OKSA HAD NEVER VERTIFLOWN SO QUICKLY. SQUEEZING her bag tightly against her, she shot through the narrow valley, then over the plains separating the Peak Ridge Mountains from Thousandeye City. The Lunatrix kept uttering little cries of exhilaration or fright—she had no way of knowing which—while the Tumble-Bawler struggled to keep up with its hot-headed mistress, despite its unfailing enthusiasm. In the end, an attack of cramp in its wing put paid to its efforts and it travelled home sheepishly on Oksa’s shoulder.
It was still dark when the three adventurers arrived at the entrance to Thousandeye City. Two Squoracles welcomed them, complaining about the cool night air, and Oksa was finally able to remove her layer of Invisibuls.
“The risk faced by my Gracious was colossal,” sighed the Lunatrix, clambering down from Oksa’s back. “But the challenge was worthy of the candle!”
Oksa couldn’t help bursting out laughing. The Lunatrix’s use of vocabulary never ceased to surprise her.
“You’re right!” she said, patting her eccentric steward’s head. “The challenge was worthy of the candle… mission accomplished, right?”
The Lunatrix shook his head from left to right, looking vexed.
“My Gracious provided the demonstration of her immense courage while her domestic staff presented his considerable cowardice and the completion of his uselessness,” he wailed.
“You are joking, aren’t you?” protested Oksa. “I can’t do without you, you’re simply in-dis-pen-sa-ble!”
The Lunatrix snivelled.
“My Gracious applies a restorative balm over the heart of her domestic staff. Her indulgence towards her steward knows no limits.”
Oksa looked at him affectionately.
“Right, it’s time to tell everyone about all this,” she said, suddenly solemn. “And I need you by my side even more than ever.”
Was it a father’s instinct, or had Oksa’s creatures alerted Pavel? Oksa had no time to find out the answer: her father was waiting outside the door to her apartment, sitting against the wall with his forearms on his knees. He looked at Oksa, his sad eyes full of anxiety.
“Dad? What on earth are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here?” he repeated, with barely suppressed rage. “What about you, Oksa? What are you doing here?”
Oksa turned away. Her father was going to give her such a telling-off when she told him where she’d been. He made things easier for her, though. In a way.
“Don’t tell me you went to the Peak Ridge Mountains. You didn’t, did you?”
When she didn’t say anything, he put his head in his hands.
“What have I done to deserve this?” he sighed. “How can someone as sensible and cautious as me have a daughter like you? Why couldn’t I have had a well-behaved teenager interested only in painting her nails, shopping or going to synchronized swimming? Instead I’ve ended up with an impulsive, stubborn child whose sole aim in life is to worry her poor father to death!”
Oksa hesitated, then ventured in a small voice:
“I’ll start synchronized swimming, if you want, as soon as things get better—I promise! But will you let me think about painting my nails?”
Pavel glared at her, still furious, then his face relaxed. He opened his arms and Oksa knelt down beside him to give him a hug.
“Oh, Dad! I’ve got thousands of things to tell you!”
“Only a thousand?” grumbled Pavel, grinning broadly.
“We’re going to be able to save Mum and Gus!”
At these words Pavel sat up straight. He put his hands on Oksa’s shoulders and looked her in the eye. Suddenly, he didn’t look so old, as his heart swelled with new, if fragile, hope.
The Runaways and all members of the High Enclave were roused from their sleep for an extraordinary meeting in the Round Room. Watched by her appalled, yet very proud, father, Oksa gave them a detailed report about her visit to the cave in Mount Humongous. Emotions were running high when she described Ocious’s death, fatally wounded by his own demented son. There was a stunned silence, which Oksa respected, followed by an outcry as everyone reacted violently to the news, although they all came to the same conclusion: Orthon was by far the worst Felon, far more dangerous and uncontrollable than Ocious. A man sent insane by a hunger for revenge that he could never satisfy. Now his father was dead, who knew where his madness might lead him and, above all, who or what would be its target?
The mention of a spy also caused concern. The Runaways and the Servants of the different Missions looked at each other in amazement.
“We must find him or her!” exclaimed Sven.
“But how?” asked Oksa. “We don’t know which clan they belong to. It could be one of us or an infiltrated Felon. The best thing to do would be to find the hole. Lukas said it had been resealed, but the spy will have to go back through it to tell the Felons about the opening of the Portal. It would be terrible for the Outside if Orthon manages to pass through the Portal—we must do everything in our power to stop him.”
They all considered this for a while. Ashamed of her thoughts when Orthon had talked about the spy, Oksa didn’t dare look at Tugdual, as if the things she refused to let herself imagine might be written all over her face. She also carefully avoided looking at him when she told everyone about Mortimer. Nor did she mention the secret meeting she’d watched in the undergrowth by the lakeside. Still, Tugdual obviously had no intention of hiding what had happened. He stood up and with exemplary calm told the packed room about Mortimer’s desire to join Oksa.
“Don’t forget he has a Gracious Heart,” he reminded those who appeared more sceptical than the others. “He, like Reminiscens and Zoe, doesn’t believe blood is thicker than water. And, from what Oksa has told us, watching his father murder his grandfather has given him the impetus to sever the family ties that might once have given him pause for thought.”
“How do we know this isn’t one of Orthon’s tricks?” said Jeanne. “He might be the spy!”
“Using the tactic of the maggot in the fruit!” added Emica.
“A Trojan horse!” cried Olof.
This time Oksa came to Tugdual’s help by telling everyone about the reaction of the Squoracles. However, it was the tube containing sprigs of Lasonillia that really laid any remaining doubts to rest.
“You mean Mortimer went to the territory of the Distant Reaches to find some Lasonillia for you, when your families are such bitter enemies?” asked Mystia in amazement.
“Not for me,” corrected Oksa. “For my mother.”
“Do you realize the risk he took?” continued Sven. “In the past few years, the Distant Reaches has become the wildest and most dangerous area in Edefia. The creatures living there have always been very hostile and the climate changes over the past few years have only made matters worse. None of us has managed to enter that territory for at least ten years.”
“Do you really believe his story?” interrupted Emica. “What if those sprigs are poisonous?”
Pavel made a gesture of irritation. Oksa frowned. She tried to catch Tugdual’s eye, but he looked away. He was so pale that she thought he might be sick. He gripped the back of the seat in front and closed his eyes, his face as expressionless as a statue. It hadn’t escaped Oksa that certain details were missing from his story, which made her anxious. Why had he left certain things out? She stared at the tube holding the precious sprigs.
“Abakum, you’ll be able to tell us exactly what this is, won’t you?” she exclaimed, feeling out of sorts.
The Fairyman hadn’t said a word until now. He’d listened to Oksa’s account, then Tugdual’s story, with a solemnity that made his handsome face look haggard. The drastic action taken by Orthon against his father must have upset him deeply, thought Oksa. He walked heavily over to her and picked up the sprigs. He studied them, smelt them, held them up to the light, tasted a tiny piece, then finally gave his verdict:
“It’s definitely Lasonillia. Purer and healthier than we could have hoped!”
Oksa sighed with relief and Pavel immediately relaxed.
“Will you let me take it with me, Oksa, my Gracious?” asked the Fairyman. “I’m going to prepare the remedy for Marie.”
“Do you know the formula?” she couldn’t help asking, then immediately bit her lip.
She could be so tactless sometimes.
“I know it,” confirmed Abakum, giving a bow.
“So we have everything we need now!” Oksa concluded.
“We just have to wait for the Portal to open,” added her father.
“And for Orthon to attack,” added Abakum, a strange sadness misting his eyes. “But before everyone takes up their positions, as agreed, I suggest we make a few decisions regarding our imminent future. Starting with the appointment of the person who will stand in for you while you’re on the Outside, Oksa, my Gracious.”