OKSA WAS HARD AT WORK WITH HER HANDS BURIED IN the soil. This morning, she’d decided to concentrate on replanting the shopping street, which had been refurbished by the city’s inhabitants with an enthusiasm born of their desire to return to normal. Many shops now lined the semicircular main road, a clear sign of better days to come, even though shelves were still quite bare.
However, the black, seething patches which regularly covered the protective membrane were a continual reminder that this long-desired return to normality was still a distant dream. And, although the sudden reduction in light intensity when the sky darkened caused widespread anxiety, the attacks by night were even more harrowing.
The impact of Fireballisticos and Granoks loaded with acids of different types produced showers of sparks which at night looked like a lethal attack by hundreds of blowtorches. Military surveillance units, named the “Hawk Brigades” and the “Owlet Squadrons”, had formed of their own accord to mount guard day and night. Men and women of all ages, Aeropeller riders or Vertifliers, patrolled the entire Aegis, checking for breaches. When they found an area of weakness they alerted the Servants for Granokology and Protection, who stepped in immediately to strengthen the membrane. In this society under reconstruction, everyone, whatever their status, did what they could without complaint.
Oksa frequently visited the wise Corpusleoxes and overwrought Squoracles to give them moral support. New candidates still occasionally turned up to join the Gracious’s camp and it was crucial that the sentries guarding the entrance to Thousandeye City were incorruptible. However, the Young Gracious was careful not to mention her real reasons for visiting the borders of the Dome District so often: she had an urgent, deep-seated need for reassurance. The Felons’ frequent attempts to enter the city had put her in a blind panic that she couldn’t and wouldn’t admit to anyone. She was the Gracious—she had to show everyone she was strong and set an example. Even when she didn’t feel like it.
Several times a day, she’d check that the only way into the city was as impregnable as everyone claimed. Moreover, Cameron, the gifted locksmith, had moved into a tent beside the entrance to keep an eye on it during the Felons’ attacks. It was clear that Leomido’s son, like the rest of the Runaways, had thrown himself into this mission to avoid thinking about the Spurned. His three sons had passed through with him when the Portal had opened, but Virginia, his wife, had been left behind on the banks of Lake Gashun-nur in the middle of the Gobi Desert. And the wound inflicted by this enforced parting was becoming harder to bear with every passing day.
Two days earlier, at the sight of Cameron’s grief-stricken face, Oksa had decided to tell him what she’d seen via her Identego: his wife, Virginia, was in London with some of the other Spurned. She was doing well and showing great courage. Cameron’s eyes had immediately lit up, then filled with tears. That was when he’d decided to erect a tent near the entrance and devote himself heart and soul to his work, which was the best thing he could do in the present circumstances. Overjoyed at having an audience for their continual grumbling about the weather, the Squoracles had soon grown very fond of this thin, stylishly dressed man, who’d not only inherited Leomido’s looks but also his kind nature, and they hadn’t hesitated to invade his tent at every opportunity. Cameron hadn’t minded since the tiny hens had proved to be entertaining—if extremely voluble—companions.
The prudent citizens had taken the precaution of storing vast quantities of seeds, which had become increasingly precious as Edefia declined. “There is nothing more durable than seeds in the world of nature,” Abakum had reminded Oksa, opening one of the four giant silos in Thousandeye City.
Carrying a bag full to bursting with priceless seeds, Oksa was recreating the landscape. Every plant and tree that sprang from the earth needed considerable energy, which she drew and replaced from a kind of endless inner loop: the more energy she used, the more she received. There were eleven of them with the gift of Greenthumb, but hers was the strongest. Although Zoe and the Fortensky clan could only produce flower beds and vegetable plots—which was no mean feat—Oksa could cultivate the largest specimens of plant life in Edefia. Her favourites were the Parasol trees. Unfortunately, Abakum and the Sylvabuls had advised her not to “sow” too many: the tangled root system of trees that grow to a height of over fifteen hundred feet could lift several blocks of houses. The Parasol tree wasn’t an urban species and Oksa was told to propagate safer trees such as Broad-Leaved Ball trees and Dwarf-Majestics.
From time to time, she couldn’t resist taking a few Inflammatoria seeds from her bag and burying them in the earth. These plants were a great favourite of hers and it only took a few seconds for the first flowers to start screaming with joy at being reborn and ejecting tiny spurts of incandescent lava, which gave birth to a new plant as soon as each touched the earth.
“You look like you’re having fun!” said Tugdual, clinging like a huge spider to the top of a wall.
“I’m having a whale of a time!” replied Oksa with a grin. “Watch this!”
Brandishing a baby pink seed, she presented it to Tugdual, turning it this way and that with a theatrical flourish, then buried it in the soft earth.
“Pah,” sniffed Tugdual with a wicked smile, “you’ll have to do better than that if you really want to impress me!”
“Just wait.”
A new plant shot up from the earth, its stem rapidly putting out countless little shoots covered in thick, hairy foliage. Scores of leaves unfolded as Oksa and Tugdual watched this extravagant speeded-up growth spurt.
“Welcome to Earth, Pulsatilla!” Oksa said quietly. “Would you do me a favour?”
The plant, now sixteen inches tall, shook itself like a wet dog and wrapped a stem around Oksa’s wrist with surprising tenderness for a plant. Then, suddenly changing its mind, it stretched out to curl around Tugdual’s ankle and pull him towards the ground.
“Hey!” he cried. “That’s not fair. You’re ganging up on me!”
Hands tightening into claws, he clung to the wall with all his might. The Pulsatilla was stronger than his Alpinismus, though, and he soon had to give in. With unexpected gentleness, the playful plant floated him through the air and set him down beside Oksa, who looked very smug. The Pulsatilla gathered its stems together and rolled them up to form an abundance of tight curls.
“Brilliant!” exclaimed Oksa, applauding. “From now on, I’ll call you Curly Pulsatilla.”
The plant chuckled with pleasure. Tugdual smiled when Oksa met his eyes and her face brightened.
“Okay, I admit it,” conceded Tugdual, stroking Oksa’s cheek with his fingertips. “That was a pretty impressive trick.”
He studied her, his head tilted to one side, his expression irresistible as always.
“Your Greenthumb power is pretty good,” he said casually.
“So’s your Alpinismus power,” replied Oksa in the same tone.
“Do you want to take a short break?”
Oksa nodded and they sat down on a thick, freshly planted lawn.
“Everything’s such a mess,” she said looking around.
“Work in progress!” replied Tugdual with a chuckle.
Make do and mend was the motto on everyone’s lips, but magic was proving to be a godsend. Everything was happening much faster than anywhere on the Outside and it all seemed so easy: not only did the men and women of Edefia know how to process materials and use their gifts wisely, but they were also more than happy to join forces for a common cause. They were working hard to restore the former glory of the rundown buildings. Materials floated from hand to hand, people Vertiflew from place to place or climbed along walls with an ease that never ceased to amaze Oksa, even though she’d seen it all before. Dirt-Suckers and Lusterers crawled around them, removing all traces of dirt, Getorixes were bustling about trowels in hand, hair covered in plaster dust or splinters of wood. The three Incompetents were doing their bit too. Tireless fetchers and carriers, doubling as workbenches on legs, they followed or tried their best to follow their companions, handing them any tools they might need. More often than not their responses to the requests of the creatures working as makeshift stonemasons, joiners, plumbers or roofers left a lot to be desired: in their lackadaisical minds, hammers became saws and screwdrivers became drills. Nevertheless, they gave their help generously with endless goodwill.
“Everyone’s working so hard!” remarked Oksa.
As she said that, she gave a remote helping hand to her Incompetent—which was trying in vain to determine the meaning of the word “bolt”—by depositing the correct object directly in the hands of an impatient Polyglossiper.
“I love doing that,” she said quietly.
“And you do it so well,” remarked Tugdual. “Like a lot of other things.”
“I’m far from perfect,” retorted Oksa.
At that moment a group of Felons appeared some hundred and thirty feet up, on the other side of the membrane. The dark figures flew through the pearl-grey sky and disappeared after a loud explosion, accompanied by an enormous burst of flame. A few seconds later, the Hawk Brigades appeared in order to carry out a thorough inspection.
“You see!” growled Oksa, frowning. “Sometimes I think we’ll never be left in peace.”
Her Incompetent came to sit beside her. Stroking its wrinkled head absent-mindedly, she continued:
“Don’t get me wrong, I love it in here. It’s absolutely fantastic and there are loads of things to do, but it’s a bit like a large, beautiful prison, isn’t it? I don’t think it would take long for me to go stir-crazy. If only I could visit Leafhold or even the Distant Reaches… or the Peak Ridge Mountains! I’d love to go back to those caves lined with precious stones and see Edefia from Mount Humongous—we can’t live under this bubble for ever.”
“You know very well we won’t,” replied Tugdual.
Oksa ducked her head, letting her hair hide her face.
“I’m not talking about the Portal being opened,” he said. “I know you have to keep it secret.”
“I don’t know when it’ll open!” she snapped. “It could be tomorrow or in ten years’ time. How stupid is that?”
Tugdual looked at her in surprise.
“I’m talking about the battle, Oksa. It’s inevitable, you know that. It can only be a matter of days.”
Oksa took a deep breath and then lay back on the velvety grass. The Incompetent looked at her incredulously.
“I wonder how they can devote so much energy to doing all that, when they know it could all be destroyed again overnight,” she said.
“They need something to hold on to after so many hard years. What would you have them do? Wait patiently, Granok-Shooters in hand, or do endless drills? They proved they can fight not so long ago.”
“But they don’t know that the worst is still to come!”
“The worst?” asked Tugdual in surprise.
“People aren’t stupid, are they? We all know it’s going to be terrible.”
“Are you frightened?” asked Tugdual.
“Not a bit!” exclaimed Oksa.
He stretched out beside her, his eyes fixed on the sky.
“You’re becoming a true warrior,” he said, sounding amused.
“You’ve noticed, have you?”
They laughed softly.
“And a bloody good one,” added Tugdual. “Brave and determined.”
“Don’t you mean formidable?” asked Oksa.
Tugdual looked at her sideways.
“Formidable, sure, why not?” he conceded.
They were quiet for a moment, lulled by the clouds moving above them and by the sounds of people working around them. Despite the Aegis, there was a warm, soothing breeze.
“Everything that’s happening is insane, isn’t it?” said Oksa softly.
“I’m not sure if that’s the word I’d use, but it is pretty surprising.”
Oksa punched his arm. Faster than a snake, he grabbed her hand and imprisoned it.
“You went back to London, didn’t you?” he asked point-blank in a pained whisper.
“It wasn’t me,” protested Oksa, almost inaudibly. “It was my Identego.”
“You or your Identego, it’s the same thing, Lil’ Gracious.”
“It isn’t!” protested Oksa.
Tugdual squeezed her hand harder.
“It is,” he insisted. “Your Identego goes where you want to go.”
“What are you trying to make me say?”
“Do you think about him a lot?”
Oksa looked at him, aggrieved. She started to sit up, then changed her mind, her cheeks burning and her breath ragged.
“If you must know, I do think about him a lot, because I worry about him a lot! And not just about him, about my mother too, and everyone who stayed behind! Gus…”
Her voice trembled and her body was rigid with anger. She tried to pull her hand away from Tugdual, but he wouldn’t let her.
“Do I have to remind you that Gus and my mother might die?” she raged. “So, yes, I do go and see what’s happening when I can’t bear it any more. And yes, it’s really exasperating to watch your very beautiful cousin Kukka doing her level best to make Gus fall into her arms, especially as he does nothing to stop her!”
She broke off, surprised and winded, then continued in a strangled voice:
“But I’m far more worried about the condition he and my mother are in.”
She glared at Tugdual.
“Okay? Are you happy now? Did you get what you wanted?”
An enormous black cloud was fast forming above them. Tugdual released Oksa’s hand and she sat up, burying her face in her knees.
“Can I answer?” murmured Tugdual.
Oksa groaned her approval.
“Firstly, no, it’s not okay,” began Tugdual tightly. “Secondly, no, I’m not particularly happy. And thirdly, yes, I got what I wanted and more. Is there anything else you’d like to ask?”
Oksa shook her head. Tugdual gently rolled a flyaway strand of Oksa’s hair around his index finger. She tried to push him away, but he put an arm firmly around her shoulder. Despite her anger, she couldn’t help leaning against him.
“Look what a state you’ve got yourself into,” he murmured in her ear. “Calm down or you’re going to start another rainstorm.”
“Too late,” said Oksa, wiping away the drops of rain spattering her forehead as well as a tear trickling down her cheek.
She put her arms around Tugdual’s waist and hugged him as tightly as she could, burying her face in the hollow of his shoulder as if she wanted to disappear into him.