The Forest of Lost Souls Read online

  For dearest, adorable, ever-patient Zoe

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  1 A Surprising Connection

  2 A Brief Respite

  3 An Unexpected Visitor

  4 Frightening Secrets

  5 Impicturement

  6 A Tragic Mistake

  7 Ninja Father and Daughter

  8 A Fraught Reunion

  9 A Very Important Decision

  10 The Decisive Argument

  11 Will the Real Tugdual Please Stand Up?

  12 The Stranger in the Square

  13 Setting off for the Unknown

  14 The Forest of No Return

  15 Your Footsteps Will Lead Wherever You Want to Go

  16 The Ink Dragon Awakes

  17 Bitterness

  18 Reminiscens

  19 Beloved Detachment

  20 The Maritime Hills

  21 An Instructive Discussion

  22 Tumble-Bawler Reporting!

  23 Dragomira’s Old Friend

  24 An Unusual Hiding Place

  25 The Extent of the Damage

  26 Confidences in the Cave

  27 The Airborne Sirens

  28 No Mercy!

  29 A Heart-breaking Sacrifice

  30 Burning Questions

  31 A Perfect Paradise

  32 Reservations

  33 Two Minus One

  34 The Island In the Sea of the Hebrides

  35 A Hazy Figure

  36 Lies and Surprises Galore

  37 Zoe’s Heavy Heart

  38 The Endless Barrens

  39 A Blistering Expanse

  40 The Healing Power of Anger

  41 Reptilian Attack

  42 A Fight to the Death

  43 The Bottomless Pit

  44 Rescue from the Deep

  45 A Vertical Way Out

  46 The Hostile Depths

  47 The Stonewall

  48 The Displacement Spell

  49 Hearts Will Bleed…

  50 Absent Friends

  51 The Awful Truth

  52 A Reluctant Return to School

  53 Unsettling Comparisons

  54 Chilling Evidence

  55 The Cat Among the Pigeons

  56 An Icy Vacuum

  57 Some Startling Explanations

  58 Little Bubbles of Warmth

  59 Danger for the World’S Heart

  60 Some Difficult Home Truths

  61 Family or Friends?

  62 Feathered Informants and Hairy Messengers

  63 The Ultimate Weapon

  64 Escape through a Downpour

  About the Publisher

  Also Available from Pushkin Press

  Copyright

  1

  A SURPRISING CONNECTION

  ZOE KEPT RUSHING AROUND THE MCGRAWS’ HOUSE, frantically looking in every room. Orthon had disappeared and there was no sign of his wife Barbara or his son Mortimer. She was alone.

  “Go to your room, Zoe, don’t worry,” Mortimer had told her two weeks ago. “I’ll pop up and see you in a bit.”

  That was the last time she’d spoken to him. She’d waited all evening, then she’d fallen asleep, worn out with worry. The house was empty when she’d woken up. Horribly empty. Zoe had waited for hours for Orthon or Mortimer to come back, wandering from room to room and leaving worried messages on their mobiles, which had rung unanswered. Hours had turned into days. The cupboards and fridge gradually emptied, dust settled on the furniture, growing thicker by the day, and spiders’ webs formed high up on the walls. With all hope gone, she’d finally had to face facts: she’d been abandoned. She was all alone in the world with nowhere to go and no one cared if she lived or died. The house felt as if it were closing in on her like a tomb.

  This unpleasant sensation shocked her into action. She packed a small bag with her most treasured possessions: the photo album documenting special events in her short life, a few birthday cards, a pendant in the shape of a clover leaf and her gran’s strange-looking flute. Then, with her bag slung over her shoulder, she walked to the Pollocks’ house without looking back, her heart in pieces.

  When Dragomira opened the door she was astounded to recognize a thin, grubby Zoe gazing at her with desperate, tear-filled eyes ringed with dark circles.

  “Mrs Pollock, I’m so sorry for coming here—I didn’t know where else to go…”

  Then, overcome with emotion, she sank down onto the top step in front of the house. Dragomira, who was still bruised and battered from her final encounter with Orthon, summoned the Lunatrixes to help. Zoe didn’t resist, too exhausted to show any fear of these remarkable creatures. They carried her up to their mistress’s apartment and laid her on a sofa, where she immediately fell asleep.

  “Misunderstanding is about to experience mending!” exclaimed the Lunatrix, even more enigmatically than ever.

  “Oh, please, my Lunatrix,” said Dragomira, rebuking the small creature. “This is no time to speak in riddles!”

  “Beware of judgement overflowing with errors and grudges, Old Gracious,” continued the small creature nonetheless. “Vast importance must be attributed to this girl because she contains Gracious blood…”

  The Old Gracious frowned and slumped down onto the sofa opposite the one where the Lunatrixes had deposited Zoe. Despite her weakened condition and the scolding she’d just given her Lunatrix, she knew in her heart of hearts that this pitiable-looking girl was going to turn their lives upside down.

  To Zoe’s great embarrassment, Dragomira was watching her when she woke up, even though she could see no hostility in Baba Pollock’s eyes.

  “Hello, Zoe,” Dragomira said softly. “Are you feeling any better?”

  When Zoe replied “no” in an almost inaudible whisper, Dragomira leant towards her and, gently taking her hand, murmured kindly:

  “I know you’re scared. I would be too if I were in your shoes. I just want to say that I don’t mean you any harm—quite the opposite, in fact. You can trust me.”

  Feeling somewhat reassured and more hopeful, Zoe glanced shyly at Dragomira.

  “Why don’t you tell me everything from the beginning?” suggested the old lady.

  After a brief hesitation, Zoe made up her mind. The words poured from her, tumbling over each other to get out. She sobbed as the painful memories tore her apart, making her heart ache, but once she’d started, she couldn’t stop. She kept talking through her tears while Dragomira stroked her hand, realizing the extent of the misunderstanding mentioned by the Lunatrix.

  “So your father isn’t Orthon-McGraw!” gasped Baba Pollock in amazement.

  “No. He’s my great-uncle, my gran was his twin sister. He took me in when she died.”

  She was now speaking in a tiny voice. Startled, Dragomira looked at her even more attentively and murmured:

  “Reminiscens… Reminiscens was so near to us and we didn’t realize.”

  “She told me you’d known each other when you were young and that you alone could help me if I was ever in trouble. She really admired you, you know. I’ve got some photos of her, if you’d like to see them…”

  “I’d love to,” whispered Dragomira.

  Zoe took the photo album from her bag and handed it to Dragomira, who carefully opened it. The old lady turned the pages, her mind reeling. She kept looking from Zoe to the pictures and back again, her amazement increasing with every page.

  “My gran knew a great deal about all kinds of things, particularly rocks and precious stones,” continued Zoe. “She was a diamond-cutter. She’d always lived with me and my parents because she adored my dad. He was her only son. When he died, she focused all her energy and love on me. We both of
ten held back tears to avoid upsetting each other. We had to be strong for each other and that was really hard. I’d lost my parents, but she’d lost her son.”

  “That’s awful… Is that your dad in these photos?” asked the old lady, pointing to a page of the open album.

  “Yes.”

  “He was very handsome.”

  Dragomira stared at the photos for a long while, her brow furrowed. Suddenly a thought struck her and the blood drained from her face.

  “I’d like to ask you something, Zoe,” she said, trembling. “What was your father’s name? And do you know his date of birth?”

  “My dad was born on 29th March 1953 and his name was Jan Evanvleck.”

  Dragomira sank back on the sofa. All these pieces of information came together in her mind, making her head spin and sucking her into a vortex of repressed grief and untold secrets. The truth erupted like lava from a volcano.

  “Leomido…” murmured Dragomira.

  She looked at Zoe, her eyes full of tears.

  “You haven’t lost everything, my child. When you knocked on my door, you found a family. Your own family.”

  “I… I don’t understand!” stammered Zoe.

  “My dear brother, Leomido, is your grandfather.”

  2

  A BRIEF RESPITE

  Four months later…

  IT WAS THE END OF TERM AT LAST AND THE STUDENTS OF St Proximus were letting off steam, racing around the courtyard shouting and laughing, their uniforms in disarray and their ties unknotted. Oksa Pollock and Gus Bellanger were more than ready for the holidays—they’d begun to think the school year would never end. So much had happened… What with the revelation of Oksa’s mysterious origins and the vaporization of Orthon-McGraw, the last few months had held more than their fair share of exciting discoveries and terrifying ordeals. Oksa shook her head, determined not to let these dark thoughts dampen her high spirits, and walked over to Zoe, once her sworn enemy, now her second cousin and firm friend.

  “Everyone’s having a great time!”

  Zoe smiled back at her. It hadn’t been easy winning Oksa’s friendship. She’d held a deep-seated grudge against Zoe for the gift of the poisoned soap which had made Marie so ill. It hadn’t been long, though, before the Young Gracious had realized that Zoe had been an unwitting pawn in Orthon’s hands. And when Dragomira had told her great-niece about the magical origins she shared with the Pollocks and the Runaways, Oksa had been extremely supportive, providing a shoulder to cry on when necessary and helping her to master the powers which, until then, she’d had no idea she possessed… Now, the two cousins were virtually inseparable.

  “Hey! Why don’t we go and annoy Gus?” exclaimed Oksa suddenly.

  “You go, Oksa. I’d rather stay here,” replied Zoe.

  Oksa gave her a worried look. Zoe tended to withdraw into her own shell when she felt sad, which was quite often, even though she tried hard to stay upbeat.

  “I’m fine, honestly,” she said, seeing Oksa’s sceptical expression.

  Oksa headed over to Gus and began dragging him towards the fountain in the middle of the paved courtyard. He struggled to free himself, laughing.

  “It doesn’t take a genius to guess what you’re up to!”

  “How could you say no to a refreshing dip in honour of this red-letter day?” exclaimed Oksa, pulling her friend by the arm with all her might.

  “You’re making a big mistake if you think you can use brute force. Perhaps you’ve forgotten that nothing and no one can make me do something against my will!”

  He brushed back a strand of dark hair with pretend arrogance. Weak with laughter, Oksa let go, and, losing her balance, crashed into the edge of the fountain.

  “Ouch,” she yelped. “My elbow!”

  A ring of blood appeared around the tear in her blouse.

  “That really hurt,” she grumbled. “Dammit! Look at the mess I’ve made of myself.”

  Gus held out his hand to help her to her feet. She twisted round to take off the little bag she wore slung over her shoulder and handed it to him.

  “Would you look after this for me while I go and clean myself up?” she asked.

  “Wow… the Young Gracious’s magical accessories? What an honour!”

  Oksa smiled at him and headed off in the direction of the grey stone cloister. Gus watched until she vanished into the shadowy staircase that led into the magnificent building.

  Twenty minutes later Gus was still there.

  “Come on, Gus!” yelled a fair-haired student. “We’re going to play basketball.”

  “I’d better not, Merlin, I’m waiting for Oksa.”

  Sitting there patiently against a low wall with nothing much to do, Gus gently pressed the bag. Inside he could feel a soft, round shape—the Tumble-Bawler. He hoped it wouldn’t make a fuss. As if it could read his mind, the Tumble-Bawler said:

  “Don’t worry, young Master, discretion is my middle name! It has to be, since high volume doesn’t make for a low profile.”

  This quirky motto made Gus smile.

  “Come on, Oksa… what on earth are you doing up there?” he grumbled after a few more moments.

  “I can inform you that the Young Gracious is currently in the first-floor toilets, fifty-six yards north-north-west of here,” the small creature volunteered in a muffled voice.

  Gus shuddered at the thought of someone overhearing this bizarre conversation, but all the other students were having too much fun to pay attention to him. Tired of waiting, he finally stood up and headed over to the staircase.

  Walking along the deserted corridor, all he could hear was the sound of his own footsteps and the hubbub from the courtyard. It was strange thinking back to the awful events that had taken place just four months earlier—Oksa injured, fiendish McGraw showing his true colours, Miss Heartbreak… He couldn’t help glancing through the lab window as he walked past and, as he did, he heard someone singing a sad, slow song that sounded like a lament. Intrigued, he turned the door handle—the lab was unlocked. Gus walked in and looked around. He couldn’t see anyone, but he could definitely hear someone as clearly as if they were standing right next to him. He opened Oksa’s bag: the Tumble-Bawler hadn’t made a sound.

  “What’s going on? What is that noise?”

  He walked round the room, clutching Oksa’s bag tightly. He looked under every desk and opened the door to the storeroom, then the large cupboard. Nothing. And yet he could still hear the soft, mournful weeping. He stopped searching and stood in the middle of the room listening hard, all his senses alert. He could now make out what sounded like faint words amongst the sobs.

  “What are you saying? Where are you?” he asked falteringly, looking around despite his fear.

  He heard a voice which sounded as though it were coming from a long way off and yet was very close, saying:

  “I’m here, right in front of you. I need your help. Please come and set me free… I’m begging you!”

  Oksa was hurrying back to the courtyard, her shirt still damp, when the wail of a foghorn caught her attention.

  “Hey, that sounds like Gus’s mobile!”

  The ringtone grew louder as she walked past the first-floor lab, then cut out. Oksa stopped and listened for a few seconds. With a smile, she heard what she’d been expecting to hear: Darth Vader’s rasping voice saying that someone had just left a message. It was definitely Gus’s phone. She pushed open the door and walked in.

  “Gus! Are you in here?”

  No answer. Oksa glanced around and looked under the desks. Her friend didn’t usually play tricks like this, but you never knew what he might get up to. Suddenly she spotted his mobile on the floor.

  “What’s his phone doing there?” she muttered with a frown.

  She picked it up and gazed around again with a puzzled expression, then walked out of the room and went to join the others.

  “You haven’t seen Gus, have you?”

  Zoe looked up, an expression of concern
on her pretty face. Annoyed with herself for needlessly worrying her friend, Oksa hurriedly continued:

  “What an Incompetent he is. Look, he’s lost his mobile! He must be around here somewhere. Let’s go and find him.”

  She grabbed Zoe’s hand and, as impulsive as ever, dragged her off to hunt for Gus.

  “Just wait till he dares to show his face again…” grumbled Oksa.

  After half an hour spent searching fruitlessly for him, the two girls were back where they’d started and were both feeling more concerned than they cared to admit. It was getting late and the other students were beginning to file out of the school.

  “You’d better phone home,” suggested Zoe, her forehead creased in an anxious frown, which only made Oksa feel more apprehensive.

  By the time Pierre Bellanger and Pavel Pollock had arrived in the courtyard, the girls were beside themselves with worry. They had spent nearly an hour searching the school again from top to bottom with mounting desperation.

  “He isn’t at Bigtoe Square or at home,” declared Pierre, sliding shut his mobile.

  The caretaker locked St Proximus’s heavy gates and they had to come to terms with the harsh fact that Gus was nowhere to be found. Oksa and Zoe gazed at each other, eyes brimming with tears. The peace and quiet of the last few months had obviously just been a brief respite.

  The Runaways were in shock. Brune and Naftali Knut, the imposing Swedish couple, and Dragomira’s brother, Leomido, had rushed over to the Pollocks’ house in a show of solidarity. Night had fallen long ago, doing nothing to lighten the heavy mood. Pierre, his face furrowed with worry, had his arms around his wife, Jeanne, who couldn’t stop crying. Dragomira walked over and gave them a hug, but couldn’t think of anything comforting to say. Standing behind Marie’s wheelchair, his eyes fixed on Oksa, Pavel felt paralysed by a creeping sense of anxiety.

  “Perhaps we should inform the police?” suggested Oksa hoarsely.