THE RUNAWAYS VERTIFLEW CAUTIOUSLY THROUGH Edefia’s murky sky, escorted by a steadfast band of reunited Felons. The creatures and Sylvabuls who couldn’t fly were perched on the back of the Gargantuhens, which were clucking shrilly as they beat their wings at a slow, steady pace. A regal Ocious led the way, accompanied by his son and grandsons.
“He’s worse than Orthon,” remarked Oksa, looking at the patriarch of the Felons.
“He certainly has a flair for killer put-downs,” nodded Tugdual, Vertiflying beside her.
“Don’t forget he’s the one behind this whole mess,” said Pavel.
“Orthon hasn’t made his move yet,” continued Tugdual. “And he’s holding all the cards. It could be dangerous.”
“Very dangerous.”
Oksa turned away from Ocious in his leather armour to contemplate the countryside. Edefia… the lost land which had now been found. Their long-hoped-for return. Edefia was in a bad way. Bathed in a metallic light, every living thing, even the smallest blade of grass, was blanketed in a layer of dust. The atmosphere had a twilight quality and everything seemed to be in its death throes, beyond rescue. Skeletons of trees brandished dead branches like wizened claws clutching at the sky. One of these trees stood so tall in its lost magnificence that it dwarfed all the others.
“The Majestic,” said Brune, very upset. “What’s happened to our world?”
The Majestic? Oksa remembered the images Dragomira had shown her on the Camereye: the lush forest surrounding the cool, clear waters of Lake Saga. The aptly named tree stood a good 300 feet higher than the crests of other trees. But this desert of dust and dead plants, extending as far as the eye could see, bore no similarity to what she’d been shown. Only the bright shifting shimmer on the horizon, which looked like the Northern Lights seeping into this strange world, gave her cause to hope that some life had been preserved. Other than that, the grey, heavy sky seemed moribund. Fascinated by the sights spread out before her, Oksa rummaged in her rucksack for her sunglasses to shield her eyes from the steely glare and a few of her flying companions followed suit. Her strained muscles were protesting and her body was tense—she’d never Vertiflown for as long as this, or as… openly. Even though this limited amount of freedom was controlled strictly by the Felons, it still felt like freedom. In Edefia, she could be herself. She would have to be herself. She stretched her arms in an attempt to ease her aching limbs, and groaned.
“Would you like to join Abakum on the Gargantuhen?” asked Pavel in concern.
She shook her head. The constant physical discomfort was proving less of a problem than her agitated state of mind. Oksa was experiencing all kinds of conflicted feelings and had never felt worse than she did now, even during the toughest times of her life. There were so many things upsetting her that she felt paralysed emotionally, which was the only thing actually stopping her from falling apart. She couldn’t do anything to make herself feel better in the short term, and her survival instinct was telling her to save her strength to deal with the immediate future. She had to be on her guard and as alert as possible if she was going to get the better of an evil despot like Ocious and his gang. There would be time enough later to tend to her wounds.
The russet Gargantuhen ferrying the creatures and Abakum was lagging behind so badly that its pace could have been described as lethargic in the extreme. However, although the giant hen was beating its wings slowly, its brain was working overtime. Erring on the side of caution, Dragomira’s Lunatrix acted as a mouthpiece for the bird’s plan.
“The russet Gargantuhen is making the proposal of a tactic of escapement,” the Lunatrix murmured quietly in Abakum’s ear, watched suspiciously by one of the Felon escorts. “Its muscular energy and its unsuspected speed may help the Fairyman dissociate himself from the dominion of the jailers.”
Abakum’s expressionless face revealed nothing of his excitement at this opportunity. The Squoracles placidly flying beside their enormous counterpart fluttered closer. One of them landed on Abakum’s shoulder and informed him in a whisper:
“The Young Gracious’s Tumble-Bawler has just told us that a group of Sylvabuls has managed to keep part of Leafhold, in the Green Mantle territory, from becoming a desert. The town, thirty-four miles from here, has a population of 348 people and the temperature is cooler than in this desert—ten degrees centigrade with an eighty per cent rate of humidity—which is terribly severe for Edefia and sensitive creatures like us. That’s why we’re opposed to this plan!”
“Your altruism does you credit!” scoffed Dragomira’s Getorix.
“Do you think so?” innocently wondered one of the Incompetents.
“Pah!” spluttered the Squoracle. “Anyway, no one has ever shown any consideration for our species. We’re going to die and no one could care less.”
“That’s true,” sighed the Getorix.
“Are you dying?” asked the Incompetent. “That’s terrible…”
Abakum raised his hand to interrupt this pointless sparring, and the creatures sulkily fell silent.
“The Squoracle is committing the oversight of one detail weighted with importance,” continued the Lunatrix. “Like all people in Edefia, the final inhabitants of Leafhold are experiencing the constraint of the dominion overflowing with severity exerted by the Felon Werewalls. But resistance swells their heart. Since the Ageless Ones have procured the information that the Fairyman and the New Gracious is here, their hope has encountered exponential growth. They are preparing to provide welcome and rebellious action! If your wish encounters the choice of schism from this forced expedition, the russet Gargantuhen provides assurance that the breakaway will be crowned with success. It has the physical ability and you have the power to ensure protection. That belief may be firmly rooted in your consciousness.”
Abakum was clearly torn. He gazed at the Runaways—his dear friends and their descendants—then at the horizon where he could just make out an oasis of greenery in the grey desert. Not far from the Gargantuhen, the slender figure of Reminiscens was Vertiflying ahead. She had to be exhausted… He loved her so much… He looked from Reminiscens to Oksa, who was flanked by her father and Tugdual. All he could see was her bowed back and streaming chestnut hair. Oksa was heading straight for an uncertain destiny. The Lunatrix cleared his throat: he needed an answer. Ahead, beyond the hills, Thousandeye City appeared. The capital of Edefia, shrouded in purple mist, was no longer just a dream.
“I have no doubts about our Gargantuhen’s ability,” whispered Abakum, barely opening his mouth. “Just qualms about abandoning the other Runaways and our Young Gracious. I know I could achieve more from outside than under Ocious’s thumb, but I can’t leave them, Lunatrix. I just can’t.”