The motorbike and sidecar drove through a village, then turned into a lane lined with hawthorn bushes. At the very end, they stopped in front of a tall gate. Abakum got down from the bike, removed his helmet and, from his saddlebag, took out a small box and released some kind of bright green scarab beetle. He introduced this into the keyhole and the gate opened immediately. “Wow!” thought Oksa in astonishment. “A live key! How interesting…”
Abakum parked the motorbike in the yard, then carefully closed the gate and retrieved the squirming beetle. The land on which the main building stood was surrounded by a very high wall of flat overlapping stones with what looked like two steel security doors in it. Abakum’s house was just as remarkable as Leomido’s, although very different in style. For many years, this splendid modernized farm had been Abakum’s holiday home. But since they had left France he’d been living there full-time, preferring the English countryside to the hustle and bustle of London. Oksa had come with her family last summer to spend a few days here and the farm had lost none of its charm. Shaded from dark red to brown to faded pink, its brick walls were covered by wisteria and roses climbing to the first floor. On one side, a former grain silo that Abakum had refurbished from top to bottom was connected to the farm by an enclosed gangway. Oksa had never been inside this annex. Perhaps Abakum would let her visit it this time.
“Oh Abakum, your house is even more beautiful than before!”
Sitting in an armchair shaped like a shell, Oksa gazed at the interior of the building while Abakum prepared a welcome snack. It was in stark contrast to the exterior: Abakum had gone for a very different look to the predictable rustic décor.
“You could almost be in the Museum of Modern Art!” exclaimed Oksa, with a whistle of appreciation.
Abakum put a tray down on a small table with striped legs, filled two cups with hot chocolate and sat down opposite Oksa.
“You may not know this, Oksa, but my adoptive parents were what they call interior designers in England. My father and his parents designed furniture and my mother was the best interior designer in Edefia. She was the one who entirely furbished Malorane’s suite of rooms in the Glass Column. I’ve gone for a layout in this house which is very similar to the typical Sylvabul dwelling in Edefia. The house where I lived when I was young looked a lot like this, apart from the fact that it was built in a gigantic tree—a Colosso—a hundred feet or so above the ground. My family always attached a great deal of importance to the aesthetic appearance of things, particularly everyday objects, and I’m very glad this is something you notice.”
Oksa listened attentively. She loved one-on-one conversations.
“Edefia must be really beautiful,” she said in a low voice, dreamily. “Abakum, I’m sorry, but you mentioned your adoptive parents. Are you like Gus then?”
“Yes. And, like him, I was very lucky because I was taken in by some remarkable people with hearts of gold.”
“How old were you?” asked Oksa, emboldened by the elderly man’s peaceful smile.
“Only a few hours old.”
“You were a tiny baby then!”
A shadow of sadness passed fleetingly over Abakum’s face. He closed his eyes for a moment, before continuing:
“Oh, young Oksa… I’m going to tell you a secret that few people know.”
“One of your parents was a hare—I’m right, aren’t I?” asked Oksa with her customary spontaneity.
At that Abakum gave the loudest snort of laughter she’d ever heard. It was so loud that it made her jump and spill some of her hot chocolate over herself.
“I knew you knew about—how should I put it—my animal side,” said Abakum, wiping the tears from his eyes. “But this is the first time anyone has ever suggested that my parents might have been hares!”
“So you know I know,” said Oksa miserably, despite being terribly amused at the sight of Abakum shaking with laughter. “I’m a dead loss when it comes to spying.”
“I wouldn’t say that—but it wasn’t hard to put two and two together with your remarks that morning. Anyway, that’s what you were driving at, wasn’t it, you little minx? I know you. No, Oksa, my parents weren’t hares. But what they were was just as incredible.”
“Oh, tell me, Abakum,” begged Oksa, “please!”
“My father was a Sylvabul beekeeper called Tiburce. I know very little about him, except that he was a good and humble man, a nature-lover who enjoyed his own company. One day, an Ageless Fairy noticed him in the flower-strewn clearing where he had set up his hives, and immediately became enamoured of him. This was extremely rare, and it may even have been the only time this had happened in the history of Edefia. Because of her feelings, this Ageless Fairy, my mother, revealed herself to my father. It was love at first sight for both of them. Despite the exceptionally pure nature of their love, this union led to their ruin: a man and an Ageless Fairy weren’t allowed to meet, let alone fall in love.”
“What happened?” asked Oksa breathlessly, hanging on Abakum’s every word as she watched him with her big grey eyes.
“They were vaporized when I was born,” said Abakum gloomily.
“Oh!” exclaimed Oksa, putting her hand over her mouth. “That’s horrible! You mean your mother died just after giving birth to you?”
“So to speak,” replied Abakum with a sad smile. “Apparently, the Ageless Ones don’t have the same constitution as human beings because I was born immediately after my conception. And that brought about the death of my parents.”
“That’s horrible,” repeated Oksa, a lump in her throat.
“I think it’s a rather beautiful story,” said the old man, his eyes shining. “They both knew they were taking an insane risk. But even the threat of death couldn’t stop them loving each other. Their love was absolute.”
“What happened then?” asked Oksa, sounding choked.
“The next day, alerted by my hungry cries, two neighbours found me in my father’s house. I was alone, naked and dirty. Not knowing what to do, they fed me, then took me to Gracious Malorane, who gave orders for a search. No one knew that a young woman had come into my father’s life and had won his heart; everyone was at a complete loss. For a few days, scores of men scoured the forests and clearings, dragged the lakes and explored the caves. But no trace was ever found of my parents; they had disappeared into thin air. This was a great mystery in Edefia for a few weeks. Everyone had their own theory about what might have happened, particularly as there’d been no reports of any missing girls or any births. Some thought my parents had been attacked by the bees; others believed that the girl had given birth secretly to escape her parents’ anger; and yet others thought that Tiburce had tried to get onto the Island of the Fairies and that, due to this foolhardy act, he’d become an Attendant for ever.
“An Attendant?”
“They are little men, half-human and half-stag, imprisoned by a magic spell in punishment for their curiosity.”
“What do you mean, their curiosity?” exclaimed Oksa. “What did they do?”
“They wanted to see the Fairies.”
“But there’s nothing wrong with wanting to see the Fairies, is there?” the girl cried indignantly. “It’s cruel to punish them for that!”
“Maybe so,” agreed Abakum. “But you have to consider that the punishment inflicted on them also brings them great happiness. The lower part of their body may be that of a stag and they may bear antlers on their heads, but they’re permitted to live with the Fairies on the Island until the end of their days. And that was their dearest wish. As for my father, you’ll realize that this theory was the closest to what really happened. Much later, I was able to consult the archives of The Enlightened—Edefia’s newspaper—and I can you tell that every single possibility was considered, from the most absurd to the most romantic. But no one ever found out what had really happened or located my parents. Then Malorane gave me to the Sylvabul couple I mentioned before, Mikka and Eva. They loved me as their own son and I owe
them a great deal. It wasn’t easy to for them.”
Oksa looked at Abakum with intense curiosity, impatient to know more.
“By agreeing to take me in, they also accepted the mystery surrounding my birth. When a child is born in Edefia, an identity ring is made by combining his or her DNA with Goranov sap, which is the same process used for the Granok-Shooter. When they tried to make my ring, they found out that my DNA was totally abnormal and didn’t match anything that had been seen before in Edefia. Only four people knew about this: Malorane, my adoptive parents and the ring-maker, who was bound by professional confidentiality not to breathe a word about the manufacture of his rings. I must say Malorane and my parents watched me closely throughout my childhood. No one had ever been born from such a union and all three were worried and curious about me, which wasn’t always easy to deal with. Also, they soon realized that I had singular abilities.”
“So you’re a Fairyman?” broke in Oksa, almost jumping out of her armchair. “A FAIRYMAN!”
53
THE REVELATION OF THE SINGING SPRING
ABAKUM STROKED HIS BEARD WITH HIS FINGERTIPS FOR a long time, intrigued by this remark.
“I’ve never thought about it like that… but why not? My parents said I was a sorcerer. Which is also the view of your gran, your father and Gus’s parents, who know about my unusual origins. But I have to admit that I really like the idea of being a ‘Fairyman’!”
“But how do you know all this? How can you know that your mother was an Ageless Fairy?”
“I remembered my birth,” replied the elderly man simply, the depth of his feelings making his eyes gleam.
“Abakum, I’m sorry but no one can remember their own birth!” replied Oksa abruptly.
“You’re right, no one can remember that far back. Even a Fairyman/hare,” he said with a wink. “No, I was just lucky enough to win the draw to visit the Singing Spring.”
“Win what draw?” asked Oksa in amazement.
“Every year, at the huge party for the Summer Solstice, a draw was held to decide which inhabitant of Edefia would be taken to the mysterious Singing Spring, not far from the Island of the Fairies. Believe it or not, its waters allow the drinker to remember and relive a lost or impossible memory. And I can tell you that this was a highly coveted privilege! I remember it as though it were yesterday… It was my twelfth birthday. When Gracious Malorane dipped her hand into the immense crystal jar which contained all the names of Edefia’s inhabitants and called out my name, I thought I was dreaming. She took me to the doors of a vast maze which concealed the entrance to the Singing Spring and slipped a holographic map into my hand, which imprinted itself on my palm. I wandered for hours among hedges of plants and stone walls, exhausted and anxious, before I found the exit. And finding this exit was vital—not only to escape the maze, in which some people had been trapped for ever, but most importantly to reach the Spring! When I finally got out of that diabolical maze, the hologram vanished: I had reached my destination. Two monsters with a woman’s head and the body of a lion were guarding the entrance to a cavern—I was face to face with the fearsome Corpusleoxes. Like all Edefian children, I’d heard about these creatures. People told terrible tales about them—tales, or legends, which were mainly intended to scare young children. But at the age of twelve, I still believed them and I remember I was petrified: the two Corpusleoxes stared at me with their yellow eyes, their claws so sharp that a single blow would have ripped me to shreds! I didn’t know what to do, I was terrified that my slightest movement might annoy them. I found out later that the pitiless Corpusleoxes are there to chase off any uninvited visitors who might have found the Spring. Fortunately they were expecting me so they let me pass safely—my journey through the maze had given me the right to enter. As I was standing paralysed with fear in front of the mouth of the cavern, those terrible creatures bowed their heads and beckoned me inside with their upper paws. Inside, I found a place of great opulence. The glittering walls of the grotto were made entirely of lapis lazuli. Their surface was covered in reflections from the translucent waters of the Singing Spring, which were a beautiful pink colour, and the air was warm with a sweetish smell. I stretched out on the floor and stayed there for an hour, a night, I have no idea how long… I’d lost all sense of time and space. I just had the incredible feeling of being in the middle of a giant precious stone. I’d never seen such pure, vibrant colours as those in that cavern. I fell asleep, lulled by the song of the Spring, and when I woke up a large iridescent shell was lying beside me. A clear, sweet voice called me by my name and told me to drink its contents. And that was how I came to taste the incredible waters of the Singing Spring. They tasted like slightly sparkling lemonade, and the limpid bubbles popped deliciously in my mouth, as if stars were exploding inside me! From the very first mouthful, I immediately returned to the day of my conception—which was also that of my birth. And I finally found out who I was.”
Oksa was filled with wonder at Abakum’s story.
“The mystery was instantly solved,” continued the Fairyman. “It was so obvious once the truth was known. Even though I was a very pampered child, I suffered a great deal at being kept in the dark. No one had ever hidden anything about my origins, but a good part of my history and identity was unknown to everyone, including me. There, in that amazing cavern, I travelled twelve years back in time and saw my mother, the Ageless Fairy, and my father, Tiburce the beekeeper. They looked… how should I put it… so radiant! As soon as my eyes focused on them, my father picked me, his baby, up in his arms and my mother leant towards me. Her dark hair framed her dazzling face; she was extraordinary, her beauty radiated from her as if she were suffused with light. Gently she placed her lips on mine and, with infinite tenderness, she breathed her life and her innermost essence into me. Immediately after, my parents exploded in an intense shimmer. It was so beautiful that all my suffering immediately disappeared. I’d found peace at last, because I now knew what had happened. Before leaving this magical place—which it was, make no mistake—the soft voice spoke to me again and guided me towards a waterfall, ordering me to put my hand through the curtain of water and grasp the object behind it. I obeyed without question, as you can imagine, and when I brought my hand out of the water, I was holding a wand. The voice told me that this was the wand that had belonged to my mother, the Ageless-Fairy-Who-Died-For-Love, as she was now called by the Fairies.
Abakum fell silent, overwhelmed by his own story. Oksa was amazed and moved.
“Wow,” she murmured, “this is incredible! But it’s so sad it makes me want to cry.”
There was a distant look in Abakum’s kind eyes.
“It’s a very long time since I’ve spoken about all this… but don’t be sad, my dear,” he added, turning to Oksa. “Just tell yourself that I’m a child born of love. I know it’s hard to think of me in that way when you see my beard, white hair and deep wrinkles, but that’s what I am, nevertheless.”
Oksa looked at him with deep affection and gratitude. A lump in her throat, she was fighting back a flood of tears welling up inside. Abakum seemed to hesitate for a second, seeing how moved she was, then he got up from his armchair and said as steadily as he could, given his own heightened emotions:
“Would you like to take a look at the wand in question?”
“What?” exclaimed Oksa with a start. “You mean the real, authentic, one and only wand of the Ageless Fairy straight from Edefia?” she added, regaining her natural sparkle.
“Exactly,” replied Abakum in the same tone, “the very same!”
“And you’re asking me if I’d like to see it?” continued Oksa, raising her voice, her hands on her hips. “You bet I want to see it, I’d give anything to see it!”
A few seconds later Oksa cried out in admiration as the elderly sorcerer placed the precious object on the table with striped legs. Just over a foot long, it was made of light wood and carved in a barley-twist design. It became progressively thicker at one end, like a
walking cane, and a white gold ring around the thick end was finely engraved with the inscription “The Ageless-Fairy-Who-Died-For-Love”.
“I don’t believe it. A magic wand. Tell me I’m not dreaming!”
“I thought I was dreaming too, when I held it in my hands,” said Abakum. “For weeks, I looked at it and analysed it. I discovered it was made from the wood of a Majestic—a noble species of tree—and that its tip contained a magnetic stone from the highest mountains. But I also turned it this way and that in an attempt to understand how it worked. And I must say it sorely tried my patience! I became so frustrated with it that I almost snapped it in two. I tried out thousands of random incantations, but they all failed dismally. Then, one day, I realized: I merely had to express myself harmoniously—in other words, by singing or using poetical language—to make the wand work.”
“So it’s a lyrical wand,” breathed Oksa, her cheeks flushed.
“Exactly. And that was how I discovered that I could change shape. To do so, I have to look in a mirror so that I can cast the spell on myself.”
“Is that how you change yourself into a hare?” asked Oksa, her cheeks flushing redder and redder. “That’s incredible. Now I know why Dad said you were the strongest one of us all!”
Oksa Pollock: The Last Hope Page 31
