The Heart of Two Worlds (9 page)

S
TOICALLY BRAVING THE WIND AND RAIN,
P
AVEL AND HIS
friends were carrying out their mission in their separate ways: Naftali, Brune, Pierre and Feng Li were scuttling across the facade like large spiders, using the smallest crevices as footholds and handholds, while Pavel and Cockerell were Vertiflying from window to window, trying to look inside. No matter what method they'd chosen, however, they were united in cause and well matched in courage.

“Marie, where are you?” muttered Pavel. Pierre signalled to him, his face red from the icy gusts of wind. Only the strength of his index finger clinging to the tiny cornice along the roof was keeping him pressed against the wall. With a backflip, the “Viking” released his hold and Vertiflew over to Pavel.

“She's here!”

In an instant, the six Runaways huddled together and had a whispered conversation a few yards above ground. Pavel nodded, putting his hand on Naftali's shoulder. The towering Swede plunged into the wall and disappeared, holding his Granok-Shooter. The sound of shouting initially gave the Runaways cause for concern but, eventually, the window opened and Naftali popped his head out, beaming with triumph.

Gagged and bound by Naftali's Arborescens, the wide-eyed woman watched Pavel rush over to the bed where Marie was lying. Pavel and Marie had been kept apart by the Felons for over four months and the
indescribable relief they felt as they flung their arms around each other was almost as heart-rending as the shock Pavel had felt when he was told the terrible news of her abduction. It felt like Pavel's heart was cracking open to release all the worry he'd buried inside for so long. It was such a comfort to be reunited with the woman he loved. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his pounding heart and, cupping Marie's face in his hands, he gazed into her eyes.

“Someone's coming!” warned Pierre, his ear pressed against the door.

Pavel leapt to his feet and positioned himself defensively in front of the bed. Opposite him, Naftali was keeping the bound woman at a respectful distance. Her eyes were frightened and pleading.

“Don't hurt her!” said Marie quietly.

Pavel looked quizzically at her.

“She's done a lot for me…” she added, before the door was flung open with a crash.

Four Felons burst into the room and stopped short at the sight of the new “occupants”. Against all expectation, the Runaways were proving to be a force to be reckoned with: the Knuts' imposing appearance, Pierre's and Cockerell's bulk, Feng Li's inscrutable expression and Pavel's fury only enhanced the sense of fierce determination radiating from the group.

Making the most of their assailants' brief indecision and mute amazement, Brune leapt into the air and slammed both feet against the chest of one of the Felons, who crashed to the floor, knocking over the other three. They retaliated by firing Granoks, which the Runaways managed to dodge, then some Fireballisticos, which Pavel simply intercepted, since he didn't seem to be harmed by flames, or even feel them. Pierre ended this lightning attack by knocking the four Felons unconscious with a Knock-Bong to the back of the neck.

“Watch out!” said Feng Li, standing sentry by the window. “There are more coming from outside.”

“And from this way!” said Pierre, glancing out into the corridor.

Although he knew it was futile, he slammed the door and took out his Granok-Shooter. The Runaways exchanged looks, drawing strength from the intense determination burning in their eyes. Like battle-hardened soldiers, they prepared to face the ten or so Felons who lost no time in bursting into Marie's room through the walls and the window.

O
KSA TOOK A STEP BACK.
O
RTHON WAS THERE IN THE
flesh, looking almost completely physically intact. He was wearing thick dark glasses but the Crucimaphila had clearly left its mark on his face and hands—as it must have done on the rest of his body. From a distance, his complexion looked iridescent, but as he drew nearer the Runaways could see that his skin was pitted, as if full of
holes
which had been painstakingly
filled
with what looked like… Goranov sap! Oksa couldn’t help thinking about that poor, highly strung plant. She hoped it had survived. The Felon’s hair was no longer deep black—it was now a striking aluminium grey. He stopped in the centre of the room and took off his glasses, revealing another change to his appearance, which amazed anyone who’d ever experienced the weight of his unfathomably black eyes. Like his hair, his piercing gaze was now steel-grey and glittered with even more cruelty than before.

Oksa felt a small hot hand slipping into hers: the Lunatrix had sensed how unsettled she was by Orthon. The Young Gracious was struggling to stay strong, assailed by all the bad memories and the dangers represented by the Felon. He’d caused her family and loved ones so much pain! After narrowly escaping death, he now seemed stronger than before, as if the change wrought by the Crucimaphila had made him more powerful. Although he looked thinner in his black sweater and charcoal-grey trousers, he radiated an aura of formidable strength. Narrowing his eyes,
he curiously studied the Runaways and their creatures, then turned back to Oksa with renewed interest. When she felt his icy stare on her, the Young Gracious had the impression that she’d stepped back in time. She was hit by the same unbearable pain, like a hard punch to the stomach, that she’d experienced on the first day of school when she’d met the Felon maths teacher for the first time. Orthon looked so invulnerable. She battled to control the pain and panic, assisted by her Curbita-Flatulo, which was undulating around her wrist. Behind her, Abakum put his hands on her shoulders, and a surge of energy and confidence spread through her. She glimpsed a faint shadow of doubt pass over Orthon’s face, showing that, despite his evil powers, the Felon obviously feared the Fairyman.

A few seconds later, he turned his attention away from Oksa—only temporarily, she was sure—and noticed his twin sister. Discomfited, Reminiscens stiffened and proudly braved Orthon’s unfathomable gaze.

“My wonderful sister,” murmured Orthon.

No one could tell if Orthon’s tone was sad or ironic. Perhaps a bit of both…

“You’ve chosen sides then,” he continued.

“There was never any doubt,” said Reminiscens, her voice admirably steady. “I’ve followed my heart, not my family.”

This answer seemed to upset Orthon.

“Why do all of you keep rejecting blood ties?” he replied, his deceptively playful tone intended to annoy them. “You can’t argue with the science of genetics.”

“But genes are far from the only things that bring people together!” retorted Reminiscens.

Orthon stared at her malevolently, then sat down in a heavy leather armchair in the centre of the room. After a tense silence, he continued:

“You look very well, dear sister.”

“No thanks to you!” objected Reminiscens, clutching her long cashmere cardigan around her.

Orthon pulled a face.

“Of course, I forgot—the only reason you’re here is because of your former devoted escort, the wonderful, saint-like Leomido! I’m surprised he isn’t here with you,” Orthon remarked, narrowing his eyes. “Is he afraid to face his half-brother? Or is he ashamed that he’s related to me?”

The Runaways blanched. Orthon obviously didn’t know about Leomido’s death, and hadn’t been taunting them when he’d asked the question at Bigtoe Square while possessing Zelda’s body—he’d really wanted to know what had happened to his half-brother! Oksa held her breath, worried about how he might react when they told him the awful news.

“I’ve always known he couldn’t handle the truth,” continued Orthon quietly. “What a let-down. For years, he was held up as an example! And now, rather than face up to things, he’s hiding like a scared little mouse. How very disappointing.”

“Leomido’s dead!” broke in Reminiscens, her voice trembling with barely suppressed anger.

The revelation came as a complete shock to Orthon: they saw his face change. His eyes widened and welled with tears, while his features tensed and his face went white. His hands clutched the armrests of the armchair so hard that his knuckles made a cracking noise. He didn’t seem to have considered the possibility that things might turn out like this between him and the half-brother he’d always competed against. He shut his eyes to avoid the curious and apprehensive stares. When he reopened them after a few minutes, he studied the face of his twin, who was trying hard to mask her hatred.

“How did it happen?” he whispered hoarsely.

“He couldn’t live with the secret,” hissed Reminiscens. “He chose death. The Soul-Searcher took him.”

Hearing this, Orthon stood up and went over to the fire, without a glance for anyone. Resting his hands against the mantelpiece, he stood
there, back bowed, ignoring his dismayed entourage and the Runaways. Outside the wind was gusting violently, banging the shutters and shaking the walls. Since Orthon seemed lost in grief, the Runaways eventually sat down on the many sofas.

Oksa made the most of this lull in the conversation to examine the Felons. Her attention was particularly drawn by two imposing men who radiated intelligence and cruelty. “Agafon and Lukas,” she deduced. “Bloodthirsty Werewalls.” Although they had to be in their fifties, they were tall, well built and exuded an air of nobility heightened by their abnormally youthful looks. “Nontemporentas,” immediately thought Oksa. “Pearls of Longevity!” Both men were wearing Edefia’s traditional costume: a kind of dark woollen kimono with embroidered geometric motifs around the collar and cuffs. One of them bowed when Oksa met his glittering eyes and she looked away in confusion. Eventually Orthon returned to his armchair in the middle of the room and the Master of the Felons was once again the centre of attention.

With crossed arms and a murderous expression in her eyes, Reminiscens gazed at her hated twin, who looked so much like her. They came from the same egg, they shared the same cells—how could they have chosen such different paths? They’d loved each other dearly until Ocious had ordered the Beloved Detachment which was to ruin the life of the young woman she’d been and the woman she’d become. Orthon could have halted that shameful crime if he’d wanted to. Did he feel guilty at all? He must have done, before madness had claimed him… in fact, she wouldn’t have been surprised to find out that it was one of the grievances he had against Ocious, their father. Subconsciously, he was probably riddled with guilt. Even though she believed that, Reminiscens couldn’t bear to watch Orthon strutting around. She couldn’t control the wave of bitter rage that washed over her. She rushed into the middle of the room, coming to stand a few inches from her brother, and looked deep into his eyes. The Felons immediately responded threateningly, but Orthon raised his hand to stop them.

“You’d like us to think you miss Leomido, would you?” she raged. “Why have you ruined so many lives? How many people have you killed, Orthon? How many? Do you even know?”

The Felon scornfully tilted his head to one side.

“Oh come on, you know very well that every battle involves losses! Collateral damage, so to speak…”

“And which battle are you talking about exactly?” roared Reminiscens, her hands on her hips. “You mean the petty battle you started to satisfy your pathetic excuse for an ego?”

“How dare you!” yelled Orthon.

His eyes gave off tiny sparks, which crackled ominously.

“You plotted to Impicture me for ever because you were worried I’d thwart your plans,” continued Reminiscens. “You killed my son and his wife! YOU KILLED THEM JUST BECAUSE THEY STOOD IN YOUR WAY!”

Shaking with cold fury, she took out her Granok-Shooter. Orthon didn’t move.

“You’re no match for me,” he hissed. “You can hurt or injure me, but you can’t kill me.”

“Not you, no,” replied Reminiscens, white with rage. “But I can kill him!”

Saying that, she fired an Arborescens Granok at Mortimer, Orthon’s youngest son. Immediately, everyone abandoned their efforts to maintain some semblance of peace. The Runaways’ hearts were overflowing with too much anger and resentment to hold back, while the Felons were too blinded by pride and dreams of glory. The Abominari was the first to attack:

“I spit in your face, you wretched old rat!” it ranted, frothing with rage. “I’ll tear your body limb from limb and throw the pieces into the sea for the crabs to feast on!”

“Yeah, yeah,” muttered Dragomira, firing a Granok which sealed the creature’s mouth.

“Did someone mention spitting?” broke in the Incompetent.

Seizing her opportunity, Oksa bent down and whispered in the lethargic Incompetent’s ear. The next moment, the silenced Abominari, which had been rushing at Dragomira with its claws out, had skidded to a halt, astonished at the pain caused by the Incompetent’s lethal spittle. Its skin blackened where it had been hit, giving off a stinking, acrid smoke, and the creature fell to the floor. Oksa rubbed her hands gleefully.

“Good job too!” she muttered.

The battle continued to rage in complete chaos. Orthon had decided to attack the Fairyman, his lifelong enemy.

“LOOK OUT, ABAKUM!” yelled Oksa, ever watchful.

Pavel burst into the room just as she was about to launch herself at Orthon, using her body as a cannonball.

“Don’t you dare!” ordered her father.

“But Dad—”

“STAY HERE AND DON’T MOVE!” he shouted, dragging her behind a huge sofa.

“What about Mum… did you find her?”

“She’s safe in the chapel. Stay here!”

A feeling of indescribable relief washed over Oksa, despite the fraught situation. The Fairyman was dodging countless Granoks, while brandishing the wand he’d inherited from his mother, the Ageless Fairy. A virtually invisible shield appeared over and in front of the Runaways, rendering the Felons’ Granoks as harmless as grains of wheat. Exploiting the element of surprise, Pavel launched himself at the wall and began running round the room with remarkable agility. Gregor and Lukas fired lightning bolts at him from their fingertips, but Pavel was too fast. He circled the room once more and, taking a run-up from the back of the room, literally flew at Orthon. With his shins clamped around the Felon’s neck in a stranglehold, he began rotating horizontally, causing Orthon to spin uncontrollably. They were so tightly locked together as they whirled in mid-air that no one dared to step in for fear of injuring
their own man. Agafon decided it was worth taking the chance, though, and shouted “Orthon! Tornaphyllon!” in warning.

As soon as the Granok hit the pair, Orthon shot away with all his strength to escape the centrifugal effect of the Tornaphyllon. He landed on his feet, glaring defiantly at the Runaways, who could do nothing to help Pavel, who was caught in the vortex created by the Granok. Oksa wrung her hands, horrified at her father’s predicament. She glanced desperately at Tugdual, but he was battling with Catarina who was trying to fire Fireballisticos at the Runaways. The room was filled with duels, battles and hand-to-hand combat. Oksa swallowed one of her Ventosa Capacitors and leapt towards the ceiling.

“YA-HAAAA!” she yelled.

The capsule worked its magic and her hands stuck to the ceiling as if held by magnets. She crawled closer to the fierce whirlwind, holding on to the smooth surface with all her might to avoid being swept away. The hungry vortex sucked at her hair and clothes, pulling them horizontally towards it. She unknotted her scarf, which was beginning to strangle her, and watched it disappear.

“Careful, Oksa!” shouted Tugdual, dodging a fresh volley of Granoks fired by Gregor.

Despite the danger, Oksa didn’t hesitate. She plunged her arms into the tornado and freed her father by yanking him towards her. They both dropped unceremoniously to the floor.

“Ouch!” groaned Oksa, hunched over.

She might be the Gracious, but she was still human—as her body was reminding her.

“You should have listened to me!” scolded Pavel. “That was a stupid risk to take.”

She looked at him, disconcerted. What had he expected her to do? Wait patiently for him to die? Her breathing quickened and her eyes darkened.

“Come now, dear nephew, your daughter simply has a highly developed sense of self-sacrifice.”

Oksa stiffened: Orthon had just put his foot on her sore shoulder, the most painful part of her body. Mercilessly, he pressed harder and harder, staring at Pavel challengingly. Then, suddenly, he grabbed Pavel’s throat and pushed Oksa down with his foot. She found herself flat on her back, her ribcage crushed by the Felon’s heavy foot. Her eyes opened wide as she struggled to breathe. Above her, Orthon was squeezing Pavel’s throat, while repelling attacks from Tugdual and Dragomira. “He’s unbeatable,” thought Oksa miserably. “We’re all going to die!” She tried to mobilize her Identego, which she could feel trembling deep inside her. What was it waiting for? Why didn’t it reduce Orthon to mincemeat? How did it work? Argh, she felt so helpless…

“ORTHON!” Reminiscens’ voice rang out suddenly. “THAT’S ENOUGH!”

They all turned to look at her. She was holding up her Granok-Shooter. A slender filament of Arborescens led from its tip to Mortimer’s body. She jerked it through the air as if cracking a whip and a tightly bound Mortimer was lifted from the ground and tossed in all directions. He screamed in pain and fear, unable to stop himself from smacking against the ceiling, walls and floor.

“Let them go!” Reminiscens icily ordered Orthon.

Orthon looked unimpressed.

“Are you sure you really want to go through with this?” challenged Reminiscens. “Are you really prepared to sacrifice your own flesh and blood, when family ties are so important to you?”