Read Online The Forest of Lost Souls by Anne Plichota - Free Book Online
Authors: Anne Plichota
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Gracious’s Servant,” declared Tugdual, his sapphire eyes gazing intently at Oksa, who blushed to the roots of her hair. “Don’t ever forget that I’d do anything in the world for you.”
10
T HE D ECISIVE A RGUMENT
A LTHOUGH P AVEL SAT MOTIONLESS IN HIS ARMCHAIR, there was a storm raging in his heart—an invisible hurricane laying waste to everything in its path. His eyes, though fixed on the play of shadows from the street on the ceiling, revealed nothing of his inner turmoil. Leaning against the window, Abakum watched him gravely.
“I’m well aware of your reservations, and the huge effort you’re making in agreeing to be Impictured,” he said.
“You left me no choice…” retorted Pavel.
“None of us had a choice,” murmured Abakum. “The future of the Outside, our future and the future of everyone who follows us depend on it. And even if that’s not enough for you, there’s another reason preventing us from backing out.”
“What are you talking about? Isn’t being responsible for the future of the world enough?”
“The other reason is Marie,” replied Abakum, looking suddenly weary.
Pavel was speechless. He felt weak as a sudden wave of dizziness washed over him. His pulse raced with panic as he waited for Abakum’s explanation.
“Marie is dying,” announced the old man in a cracked voice. “The Robiga-Nervosa poison is stronger than any of the remedies that Dragomira and I know. We’ve tried everything. I’m sorry, Pavel. I’m really sorry.”
There was a frightening silence. Pavel felt as though the sky had come crashing down on his head.
“But… but…” he muttered desperately, “I thought the Vermicula were working well! And what about that remedy based on… what was its name… Lasonillia? It’s been very effective, Marie has made incredible progress, you said so yourself. She’s doing well! How can you say she’s dying? How can you tell me that, Abakum?”
His voice broke as despair claimed him. He put his head in his hands. He hadn’t felt such mind-numbing misery since his father had died. That had been in Siberia, eight years ago. Vladimir had been the grandson of the great shaman Metchkov, who’d given Dragomira, Leomido and Abakum a roof over their heads after they’d been ejected from Edefia. One icy day in December, shortly before Christmas, Vladimir had been dragged away by the KGB, the Soviet secret police. His arrest had been incredibly brutal. His wife and young son had seen him beaten up and insulted by the police before he’d been taken to a gulag where he’d been sentenced as an “enemy of the State”. Apart from the kindly inhabitants of the small Siberian village, who’d all known about the Pollocks’ “talents”, this was the first time Pavel had come into contact with Outsiders. This was also the last time he’d seen his father. A few weeks later, Dragomira received the dreadful news that Vladimir had been killed by his jailers while trying to escape. Neither Abakum nor Dragomira, nor any of the people who’d known him, believed this version of events: if Vladimir had wanted to escape, he would have done. Wasn’t he an accomplished shaman? Hadn’t he proved that he could match his wife and best friend, the Fairyman, who had such vast powers, in many fields? The authorities were lying: it was obvious, given the condition he’d been in when they took him away, that he’d had no strength left to do anything much, let alone escape. The truth of the matter was that Vladimir had been executed: killed like a dog because of his great powers. Pavel had never managed to get over it. Life had gone on, relentless and unstoppable, but the wound had never properly healed.
The awful news about Marie reopened this old wound. Disbelief gave way to indescribable fury and a bitter feeling of outrage—this was so unfair. Why Marie? Why the most inoffensive member of the Runaways? He hadn’t forgotten that Oksa had been the intended target of the
10
T HE D ECISIVE A RGUMENT
A LTHOUGH P AVEL SAT MOTIONLESS IN HIS ARMCHAIR, there was a storm raging in his heart—an invisible hurricane laying waste to everything in its path. His eyes, though fixed on the play of shadows from the street on the ceiling, revealed nothing of his inner turmoil. Leaning against the window, Abakum watched him gravely.
“I’m well aware of your reservations, and the huge effort you’re making in agreeing to be Impictured,” he said.
“You left me no choice…” retorted Pavel.
“None of us had a choice,” murmured Abakum. “The future of the Outside, our future and the future of everyone who follows us depend on it. And even if that’s not enough for you, there’s another reason preventing us from backing out.”
“What are you talking about? Isn’t being responsible for the future of the world enough?”
“The other reason is Marie,” replied Abakum, looking suddenly weary.
Pavel was speechless. He felt weak as a sudden wave of dizziness washed over him. His pulse raced with panic as he waited for Abakum’s explanation.
“Marie is dying,” announced the old man in a cracked voice. “The Robiga-Nervosa poison is stronger than any of the remedies that Dragomira and I know. We’ve tried everything. I’m sorry, Pavel. I’m really sorry.”
There was a frightening silence. Pavel felt as though the sky had come crashing down on his head.
“But… but…” he muttered desperately, “I thought the Vermicula were working well! And what about that remedy based on… what was its name… Lasonillia? It’s been very effective, Marie has made incredible progress, you said so yourself. She’s doing well! How can you say she’s dying? How can you tell me that, Abakum?”
His voice broke as despair claimed him. He put his head in his hands. He hadn’t felt such mind-numbing misery since his father had died. That had been in Siberia, eight years ago. Vladimir had been the grandson of the great shaman Metchkov, who’d given Dragomira, Leomido and Abakum a roof over their heads after they’d been ejected from Edefia. One icy day in December, shortly before Christmas, Vladimir had been dragged away by the KGB, the Soviet secret police. His arrest had been incredibly brutal. His wife and young son had seen him beaten up and insulted by the police before he’d been taken to a gulag where he’d been sentenced as an “enemy of the State”. Apart from the kindly inhabitants of the small Siberian village, who’d all known about the Pollocks’ “talents”, this was the first time Pavel had come into contact with Outsiders. This was also the last time he’d seen his father. A few weeks later, Dragomira received the dreadful news that Vladimir had been killed by his jailers while trying to escape. Neither Abakum nor Dragomira, nor any of the people who’d known him, believed this version of events: if Vladimir had wanted to escape, he would have done. Wasn’t he an accomplished shaman? Hadn’t he proved that he could match his wife and best friend, the Fairyman, who had such vast powers, in many fields? The authorities were lying: it was obvious, given the condition he’d been in when they took him away, that he’d had no strength left to do anything much, let alone escape. The truth of the matter was that Vladimir had been executed: killed like a dog because of his great powers. Pavel had never managed to get over it. Life had gone on, relentless and unstoppable, but the wound had never properly healed.
The awful news about Marie reopened this old wound. Disbelief gave way to indescribable fury and a bitter feeling of outrage—this was so unfair. Why Marie? Why the most inoffensive member of the Runaways? He hadn’t forgotten that Oksa had been the intended target of the
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