The Heart of Two Worlds (17 page)

“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?” suddenly roared a voice.

A man had just appeared out of nowhere. The three Felons who hadn’t yet climbed into the bus turned round defensively.

“You’re trying to steal that bus!” yelled the man. “Get out right now or I’ll call the police, you lousy thieves!”

The Felons smiled, intending to make mincemeat of the reckless individual, but Oksa acted first. The Young Gracious quickly opened the window and fired a Granok. The man’s face immediately relaxed into a blissful smile. He walked over to Agafon, the unsmiling Felon, and embraced him warmly.

“Come back soon, godfather!” he exclaimed. “I’ll make sure I have a bottle of that single malt you like so much and I’ll get my revenge on you at cards, just wait and see,” he chortled.

Gus looked quizzically at Oksa.

“I was hoping I’d get a chance to use my new Granok,” she said.

She turned towards Abakum with a broad grin.

“Your Hypnagogo works like a dream. I love it!” The Fairyman smiled back at her.

“The road’s clear, so sit tight,” shouted Pavel, starting up the bus.

After a few tentative manoeuvres, Pavel soon got the hang of driving the huge vehicle and they headed off through Glasgow’s congested roads.

C
OMFORTABLY SETTLED IN HER SEAT,
O
KSA RELAXED
to the steady rocking of the train as it sped towards Saihan Toroi. Even though the last two days of travel by air and rail hadn’t involved much physical exertion, she felt exhausted. She watched the magnificent yet monotonous landscape racing past. Nothing disturbed the tranquil appearance of the hills and plains of the Gobi Desert, which were covered with a thin dusting of snow. Everything looked so peaceful that it was hard to believe that the Outside was slipping inexorably into chaos. It felt as if this part of the world had been shielded from the disasters: the scattered towns served by the railway line seemed to be going about their daily lives as if nothing had happened; times were just as hard, but the inhabitants had lost none of their welcoming ways and beaming smiles.

The start of the journey hadn’t been as peaceful. Despite Pavel’s skilful driving, getting to Glasgow airport had been quite an ordeal. No one had ever seen such nose-to-tail traffic in the suburbs and on the roads out of the city centre. Fearing more floods along the coast, those who could leave were attempting to take refuge inland and, in the light of warnings from the leading specialists in Earth Sciences, no one could blame them for this exodus. In Glasgow, as all over the world, massive traffic jams were forming on the outskirts of towns at risk from tidal waves, tsunamis, volcanic eruptions, earth tremors, landslides, etc. Although the cause of
some of these hazards could be traced back to human neglect and several decades of disregard for the most elementary concepts of universal ecology, there was no accounting for most of the disasters ravaging the world. The dangers remained inexplicable and unpredictable.

The traffic was so bad that the Runaways and Felons had almost missed the plane to Urumqi. Dragomira had been forced to use a discreet magical manoeuvre to clear away a broken-down car blocking the road. The bus had finally arrived at the airport less than an hour before take-off and tensions were running high. They were able to buy tickets very quickly since their destination was not very popular and the flight was far from full. However, the terminals were packed with hysterical passengers wanting to catch a plane out of danger at any cost. They had to use their elbows and, occasionally, their fists in this concrete jungle where civilized values were evaporating before their eyes. Oksa had been traumatized by a particularly nasty incident: one man had hurled himself at Marie and had thrown her to the floor to steal her wheelchair in the hope that appearing disabled might improve his chances of getting a ticket. Pavel and Naftali had immediately pinned him to the ground and had immobilized him with a Dozident Granok. Reminiscens and Zoe, still in shock at Mercedica’s death, had also been easy prey for various predatory men. Someone had snatched Reminiscens’ bag and Zoe had been punched in the shoulder trying to get it back. This time it was Tugdual who stepped in with magic, using a Magnetus to retrieve the bag and a Putrefactio to punish the lowlife who’d stolen it. A wave of panic had surged through the airport when the man’s arm had begun to rot, giving off a vile stench.

“You certainly don’t do things by halves, do you!” Oksa had exclaimed.

“You can say that again, Lil’ Gracious,” he’d remarked with an irresistible smile.

Remembering that scene, Oksa looked around for Tugdual. The Runaways and the Felons were sharing the same carriage on the train speeding into the heart of the Gobi Desert. Since the start of the journey, Tugdual and Gus had taken every opportunity to try to sit beside her, but neither of them had succeeded: Marie, Pavel, Dragomira or Abakum had claimed the “privilege”. Still, the two rivals kept a protective eye on the Young Gracious, as did Orthon, who was never far away… the Felon hadn’t stopped fuming since they’d left the island. Dragomira was a closed book: she wouldn’t let any information slip about their destination. All the Felons’ schemes had been thwarted by their unstinting vigilance. Even a truth potion, poured secretly into Baba Pollock’s tea, hadn’t allowed Orthon to achieve his ends.

“Orthon’s such a creep,” muttered Oksa, looking away from the Felon.

“What did you say, darling?” asked Marie.

The Young Gracious studied her mother sadly. Marie never complained about the pain, but her condition was deteriorating so obviously that she didn’t need to say anything. Over the last two days her face had turned a nasty grey colour and had become deeply lined. Her body was hunched over, wasted by illness.

“I was thinking that Orthon hasn’t spared our family much,” replied Oksa, with a heavy heart.

“You can say that again,” said her mother, blinking nervously. “How do you feel?”

“Um… like I’m crossing a crater full of molten lava on a tightrope. One false step and I’ll fall! Dragging everyone else down with me—you get the sort of thing?”

“Perfectly,” sighed Marie. “We’ll survive this!”

“Damn right we will,” said Oksa.

She focused on the sky traversed by long black streaks and the snow-covered hills, finding it soothing to gaze at such endless expanses. She
watched the landscape for a while in a cocoon of lethargy, until her gaze reluctantly drifted towards Gus. He was in her line of sight, looking perfectly calm, although she was sure his expressionless mask concealed intense anxiety. Crossing the Gobi Desert seemed to bring out his Chinese side. Was he thinking about the woman who’d given birth to him and who was living somewhere in this vast country? Perhaps… unless his mind was fixed on the harsh reality of living on borrowed time.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked, going to sit next to him.

“Nothing special,” he replied, moving away slightly.

“It’s a long journey…” she urged.

He hunched down in his seat and looked the other way. She studied him out of the corner of her eye.

“Have I ever told you how much I love your company? You’re so… chatty!” she teased.

“Hey! Don’t come over here and annoy me just because you’re as bored as a sloth!”

Oksa chewed her lip and stretched out her legs. Studying the seat in front intently, she scratched the worn fabric and pulled out a loose thread.

“I’m not a sloth,” she said after a while.

Gus furtively glanced at her.

“Sorry.”

“Forget it!” she said, relieved that he was open to a suspension of hostilities.

She waited for him to continue, but he kept quiet, his forehead lined with worry.

“Are you trying to unpick that seat?” he asked suddenly.

“Why won’t you tell me what’s wrong?” retorted Oksa, turning to look directly at him, her elbow propped on the headrest.

“Has it occurred to you that some of us might not be able to get into Edefia?” he asked tremulously.

Oksa looked at him wide-eyed, her chest tight.

“What do you mean?”

“What happens if all the Outsiders end up stranded at the entrance to Edefia?” continued Gus. “What happens if they’re not allowed in?”

Oksa scrubbed her hand over her face. Beads of cold sweat appeared on her forehead and her head swam as she was seized by a terrible fear.

“Why did you say that? Why do you have to think such
awful
things?”

Gus met her eyes. She flinched.

“I’m not the only one, Oksa. Everyone thinks the same, your parents, mine, Dragomira… You just want to bury your head in the sand. But just because something is ‘unthinkable’ doesn’t make it any less probable.”

“PROBABLE?!? But, Gus—”

The words caught in her throat. She looked around frantically. Her mother had her head on Pavel’s shoulder and he was gently stroking her hair. Marie suddenly looked up and gave him a crooked smile. Oksa’s heart turned over; she was suddenly convinced that Gus’s fears were far from being unfounded. Oksa looked round the carriage. Olof and his wife were cuddling Kukka; the Fortensky clan were discussing something in low voices; Cockerell was clutching his wife’s hands to his chest… The Felons were doing the same, she noticed: they were lavishing a great deal of attention on Outsiders. An unusual amount of attention? Her question remained unanswered; Gus had just tensed on his seat, his hands gripping the armrests. Was he having another attack? “Oh please, not another one,” pleaded Oksa in her head.

“WHAT’S GOING ON?” Gus exclaimed, jumping up.

Oksa looked out of the window, as did the rest of the passengers: hundreds of animals were stampeding south, heading in the opposite direction to that of the train. Snow leopards and small horses were leading the way, followed by an unruly pack of galloping camels, running bears, sheep, goats and flocks of frightened birds. A long way behind them, enormous clouds of dust were rising from the ground, obstructing the horizon. The train slowed down appreciably, as if the driver were worried about approaching what was looking increasingly like an impassable barrier. The two Boximinuses began rocking wildly, which didn’t help
matters. Their occupants seemed to be in the grip of the same panic as the fleeing desert animals, which didn’t bode well. The passengers were now glued to the windows, staring at the barrier of dust with appalled fascination. Suddenly the train stopped. There were loud shouts as the two drivers suddenly rushed into the carriage occupied by the Runaways and Felons.

“What are they saying?” Oksa couldn’t help asking. “It’s Chinese, I can’t make head or tail of it!”

The members of the group with the best command of the priceless gift of Poluslingua listened hard. The panic-stricken train drivers were shouting and gesticulating wildly.

“The Great Yellow Dragon,” Abakum translated finally, going white. “It’s a giant sandstorm.”

T
HE ENORMOUS BILLOWS OF DUST WERE GROWING
nearer, roaring like a huge monster. Soon they filled the sky, obscuring the feeble rays of sunshine and plunging the dunes into total darkness.

“It looks very high!” whispered Oksa.

“Tumble,” called Dragomira, dipping her hand into her bag.

“Yes, my Old Gracious?” said the creature, standing to attention.

“What do you know about this sandstorm?”

The Tumble-Bawler pressed itself to the window for a few seconds, then replied:

“It’s incredibly destructive. As you can see, it reaches high into the sky, so the Runaways and Felons won’t be able to lift the train over it the way they lifted the ships over that rogue wave.”

“Is it very wide?”

The Tumble pressed against the window again and concentrated.

“The sand cloud covers a surface area of about seventy-eight miles and is moving at ninety-nine miles per hour.”

“We’re going to die!” cried Oksa, wringing her hands.

“It will take about forty minutes to pass through it,” calculated Gus, thinking hard.

“Forty minutes?” exclaimed Oksa, trembling. “We’ll never hold our breath that long. We’ll suffocate! We’ve got to do something! Would it help if I raised a storm? It wouldn’t take much to send me over the edge…”

Everyone considered this suggestion carefully.

“Given the strength of the wind inside it, I’m afraid the sandstorm might just absorb the additional energy and that would only strengthen it,” said Abakum. “Which would make matters even worse.”

“What about Tornaphyllon Granoks?” suggested Oksa. “If we all fire Tornaphyllons at it, we might be able to push it back!”

“It’s worth a try,” said Pavel, going over to the carriage door.

All the Runaways and Felons with Granok-Shooters gathered on the snow-covered sand. Joining forces for the first time, they focused on the sand wall advancing with a roar. Oksa felt as though her brain was about to explode. She was making a superhuman effort not to give way to panic. Flashes of black light crackled above the Runaways and Felons, who were summoning all their energy.

“Together, on my signal!” said Abakum. Three… two… ONE!”

They all blew into their Granok-Shooters at the same time, saying the magic formula to themselves.

A transparent cylinder of wind materialized, which looked very much like a massive soap bubble, and raced at breathtaking speed towards the moving sand wall. The impact when they collided sent a few tons of sand into the air to form a hole—which closed up again a few seconds later.

“Again!” shouted Dragomira.

After two more attempts the Runaways and Felons climbed back into the train, looking undeniably anxious.

“Maybe we should turn round?” suggested Naftali.

“This isn’t a high-speed train. We’d never outdistance it,” said Pavel.

“The baby Lunatrix could slow down time,” suggested Pierre in his turn.

“That would be an excellent solution,” replied Abakum, “if it weren’t for the fact that his power only works on human beings, not the elements.”

“Oksa?” called Gus, his eyes fixed on the dreadful sand wall drawing ever closer. “Do you remember that video clip we saw on the Internet?”

Oksa looked at him, intrigued.

“Which one, Gus?”

“The one about the Australians who found themselves in the path of an enormous sandstorm, which was heading straight for them. Do you remember how they survived?”

“Instead of running away, they sprinted as fast as they could through it.”

“Exactly!”

“But Gus,” broke in Marie, sounding choked. “We wouldn’t survive for forty minutes in that hellhole!”

“It’s only forty minutes if we stay still. If we move too, it wouldn’t take so long to pass through it,” replied Gus.

“But we’ll be trapped like rats by the sand…”

“Not if the Tornaphyllons create a tunnel through it for us!”

They looked at each other in amazement.

“Gus?” said Oksa hoarsely.

“Yes, Oksa?”

“You know you’re a genius, don’t you?”

Gus gave her a half-smile and turned away.

“QUICK!” exclaimed Dragomira. “The storm’s coming!” Abakum rushed over to his chest of Granoks and handed some out to everyone with a Granok-Shooter. Then he hurried towards the locomotive, which had been abandoned by the train’s drivers, who’d been just as terrified by these passengers with strange powers as by the sandstorm. He took over at the controls, while Pavel rushed outside, despite protests from his friends.

“Pavel, PLEASE DON’T GO!” yelled Marie, trying in vain to hold him back.

Watched by his companions and the other stunned passengers, the Ink Dragon reared from Pavel’s back and took flight.

“The battle of the dragons,” remarked Abakum, starting up the train.

Some thirty people were silently clustered around Abakum, taking it in turns to fire as many Granoks as possible through the half-open windows. Pavel’s Ink Dragon was flying above the locomotive to escort the train heading at top speed for the wall.

“We’re mad,” muttered Oksa, shaking like a leaf.

“It will work!” said Tugdual, putting his arms around her from behind.

“GET READY!” announced Abakum, hunched tensely over the instrument panel.

The vast bulwark of sand and the train were speeding towards each other on collision course. The Runaways and Felons fought to control their mounting terror, their breath coming in short gasps. A few more yards to go, a few seconds…

There was almost complete darkness at the heart of the sandstorm. Visibility was reduced to near zero and only the train’s headlamp cast a hazy yellow glow over the locomotive as it valiantly raced ahead. Ignoring the bitter cold caused by the sudden drop in temperature, the members of the two feuding groups worked together to maximize the strength of the Tornaphyllons. Large cylinders of pure energy created a tunnel through which the train accelerated. Pavel and his Ink Dragon did their bit by expelling a mighty breath drawn from deep within to drive back the onslaughts of the sandstorm. Runaways and Felons
alike realized how important Pavel’s contribution was and they all feared for his life. If he wasn’t strong enough to resist the storm, he’d be swept away… While concentrating on the Tornaphyllons, Oksa couldn’t help picturing that terrible possibility. “Hang in there, Dad, hang in there!” she pleaded silently. The Curbita-Flatulo undulated continually around her wrist and she’d never needed its help more. She felt exhausted and petrified—a dreadful mix of emotions which sapped her energy.

“Thirty more miles exactly,” the Tumble-Bawler suddenly informed them. “If we keep going at this speed, we should be out of the sand cloud in twelve minutes.”

Twelve minutes. Twelve short minutes, which seemed like hours… Would they succeed? There was no way of knowing. They were all aware that the Insiders’ fabulous powers were no match for Mother Nature. Their only hope was that today, on the threshold of Edefia, she’d be kind and offer them a slim chance of survival.

“Keep it up!” said Dragomira, her face drawn with tiredness. “The worst is over.”

Despite her gran’s encouragement, Oksa had a nasty feeling that “the worst” was still to come. The violent storm was intensifying and the strength of the Runaways and the Felons was waning. The train was still travelling at top speed, but it was being hit hard by the eddies of sand. All the doors and windows were closed, except for the ones in the locomotive which were only open a crack, but sand was flooding in through the smallest gaps and now lay three feet deep on the floor of the carriages. This only increased the general atmosphere of panic and despair as the added weight was beginning to slow the train down.

“Abakum? What’s happening?” cried Dragomira in alarm.

The Fairyman had no time to reply: the train suddenly shuddered and seemed to rock on its rails.

“We’re too heavy!” he said, going pale. “We’ll be derailed! Naftali! Pierre! We have to uncouple some of the carriages!”

The two men rushed out, followed by Orthon and Gregor. It was too difficult to walk through the sand, so they lost no time in Vertiflying towards the rear of the train, watched in amazement by the passengers who’d gathered in the front carriages. A few minutes later, half as light again, the train picked up speed. Only to slow down again after a few hundred yards because of the violence of the storm.

“Come on!” encouraged Oksa, surprising herself. “We’ve come so far. We can’t let ourselves be buried in the sand now, can we?”

Up to their waists in sand, they drew on their last reserves of strength. They had to get out of this, come hell or high water. There was a heart-rending howl from the roof. The wings of the Ink Dragon suddenly banged against the little windows of the locomotive. They rose again feebly, then collapsed to cover the front of the train, which was beginning to shake under the force of the storm. The Yellow Dragon was overpowering the Ink Dragon!

“NO!” yelled Oksa. “It can’t end like this!”

It took her just a few seconds to visualize her father, lying lifeless on the cold metal, his face scratched raw by sand. The feeling of outrage provoked by this thought filled her with a seething anger that awoke her Identego with a frantic call for help. As she felt that part of her inner self leave her, she’d never been so aware of her mind and body. Dragomira watched in wonder as the miracle unfolded before her eyes. The Two Graciouses exchanged a guarded look of understanding as Oksa’s Identego slipped out through the slightly open window.