intense—you were in there for ages,” insisted Merlin.

  “It’s complicated,” answered Oksa. “We should probably make a move, shouldn’t we?”

  “I’m just popping to my locker. I’ll be back in a minute. Will you wait for me?” he asked, hurrying off.

  Gus finally looked up from the floor.

  “Thanks a million for helping me out of that tight spot!” Oksa said venomously. “You were a great help.”

  “You managed fine on your own!” retorted Gus, smiling.

  Oksa growled, baring her teeth at him, before smiling back.

  “Anyway, I think we’ve just seen two fine specimens of Felons, don’t you agree?”

  “You mean the hyena and the vulture?” he asked.

  “Too right! Hey, that would make a cool book title, The Hyena and the Vulture: A Heroic Adventure by Gracious Oksa and Daring Gus. Not bad, is it?”

  Having made up, they quietly resumed their chat about the secrets revealed in the storeroom for a little longer. Gus listened closely to everything that Oksa had to say, simmering with excitement. Then the bell rang and they went back to their classroom with Merlin, feeling even closer to each other than before because of the secret that Gus swore to keep at all costs.

  “Will you give it a rest! I’m not crazy. Anyway, if I did tell anyone they’d think I was insane. They’d put me in a straitjacket and lock me up in an asylum.”

  The two classmates found it hard to concentrate during the afternoon. They only listened to their lessons with half an ear, but fortunately no one noticed. Overcome by all these mixed emotions, Oksa felt agitated and, ignoring the warnings of her conscience, she couldn’t help practising Magnetus on her books a few times, an activity which she could now perform unobtrusively.

  “Stop sniggering, you’ll get us noticed,” she muttered to her friend.

  “What? You’ve got a cheek! I’m the one who’s going to get us noticed?” hissed Gus indignantly in an undertone, trying hard not to laugh. “What a nerve!”

  As soon as she walked through the door, Oksa sensed that something strange was going on in the house. She could hear the sound of the TV and her father and Dragomira’s low voices. Silently she put her bag down and took off her shoes, then positioned herself by the half-open glazed door to the living room.

  “Pavel!” shouted Dragomira as the signature tune of the BBC news rang out. “Come on, it’s about to start.”

  “Good evening,” announced the presenter. “Tonight’s headlines: the body of Peter Carter, the famous American investigative journalist, was discovered this morning in a London hotel. Scotland Yard detectives believe the circumstances are suspicious, since the cause of death appears to have been the complete disintegration of the victim’s lungs. Tiny quantities of an as yet unknown substance have been found. At the present time, the origin of this substance is a mystery, but investigators should soon learn more from the results of analyses currently under way. Politics: the Polish Prime Minister is on a visit to the UK…”

  The voice on the TV suddenly stopped and there was silence. Oksa’s heart was beating fit to burst. She tried as best she could to hold her breath and almost suffocated. When Dragomira began speaking, she finally allowed herself to breathe again.

  “My God!” Baba Pollock struggled to say, sounding choked. “Peter Carter murdered! In London! It can’t be true—”

  “What on earth can have happened?” asked Pavel.

  “I have no idea… Pavel, my dear Pavel, I’m very much afraid it might have been one of us.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked coldly.

  “I know you’ll find it hard to accept, but did you see how Carter died?”

  “He was hit by a Pulmonis,” he replied gravely.

  “Yes. Which means it must have been one of us who did it!”

  “I know, Mum,” replied Pavel slowly, sounding resigned. “I’m sorry that he’s dead but Carter caused us a great many problems and he was liable to go on doing so since he was in London. Although it’s a terrible thing to admit, the man or woman who did this saved us from great danger.”

  Oksa’s blood ran cold with horror. Her family was behind a man’s murder! But why? She leant against the wall, her back perspiring and her heart racing. She recalled one of the violent images from the Camereye: Malorane dispatching a terrible substance which had dissolved the lungs of one of the Felons. Peter Carter had died in exactly the same way! This was a nightmare. She was going to wake up. She had to wake up. But instead, she remained rooted to the spot outside the living room, wide awake and more than anything horrified by what she was hearing. Her body still pressed against the wall, she inched back very slowly to the staircase and crept silently upstairs to her room where she threw herself onto her bed, her mind seething. Dragomira had actually said: “It must have been one of us who did it.” But why had her family killed that journalist? It was awful.

  19

  UPHEAVAL AT THE POLLOCKS’

  OKSA COULDN’T BELIEVE THE ATMOSPHERE AT HOME AS the week went by: everyone seemed to have slipped back into their usual routine as if nothing had happened, despite the fact that her life had been turned upside down. Learning that her own family came from an unknown land and that one of its members was a cold-blooded murderer was a really big deal, but everyone was acting as though everything was normal. Oksa felt totally abandoned. Her father was only interested in the building work being done at the restaurant, which was due to open soon. He was very anxious, but no more so than usual. Marie wouldn’t let him out of her sight, patiently fulfilling her role as private therapist to her highly stressed husband. They were both spending most of their time at the restaurant and not even bothering to take turns with her as they’d been so careful to do in Paris. Oksa had barely seen them for more than two hours running over the past few days. Her bitterness was eating away at her heart like poison.

  One evening, she’d gone upstairs to see her gran as usual, but no one seemed to be there. The official version was that Dragomira was staying with her godfather Abakum for a few days. But Oksa knew for a fact that she’d come back at least two days ago—a certainty which really bugged her. It would be the last straw if her Baba was starting to neglect her as well! On Saturday evening she finally decided to rap at the door after pressing her ear to it and hearing the Lunatrix humming in the apartment.

  “Oohh, granddaughter of my Gracious, your visit is unexpected but my delight at the seeing of you is a comfort,” said the creature, opening the door.

  “Who’s that, my Lunatrix? If it’s Oksa, show her in, please.”

  That was Dragomira, sounding weak and hoarse. The Lunatrix bowed low to Oksa and stepped back to let her pass. Baba Pollock was lying on a sofa under a thick tartan quilt. Her head was resting on some brightly coloured cushions which formed a striking contrast with the pallor of her gaunt face. Her long plaited hair hung carelessly down to the floor and her eyes were half-closed.

  “Come in, Dushka!”

  Oksa rushed over to her gran and put her arms tenderly around her. They stayed like that for a moment, enjoying being together after their time apart.

  “You don’t look too good, Baba. Are you ill?”

  Dragomira
looked at her with boundless kindness.

  “Yes, I’m ill. But it’s nothing serious, so don’t worry. I just need to rest.”

  Immediately after saying this, she closed her eyes a little more and her head rolled slightly to the side. Oksa was convinced that her gran’s condition was linked to the death of that journalist. The burden of guilt? The nagging sensation of remorse? She found it hard to imagine her gentle gran as a murderer. But who would guess that the exiled queen of a deposed empire lurked beneath the exterior of this somewhat eccentric elderly herbalist? So why not a manic acid killer? It wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility… The only thing Oksa could be certain of was that Dragomira knew much more about this affair than anyone else. “It must have been one of us who did it,” she’d said. Who? Her father? Abakum? Leomido? It was hard to believe. But during the past week, Oksa’s life had been filled only with things that were hard to believe.

  “I must rest, darling,” repeated Dragomira in a weary voice.

  But before rising to her feet, Oksa couldn’t help asking:

  “What’s wrong with you, Baba? Tell me, please!”

  Dragomira hesitated for a second. She turned her head, then said in a hoarse whisper:

  “I’m an old lady and all those memories are very upsetting. You know, it was very painful seeing those images of chaos and hearing my mother’s words again. I need a little time to get used to the idea that you’ve just inherited all this. But things will be fine. I’ll be back on my feet in no time, don’t worry.”

  “Baba, can I ask you a question?”

  Dragomira nodded silently.

  “What’s going to happen? I mean… now that I have this mark?”

  “We’ll talk about it later, Dushka.”

  “I do hope so! Can I just say hello to Leomido and Abakum?” insisted Oksa, reluctant to give up hope of learning anything more. “They’re still here, aren’t they?”