Oksa Pollock: The Last Hope

by Anne Plichota

  “In due course, yes, you can,” replied Abakum.

  “It’s a real tropical forest in here,” continued Oksa, looking around.

  The silo contained scores of plants, each more luxuriant than the next. After the first rather suffocating and unpleasant impression, visitors became acclimatized to the mugginess and were enchanted by this remarkable place. A staircase ran around the walls of the silo and made it possible to descend to floor level, where most of the plants were kept. Oksa had always suspected that Abakum was hiding all kinds of mysteries here; but the sight of the plants nattering to each other like old ladies in a tearoom was enough to leave even the most experienced Young Gracious open-mouthed with astonishment. Some of these incredible plants were placed on the floor or on long wooden tables; others were hanging from the staircase banister. Oksa recognized some Goranovs, a few of which occupied a huge console table. They were bound to be the nurslings. When she went over to them, the biggest Goranov—the mother, without a doubt—shuddered in distress.

  “Who goes there? It’s a strange girl! A strange girl bringing all manner of disease! Bacteria! Viruses! What are the Tumble-Bawlers playing at? A stranger has got in! Watch out! WATCH OUT!”

  Abakum came over and stroked its leaves, murmuring a few words that Oksa could barely hear. The silo was in a state of excitement and all that could be heard was the growing noise of rustling leaves and whispering. The murmur grew louder and louder. The plants leant towards each other as if to pass on a message until one of them, the largest plant, which was sitting prominently in an enormous pot in the middle of the silo, yelled hoarsely:

  “It’s the Young Gracious! IT’S THE LAST HOPE!”

  Immediately the rustling stopped then picked up again furiously a few seconds later. The plants were clapping their leaves, banging them together like cymbals.

  “They’re applauding you,” Abakum whispered in Oksa’s ear.

  Not in the habit of being applauded by plants, Oksa blushed and waved to them in acknowledgement.

  “That large plant is astonishing. What is it?”

  Before replying, Abakum whistled again through his fingers to ensure silence and the plants immediately went back to chatting more quietly.

  “Oh, I see you’ve spotted my Centaury. It certainly doesn’t pass unnoticed. And it isn’t even fully grown. In a few months, it will be fifteen feet high.”

  “It seems to be laying down the law for the others, doesn’t it? It’s like a plant-sheriff,” remarked Oksa, watching the Centaury with curiosity.

  “You’re not entirely wrong. A Centaury helps to regulate the atmosphere in a glass-roofed environment by absorbing or releasing water vapour or carbon dioxide, depending on requirements. But that isn’t its only function. You may have noticed that our creatures are very resilient. Well the same holds true for the plants, except that they’re immobile and confined to this space. They possess certain gifts, although unfortunately not the ability to move. As a result, disputes are a little harder to control. The Centaury acts as a mediator if things get out of hand and can calm everyone down. Did you see how it dealt with the situation a minute ago?”

  “You can see straight away that it’s a tough customer. What about this fragile-looking one?” asked Oksa, going over to a plant with delicate mauve flowers blooming at the end of long, slender stems.

  “That’s a Nobilis. The pistil of its blossoms produces a sort of golden dust used to make a Granok causing blindness.”

  The Nobilis bowed one of its long stems to stroke Oksa’s hand gently with the tip of its petals. Surprised, Oksa jumped and took a step back. Then, seeing Abakum’s unruffled smile, she allowed the plant to continue. The Nobilis wiggled, chuckling with pleasure. Further away, another bushy, garrulous plant tried to attract her attention by waving its leaves in all directions. Inquisitively, Oksa walked over and the plant, crying shrilly with enthusiasm, immediately clutched her wrist to stop her moving off.

  “This is the Pulsatilla, Oksa,” said Abakum by way of introduction. “As you can see, it’s pretty vivacious! I discovered its use following the Chaos in Edefia, after examining those terrifying Granoks used by the Felons as weapons.”

  “The Black Globuses?” asked Oksa.

  “Yes, particularly the Colocynthis, which turns limbs to glass, as you saw with Leomido’s poor Gargantuhen. I can make an antidote neutralizing the effects of the Colocynthis with the Pulsatilla. That’s what Dragomira gave the Gargantuhen to heal its leg.”

  The Pulsatilla was still holding Oksa by the wrist and didn’t seem inclined to let her go.

  “It’s also a very affectionate plant. But you probably don’t need me to tell you that… Pulsatilla, would you please give me back Oksa? I’d like to show her something.”

  “Come on, lettuce, let go of the Young Gracious!” broke in the Getorix, pulling on the stem clutching Oksa’s wrist with all its might.

  “I’m not a lettuce, Hairball!” cried the Pulsatilla indignantly. “I’m a very useful, very noble plant, that’s what the Master said. And I need affection to blossom! Does anyone know what that means? What is affection?”

  Abakum leant over to hear what Oksa was whispering to him.

  “Of course you can!” he said approvingly.

  Oksa bent towards the Pulsatilla and placed a light kiss on its largest leaf. The plant immediately let go of her wrist with a sigh of satisfaction, which sent its neighbours into raptures. Abakum made the most of this display of emotion to take Oksa to the small mezzanine halfway up the silo. This platform held a workshop equipped with a worktop laden with instruments and huge cupboards with drawers, like the one Dragomira had in her living room. Abakum ushered Oksa to a chaise longue and took a seat beside her in a sort of rocking chair.

  “That’s incredible!” exclaimed Oksa, her large grey eyes open wide. “A plant which feels and expresses emotions—that’s mental! Is everything like that in Edefia?”

  “Yes,” replied Abakum. “We are so attentive to the natural world, so respectful of life in all its forms, that we’ve become mutually receptive. Gradually, over the centuries, the differences disappeared and we’ve reached a state of perfect understanding. In Edefia, the plants communicate with human beings quite simply because human beings listen to them. Few Outsiders can open their minds and senses enough to commune with the natural world. Vladimir, Dragomira’s husband, belonged to the category of people who could, along with his grandfather, Metchkov, the Siberian shaman who took us in when we arrived. You know, Oksa, respect and the ability to listen are—or used to be—fundamental to the way Edefia operates. Society was also based on need, not on people’s desires or greed, as is too often the case on the Outside. For example, in Edefia the sole purpose of work was to meet our requirements, without any concern for accumulation, profit or superiority. There was no social hierarchy: a baker was the same as an architect, a sewer worker was no different from a dignitary in the High Enclave. Every person did what he knew how to do for the common good. This is how we lived, with a well-balanced system that was beneficial to us all, until Malorane showed us that society could be structured differently. Malorane committed a serious error of judgement when she showed us the Outside. Everything was going so well before… It’s such a pity and such a waste. Who knows what state Edefia is in today.”

  “What did you do before you had to leave?” asked Oksa, fascinated by Abakum’s story. “You were a herbalist, weren’t you?”

  “Yes, I was the Granokological Master of Edefia and the official herbalist-apothecary to the Gracious’s family. When I was very young I already had very obvious gifts; I had always been passionately interested in plants. I could spend hours on my stomach observing them in the forest grass, in hothouses or in the fields. When I was around seven, I began creating original mixtures and producing simple remedies. It was at that age that I even invented my first Granok—out of unrequited love, believe it or not!”

  “Tell me, Abakum,” begged Oksa.

  “
At that time I was in love with a young girl who only had eyes for another boy, whom I hated, of course. Then, to get my revenge, I created the Laughing-Rill. Nothing like that to get rid of rivals, I thought!”

  “You were the one who invented the Laughing-Rill? At the age of seven? But how did you do it?”

  “Observation, Oksa, observation. That is often the most effective way of understanding and learning things. I’d noticed that the sheep were particularly cheerful after grazing on a certain plant in the fields. They gambolled about in all directions as if they were having a fit of the giggles and then, how should I put it, they seemed to lose control of their bladders. That gave me the idea for an experiment, and there you have it! Simple.”

  “Simple? Easier said than done,” remarked Oksa, sitting up straight on her chaise longue. “In any case, I really like the sound of that invention. What about the girl? Did she fall in love with you after that?”

  Abakum gave a small laugh.

  “Not at all. She flew to the assistance of my damp rival and completely ignored me. Oh, don’t worry, I recovered. In any case, my disappointment at least made it possible to confirm one thing: Granokology was in my blood.”

  “What did your parents think about that?” asked Oksa.

  “They were a little surprised at first; they thought I was going to follow in their footsteps and take up design. But my passion for plants was so strong that they let me do what I wanted. When I was eight, I began my apprenticeship with Mirandole, the best master of Granokology in Edefia at the time, an old man who was over 150 years old. He was a follower of Hildegard von Bingen, whose name was given to the Healery of Edefia—that’s the equivalent of a hospital, as you will have guessed. Hildegard was a remarkable Outsider. Gracious Annamira discovered her existence in the twelfth century during her Dreamflights. Hildegard von Bingen was a mystic poetess, but she was also known for her extraordinary talents as a physician because she knew the secrets of plants. Annamira carried out a great number of Dreamflights in Europe at that time and her observations inspired a large number of Granokologists, including good old Mirandole, who taught me so much. And eight years later I entered the service of Gracious Malorane.”

  “You were very precocious, weren’t you!” exclaimed Oksa.

  “You don’t do so badly yourself,” said Abakum pointedly.

  He stood up and went over to one of the cupboards containing a large number of tiny drawers. He opened about ten of them and took out what looked like pills, then arranged them inside a tube which had been cut in half lengthways. There were all different shapes and colours—round, flat, elongated.

  “Come over here, we’re going to move on to some practical exercises. Would you take out your Granok-Shooter, please?”

  56

  CRASH COURSE IN GRANOKOLOGY

  FOR ALMOST TWO HOURS, OKSA DILIGENTLY RECITED the magic words, functions and names of the Granoks. They were both concentrating so hard that they didn’t even see the Centaury standing up on its roots to watch them and then give a detailed account to all the other plants in the silo.

  “Well!” exclaimed Abakum. “You’re a really good pupil and a fast learner; I give you twenty out of twenty.”

  “This was so much fun!” replied Oksa, stretching her arms above her. “I think Granokology has become my favourite subject. Thanks Abakum.”

  She threw her arms around the old man’s neck and he hugged her warmly, touched by his young student’s spontaneity and affection.

  “Er, Abakum… I was wondering…”

  “Yes, I’m listening.”

  “You were talking earlier about the mutual respect between plants and the Insiders, and I was wondering how you went about using their leaves, roots or sap. Doesn’t that hurt them? Isn’t that against your beliefs?”

  Abakum fixed his grey eyes on Oksa’s and replied:

  “Very well observed, my dear—it’s a good question. For my part, I’ve always taken care to ensure that the plants and creatures living under my roof are treated with as much esteem and kindness as they were in Edefia. And I know that Dragomira and Leomido take just as much care as I do. As for using their leaves, I simply cut them off and I think that if it’s done gently, the plants don’t suffer any more than when you go to the hairdresser to have your hair cut. As for the roots, I proceed in the same way and then it’s as if I were cutting their nails. It’s the same thing for the Incompetent’s crest. Although it does grow rather slowly…”

  “Like its brain!” remarked Oksa with a peal of laughter.

  “Yes, like its brain,” laughed Abakum in turn. “Its crest is like our nails: it must be trimmed regularly. It’s more complicated when it comes to the sap of the plants, particularly that of the Goranovs, which is extremely precious. For decades, Insiders have made tiny incisions on their stem to gather the sap and you can imagine how painful that could be for the Goranovs. This may be why they’re genetically so stressed. One day, a shrewd botanist found another way, and since then we have milked them.”

  “What?” blurted Oksa, flabbergasted. “You milk the Goranovs? That is what you said, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, that’s right. The technique is fairly complicated, because with the Goranovs nothing is ever simple. But that is effectively the principle.”

  “Goranov-milking—that’s super-cool!”

  After this discussion, Abakum stood up and closed all the small drawers from which he’d taken the Granoks. He opened another cupboard and took out a round tin.

  “Didn’t you say earlier that you had some Capacitors with you?” he asked. Oksa nodded and, with the agreement of the Tumble-Bawler, which was ready to sound the alarm, she took out an old metal cigarillo tin she’d used to store Dragomira’s Capacitors.

  “Here, take this Caskinette,” said Abakum, holding out a small round box. “I made it specially for you with the same materials as your Granok-Shooter—and after milking the Goranovs long and hard,” he said with a wink. “You can use it to store your Capacitors, starting with the Ventosas that Dragomira gave you.”

  The Caskinette was a very attractive object made of meerschaum and measuring about three inches in diameter. Oksa took it from Abakum with a grateful look and ran her fingertips over its smooth, matt surface. Then she pressed a tiny rose-gold fastener in the shape of an interwoven O and P and the box opened, revealing about ten mini-compartments. Abakum again searched through the drawers of another cupboard and brought over enough capsules in different sizes and colours to fill the little box. The following hour was devoted to an in-depth lesson on Capacitors during which Oksa carefully assimilated all this new information.

  “What’s in that cupboard over there?” she asked, pointing to a much smaller cupboard than the others, hung on the wall almost six feet off the floor.

  “You don’t miss much,” remarked Abakum, his eyes twinkling. “That little cupboard contains ingredients for some very special preparations.”

  “Really? What kind of special preparations?”

  Abakum suddenly looked cagey—which, of course, didn’t escape Oksa’s notice and heightened her curiosity.

  “Tell me, Abakum, please!” she pleaded, putting her hands together. “Please tell me!”

  “With you, it’s all or nothing,” he sighed, stroking his beard. “I should know that by now,” he added, smiling. “That said, I understand your curiosity. In that little cupboard—which is reinforced, I’d like to stress—are plants and grasses which mustn’t fall into the wrong hands.”

  “You mean they’re dangerous? Poisonous?”

  “No, not exactly. In their natural state, almost all of them are harmless. But depending on the blends or doses, they can be lethal. This applies to many things found in nature: remedies and deadly poisons are often made from the same plant. My little cupboard holds henbane and monkshood, whose properties range from causing a curative drowsiness to paralysis, for what I’d call my more aggressive preparations. Of course, I also have belladonna and mandrake, which I
use for different Capacitors, sleepy nightshade (whose use isn’t hard to guess), stramonium and purple foxglove, two plants which can be highly toxic, and a few others, which I hope you’ll allow me not to name, my dear.”

  “Wow,” said Oksa, looking impressed and thoughtful. “Tell me, Abakum: have you ever made poisons?”

  “Oh, Oksa, Oksa,” replied Abakum, tapping the edge of the worktop. “Will you allow me to plead professional confidentiality and not reply to your question?”

  “That’s a pity,” sighed Oksa. “But I’m sure you have. In any case, I know you can make Black Globuses.”

  Abakum’s only answer was to give an almost imperceptible nod with a faint smile, which Oksa interpreted quite rightly as the end of the “toxic plants and poisons” chapter.

  “Hey Abakum,” she cried, totally changing the subject, “look! I haven’t shown you yet. I can do something really cool. And without a Capacitor, what’s more.”

  Oksa climbed onto the railing of the mezzanine and sat down on the outer edge, more than twelve feet above the floor. The mother Goranov gave a cry:

  “Watch out! The Young Gracious is going to squash me. I’m going to die!”

  Oksa stood up on the narrow edge, blinked and stuck her right foot out over the empty space, her arms by her sides. Then she put her left foot forward and began slowly descending, regulating her speed so as not to frighten the Goranov, which had already curled its leaves against its stem. Leaning his elbows on the railing, Abakum clapped wildly, accompanied by the Getorix and the Poliglossiper, which had changed itself into castanets. Carried away by this applause, Oksa took off towards the top of the silo, only this time much faster. She was travelling so fast that she reached the glass dome in a flash—which was not something that Oksa had factored into her calculations. Her head smacked against the transparent ceiling. Totally stunned, with blurred sight and ringing ears, she felt as though she were plunging into a huge black hole.