Burn Bright

by Marianne de Pierres

  Others joined in. None of them spoke of missing home or family, only celebrated their escape from penance and prayers and isolation.

  I’m not like them, thought Retra.

  She didn’t crave parties and fun. All she wanted was to see Joel, and feel safe again. The familiar ache returned to her chest – the one that had driven her from home to find her brother. How long had he been gone? How long, waking up every morning with that heaviness pressing at her heart? Endless, endless days of feeling lost.

  Did he cower like me on the bow of this dismal boat?

  No. Joel never cowered, not even before her father and the Council of the Seal Enclave. He’d been born with free will in his veins; wanting to read what he wanted, do as he pleased. He’d tried to teach her to be the same but mostly she was too scared. The one time she had, she’d been caught – listening to the Angel Arias. Joel had stood up for her against them all. Taken the blame.

  Part of her had rejoiced that day; but another part wished he had kept quiet, the way they’d been taught. Keeping quiet meant Father would not have snake-whipped him and he wouldn’t have run away and left her alone.

  A noise woke Retra from a chilled and uneasy doze. Disorientated, she looked around for the source of the disturbance, standing to peer over the side of the barge. The dark sea boiled where it met the boat’s underbelly, sending sprays of water up the side. The salt stung her eyes. She clung to the railing, listening to shouts and screams coming from the waterline. Something was wrong.

  Suddenly, the party lights extinguished and invisible wings beat in the air above her. She dropped to her knees and crawled back towards the cabin, frightened to stay where she was.

  Just before she reached the stairs, the barge juddered as if running into something and she sprawled forward. Her outstretched hands touched flesh. She bit off a cry as a hand grabbed her arm and helped her to sit upright.

  ‘Hey, it’s all right,’ said a soothing male voice.

  She strained to see him. He seemed broad; solid, in the grainy light. Alongside him Retra recognised a smaller figure whose swathe of white hair glowed with light of its own.

  ‘Cal?’

  Cal leaned against the guy, their shadows melding into one, and whispered too loudly, ‘She’s a Seal.’

  The guy moved his hand quickly from Retra’s arm.

  She wanted to tell him that she wasn’t contaminated, that she was just the same as him, but the noise around them intensified with urgent shouts and footsteps.

  Several Ripers appeared and sped past them, so quickly that Retra heard the clatter of their boots but only glimpsed the flicker of their long coats.

  The boy next to her climbed to his feet and peered over the side. Retra and Cal copied him.

  A blood-red flare burst across the starboard sky and Retra saw a sleek, stingray-shaped powerboat floating alongside them. Leashed echo-locaters hovered on giant wings above it, screeching.

  ‘How can she harness them like that?’ asked Retra. She shivered, picturing how they roamed the night skies of Grave, preying on the smaller of their own kind. Cannibals, Joel had called them.

  ‘It’s Ruzalia the pirate,’ said the boy. ‘She can do anything. She’s a body snatcher who steals people for crew. Or because she fancies them.’

  ‘Who told you that?’ asked Cal.

  ‘It’s in the confetti. They warn you.’

  Retra tried to make out his features. ‘What do they say?’

  ‘If she raids the barge, stay still. Don’t attract attention in case Ruzalia takes you. They say she uses the ones she steals to amuse her. Perform and sing like trained animals.’

  ‘Maybe we should go to the cabin?’ Retra began to step away from the draught caused by the beating wings.

  ‘No!’ said the boy. His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. ‘Don’t! That’s where the Ripers took the over-ager. Ruzalia will search everywhere. Especially down there.’

  His touch shocked Retra but something about his voice made her feel safer. He had confidence, like Joel. She automatically moved closer to him.

  Sensing her reaction, he relaxed his grip. But it tightened again as a body loomed up over the edge of the railing close to them.

  Suddenly, the pirates were everywhere. Running along ledges on nimble feet, using swords to flip over piles of rope, and jab behind casings.

  Another flare shot skyward, exploding in red fluorescence.

  Some of the other Grave runaways fled past them towards the bow, screaming.

  The boy drew Retra and Cal down into the shadowy hollow of the barge’s curved side.

  ‘Keep quiet,’ he said.

  They were close enough to the cabin to see a Riper emerge from down below. When the Riper reached the top of the stairs a pirate jumped on him from above. But the Riper shifted, leaving the pirate to crash to the deck. Then the Riper leapt upon him, moving with unnatural speed, dragging him downwards.

  Shouts and deep growling noises emanated from below.

  ‘What was that?’ Retra whispered.

  ‘Sssh,’ said the boy, pointing upwards.

  A tall figure straddled the railing immediately above them. Long legs slid over, boots almost scraping Retra’s head. The boy reacted quickly, pulling Retra hard against him so that the pirate missed stepping on her.

  The booted figure jumped down lightly, sword in hand, and sprinted towards the stairs. Long hair flared out over leather-clad shoulders. One agile leap took her down into the cabin and the growling stopped abruptly.

  Retra felt the boy holding his breath; imagined she could hear the thud of his heart. Or maybe that was hers? She was used to fear, but not closeness; her chest on his stomach, his knee resting against her thigh, his breath close enough that she felt its damp warmth.

  She began to pull away but he didn’t let go.

  ‘Wait! Watch. In case …’ He tapered off.

  Retra tilted her head back towards the cabin. What did he mean?

  A moment later the tall pirate exploded back up the stairs, half-dragging, half-carrying a limp form – the over-ager, Retra realised. With her free hand she brandished her sword. She retraced her steps, bringing her to the exact spot alongside Retra again.

  The boy, Cal and Retra huddled closer as the pirate dropped her sword to lift the body over the railing. The weapon clattered down close to Retra, spattering her with something wet and sticky.

  ‘Catch her,’ said the pirate, in a stern and commanding voice to those waiting in the stingray boat below.

  ‘Please, don’t hurt me,’ begged the scared young woman.

  ‘I’m saving you, if you keep quiet and do as you’re told,’ said the pirate. She reached down for the hilt of the sword and saw Retra.

  Fierce eyes peered at her and the point of the pirate woman’s blade flicked up against Retra’s temple, lifting her veil.

  Retra froze, paralysed by her own terror. Would the pirate kill her? Or take her?

  But the pirate frowned with recognition at the veil and let it slip back in place. The boy hauled her away onto his lap, arms sliding around her as if he were protecting a child.

  The pirate stared at them both and the moment lasted longer than any Retra had known; longer than when the warden had stapled on her obedience strip.

  Then the woman gave a wink and, as suddenly as she’d come, her sword flipped away and she was gone.

  ‘Ruzalia,’ breathed the boy. ‘Hair redder than fire and her blade as quick.’ He laughed, shakily. ‘I guess she got what she came for, and that was enough.’

  As if the pirate captain had heard him, her sharp voice bellowed from below, ‘Ditch this tub!’

  Retra slid off the boy’s lap and sprang up to watch. Several pirates leapt from the barge to the water and the cruiser swept around in a tight arc to scoop them up.

  ‘No one can catch Ruzalia. She’s too fast,’ sighed the boy. He and Cal were standing now as well. ‘And smart.’ He sounded impressed; envious, perhaps.

  ‘A
nd lucky,’ said Cal.

  Retra strained to follow the fading wash the stingray boat left behind in the dark as Ruzalia sped away.

  Quiet settled on the barge and the party lights came back on. A spotlight began to rove the decks. It revealed groups of the runaways still clinging to each other at the bow. Ripers moved about the deck, urging them back to the stern.

  Retra turned to the boy. In the spotlight she saw him properly for the first time and her stomach knotted. Smooth skin and full lips framed by hair that curled around his ears and down onto the collar of his coat. His eyes might be hazel, she thought, or grey, and his deep, soulful look made her eyes sting. She dropped her gaze to her feet in case he thought she was tearful.

  ‘Thank you f-for …’ She tapered off.

  ‘I’m Markes. From Grave North.’ He thrust his hand into her blurred vision.

  ‘Retra, from Seal South.’ She heard the apology in her own voice.

  ‘I’ve heard that the Ripers don’t like Seals. You might want to change your name,’ he warned her softly. ‘As it is, you were lucky Ruzalia didn’t take you. She knows everyone who comes on. No one knows how. But she does.’

  The thought of it started Retra trembling. What she had done to see Joel again – the pain. If the pirate had taken her …‘Why does she do that?’

  Markes shrugged. ‘It’s hard to know the truth. Some say it’s a rescue. Others say she’s perverted and cruel and uses them as pets. The truth may be somewhere in between.’

  ‘Whatever.’ Cal tugged at Markes’s arm until he faced her. ‘The over-ager deserved it. You can’t come to Ixion when you’re old.’

  The spotlight showed that Cal’s white hair framed a heart-shaped face, made prettier by upturned lips and long-lashed blue eyes. She was attractive in a way that Retra immediately envied.

  Not that Retra had much to compare with – the women in the Seal compound wore veils, and the men wore deep-caps that hid the sides of their faces. But Cal was beautiful.

  ‘She shouldn’t be pretending she’s young enough for Ixion,’ continued Cal. ‘She had her chance to come here when she was younger. It’s our place. Our time.’

  ‘We all pretend things sometimes. And sometimes we leave things too late.’ Markes showed his disagreement with her by turning back to Retra.

  He reached out and wiped his finger across Retra’s cheek. ‘There’s blood on you from Ruzalia’s blade. You never made a sound when she pointed it at you.’

  Retra trembled, not knowing what to do with the admiration in his voice, or her body’s reaction to his touch. She wasn’t going to Ixion for the same reason as Cal – for parties and boys. She wanted only to find her brother.

  I can’t live like this anymore, Ret, Joel had told her. I’m suffocating.

  Her brother had been all impulse and quick, blazing heat. She’d felt so cold without him. But right now, Markes’s touch and his gentle, steady gaze warmed her.

  ‘Yeah, you’re covered in it. You should go and clean up, you look terrible,’ said Cal. ‘We’ll be in Ixion soon.’

  In the silence that fell between them, the engines seemed to throb louder than before, straining to get there.

  Retra bit her tongue and frowned. Cal wanted to be left alone with Markes – that was obvious. She risked a glance and found that he was staring intently at her. He didn’t speak, though, or offer to come with her.

  Under Markes’s silent scrutiny and Cal’s disapproval, she fumbled for the handrail, and made her way aft looking for somewhere to wash.

  The barge’s ablution cubicle was on the far side of the cabin housing. Retra waited her turn in line, head bowed to conceal the blood on her face. She listened to the conversations around her, about Ruzalia and Ixion. Some sounded excited, others scared.

  ‘I’ve heard Ruzalia ran away to Ixion and didn’t like it. So she started stealing people to make her own place –’

  ‘That’s stupid. How could you not like Ixion? Ixion is freedom.’

  ‘Did you see her boat? And the giant bat things –’

  ‘She killed a Riper. They put his body in the kitchen. I saw them drag it –’

  ‘It’s everywhere, all over the walls.’

  Retra touched her face. Was it Riper’s blood? She felt sick.

  The toilet cubicle became free and she stumbled into it. There was no lock, so she jammed her heel against the door. With jerky movements she removed her veil and splashed her face, heedless of the ice cold water. There was no mirror but Retra didn’t need it. She’d practised washing and dressing all her life without one. Seals believed mirrors bred vanity.

  With fingers well accustomed to the contours of her face, she checked for cleanliness across her brow and cheekbones, then down to the fading scar on her earlobe, where the warden had stung her with the pain prodder for asking to go to the library.

  The prodder hadn’t been as bad as the obedience strip, though. When the warden fitted the strip, he’d pored over her naked thigh for ages, pressing and prodding the soft skin there; pushing her underwear aside to make sure it wouldn’t interfere with the proper function.

  Her embarrassment had been so intense she’d wanted to shrivel into nothing. And the warden had tested it for days, at any time, making sure it triggered pain-shocks whenever he chose. Sometimes he woke her in the night with it; sometimes he activated it during dinner. One time, the pain made her sick up her meat soup, and Father had sent her to her room with nothing more to eat. She hadn’t cared by then. Hadn’t even cried.

  Enduring pain meant practice.

  Practice meant escape.

  Retra finished the exploration of her face and wiped her skin dry, on the sleeve of her coat. Although her hair was still pinned, she could feel that tendrils had strayed. She let it loose and raked her fingers through it. Joel had thought it a stupid Seal rule – girls and women having to keep their hair tied and covered. Why have it at all, he’d say, if you must keep it hidden.

  Disrespect seemed so easy for him. Retra found it hard, like loving someone who was cruel to you. Cruelty didn’t stop you feeling like you belonged. Retra had felt safe in the Seal compound.

  Until Joel had gone.

  She wound her hair up again, reattached her veil and shifted her heel from the door. She’d return to the bow of the barge, and sat there, away from Cal and Markes. In the quiet she’d be able to think and plan.

  The Riper came for her at dawn. She’d been drowsing, unable to really sleep for the chill, and he’d jerked her from awake with shrill words.

  ‘Come below. Now.’

  Cal had been admiring of him earlier, but Retra couldn’t see anything appealing in the empty eyes, and the lifeless-cold hands that pulled her to her feet. She noticed a tear in his leather coat and, underneath, a glimpse of something not quite flesh.

  It started her trembling again. She snatched her arm back and stabbed her nails into her palms to calm her fear.

  ‘We pass through the edge of the Spiral soon,’ he said. ‘It won’t be safe atop.’

  Retra followed him along the deck through the pink fingers of early light that reached as far as the narrow steel steps. As she descended into the cabin, she saw streaks of dark blood smeared the wall, as if someone had missed them while cleaning it in haste.

  At the bottom, though, warmth and the buzz of conversation enveloped her. The cabin was brightly lit and crowded with nervous, blinking, talkative Grave runaways. For a moment their anticipation lifted her heavy mood.

  She found herself searching for Markes. He leaned against the bulkhead, Cal hanging at his arm, their earlier differences already forgotten.

  Retra moved to the opposite side of the cabin, away from them, but Markes caught her eyes and smiled.

  Then a Riper began pounding on a drum. Other Ripers descended the steps and spread among the crowd. The tallest ones stooped by the low ceiling, all wearing the same blank stares.

  ‘Sit, all of you,’ said one of them. ‘The Spiral is not a thing to stand t
hrough. You will be perfectly safe from hyper-reaction as long as you stay seated.’

  The cabin crowd dropped to the floor in one mass, laughing and falling on each other. Retra squeezed herself into a small space against one wall, trying not to touch the people around her. She wasn’t used to crowds; the smell of their bodies made her feel sick.

  ‘What’s hyper-reaction?’ she heard someone ask.

  ‘It happens when you cross the Spiral. Some get blissed out or real down. But it lasts … like forever,’ answered the girl on one side of her. ‘Some even get it afterwards.’

  The Riper started speaking again. ‘Once through the Spiral, you’ll leave the barge and pass into the Register. There you’ll be fitted with your badge. After that your life – your pleasure – is your own. Burn bright!’ The Riper’s eyes glittered with strange comprehensions.

  ‘Burn bright!’ the crowd shouted in enthusiastic response.

  Retra glanced to the small, high windows, seeking the sunrise. How long until she saw it again? She suddenly felt thirsty for daylight.

  But the hum came.

  The cabin lights snuffed out and the barge rocked, gently at first, then wildly – jarring her spine, throwing a boy onto her lap. His red curls brushed against her throat and he cheekily burrowed his freckled face between her breasts. With the roll of the barge he fell backwards again before she could react.

  She hugged her knees for protection as the air got thick and heavy and the dawn turned abruptly back to dark. The crowd’s eagerness shifted to something fearful.

  ‘What’s happening?’ shouted one.

  Another. ‘We’re sinking!’

  ‘Fross!’

  Huddled in the pitch-black, fear-stink of the cabin, the cries unnerved her. She shut her eyes. Joel. She chanted to herself. Joel. Saying his name made her feel safer.

  Heaviness came next, as if gravity had altered. Breathing got hard. The fear-shouts dwindled.

  Then the pain from her obedience strip returned, worse than before. An obscene, tearing hurt that burned from her thigh up to her vertebrae and into her chest. She curled into a ball, biting her tongue to stop from screaming, gouging the flesh of her upper arms with her nails.