FROM THE START, OCIOUS HAD GUESSED THAT THE ISLE OF the Fairies would be the ideal hiding place for the Young Gracious. Agafon, the Memorarian, was quite adamant, though: nowhere in the Gracious Archives was there any mention of a human visiting this territory. No one could enter, except for Attendants and Graciouses, living or dead. Like the invisible Mantle around Edefia, the Isle was protected by an imperceptible barrier that acted as a deterrent—it would forcefully repel anyone who came near it. There was no way in without the co-operation of the Ageless Ones, and Ocious was well aware that they were no fans of his. Since that idealist, Malorane, had died, not one of the Fairies had put in an appearance. And yet, as Orthon had confirmed, they were still very active. They’d appeared several times to the Runaways on the Outside, and they’d no doubt taken Oksa in hand as soon as she’d entered the damned Cloak Chamber.
The search of the six towns of Edefia had proved one thing to the population: Ocious was still in charge of the country. However, the elderly ruler was far from being satisfied by this outcome. So, since he couldn’t get into the Isle of the Fairies, he ordered the island to be surrounded by two squadrons: a highly trained air squadron led by Andreas and a land squadron led by himself and Orthon. Given that the Young Gracious was probably already there, she wouldn’t be able to leave without being spotted. Then they’d see who had the upper hand.
Everyone inside the Isle of the Fairies knew they were surrounded. Unseen, Oksa could watch the movements of the patrols escorted by horrible swarms of Vigilians and Chiropterans. She could even see Ocious, Andreas, Orthon and his son Gregor; rigged out in leather armour, they looked ready for anything. Oksa’s heart swelled with resentment.
“They don’t give up easily,” she said with a grimace.
“You have no idea!” said Malorane.
Ever watchful and anxious, the former Gracious joined Oksa near the invisible shield and glared at Ocious, the man who’d caused her downfall. Usually iridescent white in hue, Malorane grew as dark as a storm cloud, streaked with black and purple. A reflection of her bitter hatred, Oksa thought.
She hadn’t forgotten the terrible images she’d seen through Dragomira’s Camereye: almost sixty years earlier, beside the wide-open Portal, Ocious and Malorane had mercilessly confronted each other. With blood dripping from her head, the deposed Gracious had leapt desperately into the air and dropped like a stone on her mortal enemy. She’d died that day and had become an Ageless Fairy, while Ocious had survived.
Suddenly, as if aware he was being watched, Ocious turned to look in their direction, staring straight at the two Graciouses. Oksa couldn’t help crying out, while Malorane remained perfectly still, glaring at him with unrelenting defiance. Ocious drew nearer, his eyes narrowed, and time seemed to stand still. He knew they were there, a few inches from him, yet just out of reach. That explained the rage on his face. Then his expression changed and he gave a savage smile, which made Oksa shiver from head to toe. He came right up to the frontier and took another step forward. Oksa realized that, instead of being ejected like the other soldiers, he was sinking into the invisible barrier. She couldn’t help wailing in horror.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” said Malorane.
“I’m not worried,” whispered Oksa. “But he is the strongest of the Werewalls and descended from Temistocles—he might be able to get in!”
“Neither he nor anyone else can,” said Malorane. “This place is for the Graciouses and their guests, no one else is welcome here. Trust me, Oksa.”
Several Ageless Ones surrounded her with their gentle halo of light. Confirming the former Gracious’s reassuring words, Oksa watched Ocious back away, without losing his defiant expression.
“What are we going to do?” asked Oksa.
She could see herself being trapped on this island for months, since Ocious was determined enough to keep up the siege for a long time. A very long time. Tears pricked her eyes. She was stuck in a bubble that was turning into a gilded cage, while her loved ones were still fighting. There was so much to do!
“You’re a Gracious now,” replied Malorane.
“Well, I don’t feel as though that’s any kind of advantage!” broke in Oksa angrily, kicking the muddy ground.
“You’re a Gracious,” repeated Malorane. “That gives you certain unique powers.”
“I can’t… I can’t fight that!” said Oksa, pointing at the squadrons of soldiers and the swarms of insects.
“No, you’re right, you can’t fight. Not without risking your life, and that’s out of the question. But you can escape.”
Oksa ran her hands through her hair and groaned:
“How?”
“Have you an idea what might help you do that?”
Frowning with worry and concentration, Oksa muttered to herself for a few seconds before hunching her shoulders in despair.
“Apart from becoming invisible, I don’t see…”
When she said this, Malorane’s hazy silhouette regained its pearly white hue and a tremor ran through the Ageless Ones. The Lunatrix approached, his large blue eyes shining with exultation.
“My Young Gracious has just achieved the placement of her finger on the solution,” he said.
Oksa looked from the Ageless Ones to the small happy creature.
“You mean I can become invisible?” she exclaimed in astonishment. “Is that… because I’m now a Werewall?”
The Lunatrix shook his head.
“My Young Gracious does not express the proper reason,” he said. “But her domestic staff will proceed to the availability of vital clues. Has my Young Gracious made the conservation of the memory of her visit to the silo belonging to the much-loved Fairyman?”
Oksa rubbed her face.
“Um, yes… there were all kinds of things in there! Let me think: Centaury, Nobilis, Pulsatilla, magic herbs, Monkshood, Sleepy Nightshade…”
“Neither the plants nor the herbs will afford the gift of invisibility to my Young Gracious,” broke in the Lunatrix.
“So what will?” she asked, startled.
She might be older now and a fully fledged Gracious, but some things didn’t change, unfortunately: she still found herself blinded by panic. The image of Gus flashed into her mind. In this type of situation, he was the one who always came up with the answer. He had the memory of an elephant! But Gus wasn’t there.
“Come on, Oksa, use your brain!” she muttered encouragingly to herself.
She forced herself to breathe calmly and thought back to Abakum’s house, the former grain silo, the hothouse inhabited by incredible plants, the Ptitchkins fooling around… Her face lit up and she suddenly cried out:
“The Invisibuls! That’s what it is, isn’t it?”
The Ageless Ones lit up with renewed brilliance, while the Lunatrix clapped with captivating ineptitude. Oksa was delighted—she’d known the answer all along and had worked it out for herself. The Invisibuls weren’t just flying tadpoles able to form a moving picture to welcome her, they were also skilled chameleons which could use their mimetic power to make her invisible. Oksa remembered now: when she’d asked Abakum if she could try, he’d replied somewhat mysteriously, “In due course, yes, you can.” Well, it was now or never, wasn’t it?
“Unfortunately, we only have enough Invisibuls for you and your Lunatrix,” declared Malorane. “None of us can go with you, sweetheart. Even if we aren’t flesh and blood, Ocious will spot us, which will endanger your escape.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll manage!” exclaimed Oksa.
She broke off, her eyes darkening.
“But—what should I do? Where should I go?”
“Would you give us your Tumble-Bawler?” said Malorane, holding out her hand.
Oksa obeyed and, while an Ageless Fairy quietly gave the small creature the necessary directions for the Young Gracious’s route, Malorane said in a fierce whisper:
“Your supporters are waiting for you, my dear Oksa. Go safely.”