Oksa Pollock: The Last Hope (16 page)

“In other words, I must take responsibility for my actions,” muttered Oksa.

“The granddaughter of my Gracious has taken enlightened receipt of the Lunatrix’s words.”

Then, leaving Oksa deep in thought, the small creature bowed formally and backed away until he reached the door of the room and disappeared. 

R
EALIZING THAT HE WAS ALSO UPSET
, P
AVEL
P
OLLOCK
waited a good hour before going to comfort his daughter. He sat down on the edge of her bed and very gently stroked her hair.

“I’m really sorry, Dad, please forgive me.”

“It’s fine, it’s all forgotten.”

“I hope I didn’t hurt Baba with the bowl,” she continued.

“Oh, she only had a few little pieces of china embedded in her face last time I saw her. In fact, she looked amazingly like a porcupine…”

“Oh Dad, stop it. It’s not funny!” replied Oksa, trying not to laugh.

He looked at her affectionately, his eyes sad despite his relief at being able to tease her again. Neither of them said anything for a moment, then Oksa broke the silence:

“Are you going to get divorced?” she asked, staring at the wall opposite.

“Divorced? Of course not, Oksa!” cried her father. “There’s no
question
of that. Don’t worry about your mother. She’s had a nasty shock but she’s pretty tough. Anyway she loves you, there’s no doubt about that. Everything will be okay, you’ll see.”

“Do you really think so?” asked Oksa, looking up.

“I’m sure of it. And I apologize on behalf of all of us for not paying you enough attention. We’re going to be more on the ball from now on, I give you my solemn promise,” he added, raising his right hand and pretending to spit on the floor. “But before you go back to school tomorrow, you
must promise not to use your gifts
in public
. You possess a power greater than you can even imagine. I understand how you might be tempted to take advantage of it, but it’ll only put you in danger.”

“I think I understand,” said Oksa quietly.

“I’ll give you an example which should make you realize what risks we all run if anyone slips up. And this is a valuable lesson for us all, anyway, not just for you. Do you remember Tugdual?”

“Yes,” she replied, biting the inside of her cheek at the thought of their first meeting. “He was that boy in Baba’s apartment who was sort of out of it and didn’t say a word all evening.”

“Yes, that’s him,” replied her father. “He’s the grandson of Naftali and Brune, Runaways from the Firmhand tribe who are your gran’s friends. When Tugdual was a child, everyone thought, wrongly, he was very shy and introverted because he was so silent and taciturn. But you can’t judge a book by its cover. In actual fact, Tugdual’s sullen expression and silence masked the fact that he was having a really bad time and I’ll explain why. His grandparents had decided to keep quiet about their origins. Their children knew nothing about Edefia for many years and, as a result, neither did their grandchildren. Now, as it happens, the Firmhands’ metabolism causes young boys to slough their skin when they reach adolescence: at a given point, scabs form over the entire surface of their body and then fall off to be replaced by an entirely new skin.”

“Like snakes!” noted Oksa, stunned.

“Yes, it’s quite symbolic… but, more than anything else, it’s quite scary. When it happened to their son, Naftali and Brune skilfully
managed
to pass off this unavoidable phase in the life of a Firmhand—even a Firmhand who doesn’t know he’s one—as some kind of allergic
reaction
caused by him eating something exotic. Things proved to be much more complicated for Tugdual, because no one knew that, since the age of thirteen, the boy had belonged to a group involved in witchcraft, black magic and so on, the way certain teenagers of that age tend to do. With his friends, he performed occult rites during which he concocted
beverages supposed to give various powers. All of this would have been relatively harmless if not for the fact that, at the same time, Tugdual was beginning to realize that he had certain gifts: levitation, telekinesis and ultra-keen sight.”

“Did he discover all this on his own? Like me?” asked Oksa,
interrupting
him.

“Yes. And he didn’t tell anyone for two years. He attributed these powers to the beverages that he’d been making with his friends. Although he was much younger than they were, he soon became the group’s supreme leader due to his gifts. He had no idea that the beverages had nothing to do with it.”

“Let me guess,” broke in Oksa. “I’m sure those drinks contained some really gross ingredients.”

“You’re right,” admitted her father. “From what I know, Tugdual and his friends—his followers, I should say, because he became the leader of a real sect—drank pints of blood from sacrificed hens and goats, mixed with pounds of squashed woodlice, toad hearts, crushed rats’ livers and various dubious herbs.”

“Stop it, Dad,” begged Oksa, feeling sick. “I think I get the picture.”

“As you can imagine, there was nothing magical about these potions. But Tugdual was sure that he was slowly turning into an exceptional
magician
. Using and abusing his natural gifts during these secret ceremonies, he acquired a terrible power over his friends, who worshipped him. He made them do exactly what he wanted—morbid things like collecting earth from freshly closed graves or obtaining hairs from corpses waiting to be autopsied at the medical examiner’s office, that kind of thing. He wasn’t daunted by any experiment. With the advantage of his gifts, he indulged in all kinds of sordid wrongdoings. Tugdual’s ‘slough’ began the day after a pretty revolting evening during which he’d planned to sacrifice a black cat. After sprinkling the poor creature with one of his foul potions, it scratched him badly on his forearm—which only served him right, if you want my opinion. When he woke up the next morning, his
entire body was covered with scabs and his skin was falling off in strips. Tugdual assumed there was a connection between the cat’s scratch and the state he was in. He became so terrified that he entered a deep state of paranoid delirium—don’t forget he was only fifteen. His parents were just as panic-stricken and were about to rush him to A&E. Fortunately, before doing so, they told Naftali and Brune, who firmly dissuaded them. In the days after, the whole family found out about their origins and everyone tried their best to cope with the shock. At the same time, they hastily arranged a move to Sweden. As for Tugdual, he soon acquired a new skin. However, he’d been violently disturbed by the things he’d imagined during those long unhealthy months, although he did admit that the truth had its attractions. Being a Firmhand from Edefia is much more exciting than being a macabre pseudo-magician obsessed by death and corpses. Despite that, he was still very shocked, especially as he remembered drinking all those blood-based concoctions
for nothing
! These shocks, combined with his natural predilection for the forces of darkness, meant that Tugdual became a danger to himself, while his family found it difficult to understand him. His parents were totally out of their depth. A month ago, the boy was entrusted to Abakum’s care since he has the skill and the instruments to treat that kind of illness. Tugdual isn’t a bad person deep down, otherwise Abakum wouldn’t have taken charge of him. I’m sure, as we all are, that he’s on the mend.”

Oksa gave a long whistle between her teeth and nodded, looking worried.

“That’s a terrible story… but what’s it got to do with me, Dad?”

“What it has to do with you, scatterbrain,” replied her father, pretending to be exasperated, “is that it shows you must never abuse your power. Particularly when it’s a question of powers which should be filed under ‘Top Secret’. This story has a valuable lesson for you to learn. Trust us and listen to our warnings. Okay?”

“Okay,” replied Oksa, gazing into the distance.

But the next day, racing to school on her rollerblades, her mind full of these stories and images, she began fantasizing that she was flying, without having to worry about onlookers—Outsiders who wouldn’t understand. Suddenly she realized that, with the speed from her rollerblades and her ability to float above the ground, she had taken off. She’d been levitating about a foot above the pavement while rollerblading.

“Wow, this is amazing! But I’d better come back down to earth before I get myself into trouble,” she resolved sensibly, looking around.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before she forgot that resolution. The Year 9 Neanderthal was standing at the school entrance with a gang of boys who looked just about as friendly as he was.

“Great start to the week,” grumbled Oksa. “First Mum, then a row and a fit of hysterics, and now the Neanderthal! The whole shebang…”

She sat down on the bench on the other side of the street to remove her rollerblades and used the time to try and come up with an emergency plan which would get her safely into the courtyard.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my favourite loser!” exclaimed the Neanderthal, blocking her way as she tried to sneak in with a group of students.

Her attempt to slip in unnoticed had been a complete flop.

“You give me the creeps, you know,” said the boy with a grimace, blasting hot breath in her face.

“You give me the creeps too,” muttered Oksa, switching to Plan B.

Saying this, she fixed her large grey eyes on him with such intensity that he couldn’t help shuddering. Oksa smiled inwardly and dropped her steely gaze until it came to rest on the Neanderthal’s tie, which immediately began to tighten very slowly around his thick neck. The boy looked at Oksa in amazement and tried to slip a finger between his skin and the fabric, which was strangling him. The veins in his neck and temples began to bulge as he panicked and his breathing became shallow and laboured. With his eyes watering, he continued to pull desperately
at his collar. But the tie tightened relentlessly, responding only to Oksa’s will. Satisfied at last, she released the pressure.

“You
really
give me the creeps,” she repeated, glancing one last time at his scarlet face.

Then she walked into the courtyard with her head held high.

G
US WAS LEANING AGAINST HIS OPEN LOCKER, DEEP IN
conversation with a very pretty girl whom Oksa didn’t know. He was so engrossed that he didn’t notice his friend putting away her rollerblades in the locker next to his. Feeling hurt, Oksa went straight to the classroom. Gus joined her a few minutes later.

“Hi there! You okay? I rang your bell as I went by, but your father told me you’d already left… where were you?”

“I arrived just after you, but you were
busy
,” replied Oksa, in a tone heavy with reproach, not looking up from her desk.

“Huh,” he sighed, shrugging with studied casualness. “So how are things with your parents?”

“I think they’re getting divorced,” said Oksa quietly. “Mum’s gone.”

“WHAT?”

They couldn’t continue their conversation. Dr Bento came in and the lesson was starting. Oksa paid very little attention during the next hour. Everything was getting on top of her and she felt totally isolated. And, to cap it all, Gus was so intent on chatting up other girls that he didn’t even notice her. Was he abandoning her? The traitor. And then there was awful McGraw, who kept picking on her… things weren’t going well for Oksa-san. The break was too noisy and crowded to talk about
something as private as a family crisis. Gus and Oksa tried to get some time on their own, but their friends made that impossible. When the bell rang for lunch, they raced to the cafeteria and Oksa managed to give him a broad outline of what had happened.

“I’m so angry with myself, Gus, you have no idea—and I’m so angry with all of them too! Especially my dad.”

During lunch, Gus realized how depressed Oksa really was. He’d never seen her like this, her eyes brimming with tears and her voice choked with emotion. She suddenly looked so… vulnerable. It was as if her protective shell had been stripped away by her sadness and the deep feelings of guilt she was describing in veiled terms. Gus longed to comfort her and help her get back to her bubbly, vivacious self, but he didn’t know how. How had she managed to help him when he was going through some difficult times a few years ago? That was a hard question to answer. All he knew was that she was better at comforting her friends than he was.
“I’m so pathetic, such a dead loss, I can’t even help my best friend,”
he thought, beating himself up inside. He watched her, opposite, helping herself to some of that strange dish of meat served with mint sauce. Their eyes met and Gus realized immediately that she was feeling better. That was Oksa all over! Any obstacles or ordeals she found in her way only served to make her stronger. And there he was, wallowing in his hang-ups, while Oksa was making signs at him which he couldn’t interpret. He looked at her and mouthed “
what?
”, to which she replied just as silently by rolling her eyes towards the far end of the cafeteria. Finally he realized what she was trying to show him: Mr Bontempi and Dr McGraw were sitting at the same table. A few minutes later, Gus and Oksa were outside, having ditched their trays. And their friends…

“Did you see that?” said Oksa. “McGraw is eating lunch with Bontempi!”

“Yes, it is rather unusual,” acknowledged Gus. “What are you thinking?”

“How about raiding Bontempi’s office?” suggested Oksa. “He must have files on all the teachers and we’re bound to find some info on McGraw.”

“Wait a minute—you want to get into the Headmaster’s office and go through his files?” exclaimed Gus in a low voice, looking round in the fear that someone might overhear this compromising conversation. “You’re not frightened of anything, are you?”

“Oh Gus, nothing ventured, nothing gained! Where do you think we’re going to find info? By going direct to McGraw? ‘Excuse me, my dear Dr McGraw, could you tell us where you come from, who you are and if you’re working for the secret services?’” said Oksa defiantly. “No, frankly Gus, we don’t have a choice. But you don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to…”

For a few seconds, Gus was tempted by this much more sensible alternative. But, blinded by his friendship for Oksa, he agreed to go with her, all the while telling himself that this was probably the one thing he’d regret most for the rest of his life.

“I’ve thought it over and I think you should keep watch in the corridor,” explained Oksa. “I’ll go into his office. At this hour, everyone’s eating. The teachers and monitors were all in the cafeteria, I counted them, so we should be left in peace.”

“We
should
,” muttered Gus who, despite cursing himself, was looking forward to such a dangerous yet exciting expedition. “What if someone comes?”

“You warn me!” said Oksa briskly. “That’s why you’re keeping watch, isn’t it? All you need to do is cough or whistle, whatever you want.”

“What if they ask me why I’m standing in the teachers’ corridor?”

Oksa scratched her head, narrowing her eyes. Suddenly she walked over to a corner of the courtyard, unhesitatingly stepped over the low fence around the rose bed and snapped off a magnificent white rose, which she brandished like a trophy in Gus’s face.

“Just say you were looking for the staffroom so you could leave this rose in Miss Heartbreak’s locker, because she’s your favourite teacher.”

“WHAT?!” cried Gus, beetroot-red. “I could never say that!”

“Have you got any better ideas?” asked Oksa.

“Not yet, but you can bet your life I’ll think of something!” retorted Gus.

“Fine! In any case, hold on to the rose, it may come in useful,” said Oksa grinning. “Come on, we’d better get a move on.”

The two friends went up to the first floor. The staffroom was just opposite Mr Bontempi’s office, which suited Gus, who was mentally preparing himself to justify his presence there.

“Damn! It’s locked,” cursed Oksa. “I’m going to try to open it.”

“How?” asked Gus, hoping this pitfall would put a halt to her plan. His hopes were dashed after a nanosecond.

“With this,” replied Oksa, waving her index finger mischievously under her friend’s nose.

She turned round to concentrate on the door. Then, barely an inch away from the lock which was barring their entry, she began moving her index finger very slowly in anti-clockwise circles. The mechanism seemed to respond, at first imperceptibly, but Oksa sensed she had it beaten. She hadn’t doubted it for a minute. After two minutes, she put her hand on the door handle, pressed down and… the door opened. She stifled a cry of satisfaction but punched the air in a sign of victory for Gus’s benefit. He managed only a weak smile, running his hand through his hair—a clear sign that he had mixed feelings. Oksa disappeared inside the office and closed the door behind her.

“Bento, Heartbreak, Martino… Ah here’s McGraw!” murmured Oksa.

Leaning over one of the drawers in Mr Bontempi’s filing cabinet, she took out a brown file and leafed through it. “
What an idiot! I didn’t bring anything to take notes
,” she said to herself.

She looked around—on the immaculately tidy dark wooden desk stood several piles of neatly stacked papers, a telephone, a lamp, a computer and a notepad, but not a single pencil. Against the left-hand wall was a shelf laden with books and against the right-hand one was a unit holding a fax, a printer and… a photocopier.”

“Yay!” exclaimed Oksa in a hushed voice. “Just what I need.”

She switched on the machine and began photocopying the ten or so sheets of paper in McGraw’s file without reading them—she’d have time to do that later. The photocopier must have been an old model, because the first copy wrested a loud grating noise from the machine. And a frantic groan from Oksa…

“Hang in there, Oksa,” she told herself quietly to keep her spirits up.

She placed the sheets on the glass, pressing on the lid with all her might and holding her breath, which unfortunately did nothing to muffle the photocopier’s complaints. Between two copies she managed to hear Gus, who seemed be in the grip of a violent coughing fit. The signal? The SIGNAL!