THE FAIRYMAN TORE HIS GAZE AWAY FROM ORTHON AND turned to Oksa and the Runaways.
“There were rumours in Edefia that the Werewalls had perfected a terrible weapon to force leading scientists to join their Secret Society. It was much more sophisticated than hostage-taking and involved targeting their poor children, who were bitten by a Chiropteran. The venom spread through their bodies, but remained inactive until they hit adolescence. The pain then grew so bad that the inevitable outcome was death. However, the Werewalls had a secret antidote which temporarily speeded up the ageing process during puberty, ensuring that the infected child would miss their teenage years and thereby avoid all that pointless suffering. However, there was an extortionate price to pay: both the parents and their children had to become Werewalls which, as you all know, had serious consequences.”
“Come now, there are many advantages to being a Werewall,” said Orthon quietly.
“Indeed,” agreed Abakum bitterly, “but at what cost? Handing over other people’s love to the Diaphans. That hideous sacrifice was the worst scandal ever to hit Edefia.”
The Fairyman turned back to his friends:
“For years, the Werewalls coerced scientists into joining them by holding the power of life or death over their children.”
“That’s repulsive,” muttered Dragomira.
“Why does Gus have to be given a Werewall’s blood?” whispered Oksa.
“Because the antidote only works on Werewalls, little fool!” mocked Orthon.
“Why would you do that, Orthon? Why would you create something so vile?” asked Dragomira, her hand pressed to her heart.
“Adolescence is hardly the most enjoyable time in a person’s life,” replied the Felon coldly. “It’s a period of humiliation and degradation.”
“Not everyone feels that way!” retorted Abakum. “You might have been unhappy, but your own hang-ups can’t justify such barbaric behaviour. Anyway, you didn’t invent that nauseating process as you claim—your ancestor Temistocles did. All you’re doing is exploiting your ancestor’s invention with unnatural zeal.”
The Felon’s face set in an expression of annoyance as Abakum’s barb hit home.
“Whatever the case, I’m the only one who has the antidote to save your protégé!” he sneered nastily. “I’m the only chance you’ve got.”
Pierre and Jeanne looked imploringly at Abakum and Dragomira, silently pleading with them not to provoke Orthon further. Gus’s life was in his hands and everyone sensed that things could very easily take a turn for the worse.
“If you prefer, there is a third solution,” continued Orthon in a hard voice. “There are two draughts of the antidote: I have one here, in this room, and one is locked in a safe in the crystal cave where I used to live with my father in the Peak Ridge mountains. So if you can’t bear to accept my help, then bring the boy to Edefia and give him the second infusion there. You should be aware, though, that he’ll still have to have the transfusion of Werewall blood and he’ll have to survive the agony caused by my Chiropterans. After all, he’s just an Outsider, so he doesn’t have our strong constitution.”
He sniggered mockingly.
“Let’s stop wasting time!” broke in Pierre icily. “If I understand you correctly, a Werewall has to donate his blood to Gus so that he can absorb the antidote. That will stop the pain but, in exchange, Gus will age a couple of years.”
“Two or three at the most,” agreed Orthon, with an airy wave of his bony hand.
“But how can an Outsider become a Werewall?” asked Oksa incredulously.
Orthon’s face lit up with a treacherous smile.
“That’s my brilliant great-niece!” he exclaimed. “An Outsider, like an Insider, can only become a Werewall after drinking the Werewall Elixir.”
“That vile concoction made from Diaphan snot?” Oksa couldn’t help exclaiming.
Orthon looked at her in amazement, then nodded grimly.
“I don’t know where you get your information, but you’re right. Blood won’t be enough for the boy. It will keep him in remission until the elixir consolidates his new ‘constitution’.”
“You’re bluffing!” raged Naftali. “Blood is enough!”
“What do you know about any of this?” asked Orthon, looking him up and down.
“I never had to drink that diabolical elixir to become a Werewall,” said the towering Swede. “I inherited the gene from my mother’s blood when she was pregnant with me.”
Orthon gave a sudden cackle of laughter, which echoed sinisterly around the locked room.
“Poor Naftali,” he sighed. “Your mother was an excellent chemist, but so weak-minded… you’d certainly have been a Werewall by blood if she’d been one before she was pregnant! Didn’t she ever tell you that you were born long before she became a Werewall? Didn’t you know you were just a Firmhand when you were born? It was your mother who gave you the elixir that would turn you permanently into a Werewall. At my father’s kind suggestion, of course…”
Naftali blanched and staggered with the shock. Abakum put an arm around his shoulder for moral support.
“She found it so hard to come to terms with her weakness,” continued Orthon ironically. “And she had so many scruples, so much guilt! She didn’t give him any choice.”
“You mean Ocious threatened my mother?” spluttered Naftali. “He forced her to join the Werewalls?”
“Yes, and it’s thanks to him that you’re a man of rare strength! You should be grateful to him instead of looking so disgusted.”
This was all too much for Naftali to take on board. The proud, sturdy Swede slumped, devastated.
“None of that matters now,” Abakum murmured to his shocked friend.
“Anyway, my dear Naftali, coming back to your earlier remark, blood is certainly vital, but your protégé needs more than that if he’s to become a Werewall. He’ll only be safe after he drinks the Werewall Elixir.”
“So what are you waiting for?” shouted Oksa, losing her temper.
Orthon raised his eyes heavenwards, before fixing her with an exasperated yet gleeful stare.
“Has anyone seen a Diaphan around here?” he asked the assembled Felons. “And does anyone by any chance have a fragment of Luminescent Stone from the Peak Ridge mountains which we could use to make the elixir?”
The Felons shook their heads.
“Our Young Gracious, who seems to know such a lot about the Werewall Elixir, will surely able to confirm it: no Luminescent Stone and no Diaphan, means no elixir. Isn’t that right, Young Gracious?”
“Gus will only be out of danger once he’s drunk that vile potion,” said Oksa quietly, her heart pounding as she followed the argument to its logical conclusion. “Or rather once someone has sacrificed every last ounce of romantic love and fed it to a Diaphan…”
Orthon’s eyes filled with ancient cruelty as they bored into her, then he gave a derisive hoot of laughter.