THE TWO FIREBALLISTICOS SPURTED SIMULTANEOUSLY from Oksa’s right and left hands and flew straight at Tugdual, who had to throw himself on the floor to avoid them. The Young Gracious immediately made a dash for the staircase and began climbing quicker than she’d ever thought possible. It didn’t take Tugdual long to react. He raced in pursuit, matching her impressive burst of speed, but she was determined not to lose her slight lead. She took the stairs four at a time, avoiding the roots, with her head down and her muscles flexed. But despite her best efforts, Tugdual was gaining on her—his feline side was a definite asset.
“Stop, Oksa!”
Oksa didn’t bother to reply. She merely redoubled her efforts to outdistance her pursuer. However, a hand suddenly grabbed the bottom of her tunic.
“Enough now!” scolded Tugdual, yanking on the garment.
Oksa twisted violently to free herself. The fabric ripped, freeing her to continue her ascent, leaving Tugdual sprawled on the stairs.
When she reached what qualified as ground level in the Monumental Tree, she had to make a quick decision: should she exit now or continue climbing inside the trunk? With her hands on her thighs, she caught her breath and considered carefully. The entrance of the tree was a secret. If anyone saw her coming out, the Sylvabuls’ only safe refuge would be discovered. She looked up at the second spiral staircase carved inside the trunk and continued her ascent. There were landings every sixty feet, providing access to a platform. Oksa decided to stop at the third level. The noise from outside wasn’t as muffled as it had been when she’d been among the underground roots. Obviously, as Abakum had predicted, Ocious had attacked: shouts, explosions, the smell of burning—it didn’t bode well. Oksa took a deep breath, grabbed her Granok-Shooter and pushed open the door built into the trunk.
She ventured a cautious look outside and clapped her hand over her mouth.
“Oh no…” she groaned.
Only the night before, the luxuriant undergrowth had been the epitome of order and abundance. It had taken Ocious and his henchmen only a few hours to lay waste to one of the few places in Edefia where a certain harmony still reigned.
Around the Monumental Tree, in the deepening twilight, a pitiless battle was being waged among the Parasols and Broad-Leaved Ball trees: Ocious’s ruthless and destructive soldiers were pitting themselves against the inhabitants of Leafhold, who were driven by sheer force of desperation. Fire was proving ineffective—after the heavy rain of the past few days, the flames weren’t burning for long—so the soldiers were firing explosive Granoks which Oksa had never seen before and which were causing widespread damage. They decimated everything: houses, platforms, trees, bridges, people. Ten Sylvabuls clinging to Aeropellers flew past the terrace which was Oksa’s vantage point. Holding on to their flying boards with one hand and a long whip with the other, these courageous fighters swooped down on a group of soldiers preparing to attack a Majestic. Lifting their whips in the air, they brought them down with all their might on the vandals. Some of the soldiers crashed to the ground, others dropped their Granok-Shooters, which were immediately snatched up by a band of Vertifliers. There was another explosion to the left: a Feetinsky, an Edefian variety of banyan tree, had come under attack by the soldiers. If the tree had been endowed with speech, Oksa was sure it would have been screaming.
But she had no need to hear it to know how much it was suffering: its aerial roots were writhing in agony. They suddenly convulsed, reached for the sky, then froze and collapsed with a loud crash like an enormous green octopus. The Feetinsky was dead. Oksa was furious. She lay flat on the platform, wriggled to the edge and began aiming at any of Ocious’s soldiers within reach of her Granok-Shooter.
By the power of the Granoks,
Think outside the box
Arborescens, with your knots,
Bind them on the spot.
“Do you want a hand?”
Oksa was concentrating so hard on her attack that she didn’t even bother to look round.
“You took your time,” she muttered, firing two Granoks.
“I’ll have you know that I was attacked by a madwoman who did her best to kill me!” grumbled Tugdual.
Oksa dimpled as she gave a barely restrained smile.
“Well, since you survived, make yourself useful! Get to work!”
Tugdual took out his blowpipe and, hidden on their terrace, the two of them showered the soldiers with Granoks, wreaking havoc. The men dropped like flies, trussed up by sticky creepers.
The astounded inhabitants of Leafhold watched this rout. They circled the trees on their Aeropellers, then swooped down on fellow Edefians who were now their enemies, confiscating their Granok-Shooters.
After this, time seemed to stand still. No more soldiers appeared. It was quiet except for the cracking sound of platforms and houses in the last stages of collapse. A few Sylvabuls were circling the Monumental Tree, looking for their rescuers. Oksa noticed Lucy Vertiflying. When she spotted Oksa, she flew over.
“Thank you, Young Gracious!” she said, waving to her.
“Look out!” cried a man behind her. “The soldiers are coming back.”
Some fifty men clad in armour and leather helmets suddenly materialized from the undergrowth strewn with debris. Blowing into their Granok-Shooters, they fired hundreds of explosive Granoks at the Monumental Tree. The hoist and several terraces exploded, showering the Sylvabuls with fragments of wood and metal. All the higher structures seemed to have been destroyed deliberately to trap the people below, many of whom had been injured, some fatally. Horrified, Oksa and Tugdual spared no effort, firing a continuous volley of Arborescens and Putrefactios, until one soldier pointed at them and made a beeline for their perch. Oksa recognized him immediately.
Whatever she did and wherever she went, from St Proximus College to the borders of Edefia, Orthon McGraw was always standing in her way. She gave a shout of rage. Tugdual tensely motioned to her to vacate their spot. They crawled round to the other side of the tree as fast and nimbly as large lizards, while Orthon tried to stop them by firing Arborescens after Arborescens at them. Pressed flat against the trunk, Oksa waited patiently, eager to cross swords with her sworn enemy. Suddenly, though, Tugdual pushed her against the bark and, to her great surprise, she felt herself sinking into the tree. Her protests were smothered as she found herself inside the trunk, with Tugdual at her side.
“Why did you do that?” she protested. “I could easily have beaten him!”
“Don’t be so sure,” replied Tugdual, dragging her up the stairs to the higher levels of the Monumental Tree.
“I thought my Werewall skills were too new to pass through material! Anyway, what was the point of doing that? Orthon can still get to us.”
“No, he can’t.”
Oksa stopped dead. She was out of breath from talking and climbing the stairs at the same time, and furious. With Tugdual. With Orthon. With everyone.
“What do you mean, ‘he can’t?’”
“The Monumental Tree is a sensitive tree,” said Tugdual, continuing to climb. “It’s only receptive to certain types of people.”
“What? Are you telling me that it can screen people?”
“Yes. At every entrance, it detects who can or cannot come in. It’ll never let Orthon in.”
“How is that possible?” continued Oksa, astounded.
“It just is. Now stop asking questions and get a move on!”
She said no more and continued to climb the interminable spiral staircase. They could hear that Leafhold was still under attack from the commotion that reached the heart of the tree. At every level, Tugdual poked his face through the bark, then came back inside, looking ever more serious.
“Hey!” cried Oksa. “What’s going on out there?”
“Orthon has realized we’re inside the tree. He’s destroying all the platforms and the structures connecting the Monumental Tree with the other trees. He’s trying to trap us, Oksa. He’s trying to trap you.”
Oksa rubbed her face.
“So why are we going up instead of down to the underground rooms?”
“The staircase on the second level collapsed just after I came through. We can’t get to the basement from inside any more. Be careful now, because we’re at the top.”
Oksa’s nerves were at breaking point and she was breathing raggedly. Tugdual tried to take her hand but, instead of letting him, she reached into the little bag she wore across her shoulder and grabbed her Granok-Shooter. Tugdual nodded, doing the same, then pushed open the trapdoor concealed in the ceiling. The strong arms of two soldiers immediately lifted him up and unceremoniously sent him sprawling onto the topmost platform, the one where they’d both spent such an enjoyable interlude a few hours earlier. Oksa had just enough time to see who was waiting for her before she disappeared under a thick layer of Invisibuls.