Burn Bright

by Marianne de Pierres

  She scowled at him. ‘Why were you doing that with a stranger?’

  ‘Not a stranger, her name is Keltha and she kisses like a devil.’ He poked out his tongue and rolled it around obscenely.

  Retra pulled her hand from his. His baiting and his crudeness stung.

  Seeing her reaction, his expression grew serious for a moment. ‘Get over it, Retra. You have to fit in here. It’s the only way.’

  She stared at him, not quite sure what he meant. Then the crowds began to surge forward down the stairs and into a vast, lit empty space.

  Retra clung to the gates at the top, looking down at the huge stone columns on one side which seemed to be carved out of the mountain. On the far side, ornate ironwork rails marked the edge of a steep, dark precipice. Between the railing and the columns, in the centre of the field, fire jets spurted into the sky, spreading jagged light across a burgundy velvet-cloaked stage.

  Rollo tugged at her again. ‘Come on, we won’t be able to hear if we stay here.’

  She followed him down the steps, her irritation with him banished by wonder. She’d never seen so many people in one place.

  Rollo forced a path for them, determinedly elbowing his way between the excited crush of bodies to the front. Retra saw six figures standing at different points of the stage, all motionless in the flickering light of the fire spouts.

  ‘Silence.’ A single word, issued from the person at the centre. It echoed more than it should have, sibilant and eerie, quieting the crowd. It caught in her mind.

  ‘I am Lenoir, leader of the Guardians. This may be the only time we will meet, so listen well. What you fail to hear becomes your lot to bear.’

  He waited then, letting his words impact.

  Retra stood as still as him, transfixed by his manner and look; the lustre of the black hair that framed his pale, flawless face. He was beautiful in a way Retra had never seen before.

  Unholy.

  A Seal mantra moved her lips but she clamped them together. Now was not the time for her Grave ways. She must listen and learn or … God. Another unbidden thought. He is like God.

  But what did she know of God? What did she know of men?

  And yet the drift of his long hair and his worldly sneer made her stomach clench with unwanted emotion.

  ‘I – we …’ he gestured dramatically, left and right, ‘own you now. This is our place.’

  The silence became taut as if the crowd breathed in accord.

  Lenoir laughed, feeling it. Though many could not see him as well as she could, he mesmerised them with his voice alone.

  ‘Fear not. All we want … is for you to pleasure yourselves,’ he said.

  A cheer went up, discharging the tension.

  He waved his hands once more for quiet. ‘In Ixion music and party are our only beliefs. Darkness is our comfort. We have few rules but they are absolute. Your endocrine systems have been altered by changes to your hypothalamus. You no longer need to sleep or see sunlight.’

  More titters and cheers. A little frayed and scared, Retra thought.

  ‘Still, you will need to rest for a short period every twelve-cycle; how long will vary for each of you. When that time is upon you, the badge you have had administered at the Register will glow. We call this rest petite nuit – little night.’ He laughed. ‘Your body needs to rest and yet your mind will remain conscious. That is the time for you to be in your beds, little ones. If you ignore this, it is at your own risk.’

  Catcalls and whistles followed this.

  Retra watched a smile catch and linger on his lips as if he enjoyed an amusing secret.

  A young woman moved from one side of the stage to join him. Her naked scalp glowed in the amber light, yet she was not quite bald; dark hair sprang from the edge of her skull like a collar of spikes. In profile her nose was perfectly straight, her lips thin. She wore hard leather on her arms and legs, and a shaped tunic.

  Retra’s stomach fluttered. In Grave, woman wore veils and heavy, shapeless gowns. They kept their eyes downcast and spoke softly.

  ‘My name is Test, baby bats. Listen well. The mountain is strewn with paths that connect Ixion’s clubs. They are well lit and safe enough. Should you venture off them and into the dark, you will not return. Remember, when you live in a place of darkness you also live with creatures of the dark.’

  Test’s slow, husky voice might have been just next to Retra’s ear, caressing her with a warning.

  ‘How do they do that?’ whispered Rollo. ‘It’s like she’s in my head.’

  Retra ignored him, straining forward.

  A few cocky ones in the crowd gave catcalls.

  Lenoir stared them back into silence.

  ‘The Guardians –’ the woman continued.

  ‘Ripers,’ Rollo hissed in Retra’s ear.

  ‘– are here for your guidance and protection. Ask us anything but heed our advice. We dispense our justice. Respect us. Do not attempt to … be with us. We are apart.’

  This time the catcalls were cacophonous.

  Test reached for Lenoir’s hand; pale exotic creatures united.

  Lenoir spoke again. ‘Ixion has six churches on consecrated ground: Vank, Illi, Agios, Goa and Los Fien. That is where you may slumber safely and gain sustenance. There is only one church you are not permitted to enter: Danskoi on the highest tier is our domain. If you enter you will not return.’

  The other Ripers gathered around Lenoir and Test. Retra tried to memorise their faces.

  Test spoke again. ‘Now only the cleansing ceremony remains before you can begin again. Drink Lava from the dispensing stations then remove your clothes and bring them to the pyres.’

  She gestured to the pyramids of brush in front of the railings that safeguarded the crowd from the precipice.

  For a moment nobody moved then Ripers began to walk amongst them, snatching at hats and tossing them in the air, tugging at the coats of those still clinging to Grave memories.

  Rollo stripped his long pants off. Underneath he wore nothing.

  Retra recoiled from his dangling nakedness, her chest banging her ribs hard with shock, but around her others began to do the same.

  She became caught in the melee as they grabbed cups of Lava and surged towards the pyres. The drink seemed to heighten their fervour, and their hot flesh brushed against her.

  A female Riper with waist-length streaks of black and white hair and raised scars along her hairline appeared alongside Retra and wrenched at her veil and coat. The veil fluttered to the ground like an injured moth and the grey wool tunic caught, twisted and tore where it was most worn.

  With eager hands the Riper pulled it apart like a curtain.

  Retra screamed at the violation but the Riper was already tossing her clothes high onto the piles of branches along with the others.

  Rollo danced off to join the milling, naked bodies gathering like children eager for a bonfire, leaving Retra huddled on the ground trying to cover her skin with her arms.

  ‘You need cleansing, dirty little bat.’ The scarred Riper pushed something into her hand. ‘Drink this. It will stir your blood.’

  As Retra put the cup to her mouth, the Riper bent to unhook the remains of her tunic and push it from her shoulders. The garment slid down and she smeared a warm sticky substance over Retra’s back.

  The scarred woman’s touch panicked her beyond sense. She pulled away from her and ran, zigzagging through the crowd. Everyone was screaming and singing and pushing in the opposite direction.

  Retra tried to remember Test’s words. Ixion has six churches on consecrated ground. Vank, Illi, Agios … you may slumber safely and gain sustenance.

  Dressed only in her underwear, she stumbled up the stairs. A cable kar waited there, swaying gently. She ran into the first carriage and banged the speaker. ‘Take me to a church.’

  Nothing happened and she feared that the shouts and clamour near the base of the stairs meant the crowd had followed her.

  She picked a name she co
uld remember from the Riper’s list. ‘Vank. Take me to Vank.’

  The kar groaned and moved forward, gradually picking up momentum.

  Cries of ‘wait for us’ and ‘come back’ trailed after her in the dark. She shrank from them as she had from the prying fingers of the Riper, huddling into the hard leather of the seat.

  ‘There’ll be others.’ A last shout faded.

  The kar transported her higher, clunking through an interchange before arcing onto a subsidiary line.

  Retra peered through the window, wondering why daylight never came here. Joel had talked of Ixion but she had not really listened, not really believed he would go there. Every season Grave North lost some of their youth to the lure of the Dark Island – but not Seal South.

  Seals knew better than to look for pleasure.

  The kar slowed to a halt at a station where a sign wavered under a light so fragile that it seemed as if one more rumble from the carriage might extinguish it forever.

  ‘Vank station. This kar will leave in ten tolls,’ said the speaker-voice.

  Hugging herself, she stepped out onto the platform. At the foot of the long stairs she saw another platform that served as a terrace to the entry of a huge stone church.

  She glanced around as she descended; either end of the terrace disappeared into darkness, and the edges drew her in the same way a precipice held fascination to those fearful of heights.

  She left the stairs and crept to one end to peer into the darkness. The drop was steep and dangerous. Shapes appeared from the darkness below, blurred at first then becoming solid. Her father’s face, bloated with anger, hovering atop the body of a blood-slicked, glistening demon. Long, cruel nails grasped for her.

  You have disgraced us!

  Jamming fingers in her mouth to stop a scream, she ran to the bolted doors and tugged at the bell. When no one answered she banged at the door, trembling and sobbing.

  Finally a girl appeared, holding a flickering candle.

  ‘You are early. Welcome to the Church of Vank. Hush now, baby bat, never stray from the paths and know when you must rest. I am Charlonge.’

  Retra clasped her hands together, prayer-like. ‘Please … I need clothes.’

  Charlonge frowned at the underwear for a moment before she slipped her arm around Retra. ‘Of course you do. You all do at the beginning. Come.’

  As they entered the church, Retra barely registered the marble alcoves with their candlelit miniature statues, or the vases of satin-black flowers. She spent her energy on walking, and on listening to Charlonge’s gentle instructions.

  ‘Up there behind the praying pews. That’s right. We have beds awaiting our new baby bats. Soon you can rest. Up the stairs, little one.’

  Retra recoiled against the balustrade.

  ‘What hurts ye?’ asked Charlonge.

  ‘N-nothing hurts,’ Retra gasped. ‘But I-I’m almost n-naked, I c-cannot be seen by others.’

  Charlonge’s solicitous expression tightened. She pulled Retra to her feet and seized her shoulders. ‘I’ll say this one time only. Don’t show your fears and weaknesses. In this place they’ll devour you as sure as the night.’ She bent her face close, her breath sweet but her tone as sharp as a slap in the face. ‘In Ixion, modesty is kin to sin.’

  ‘Who comes, Charlonge?’ A Riper appeared at the top of the stairs, pale hair flowing to his shoulders, skin like milk. Retra felt the stillness of the air around him. She forced herself straighter.

  ‘A baby bat that strayed from re-birth, Forlorn,’ said Charlonge. ‘She lost her way before her clothes could be burned.’

  The Riper peered down at them both, hollow-eyed and untrusting. ‘See to it.’

  ‘Yes, Forlorn. Of course.’

  He glided from their sight down a darkened corridor.

  Charlonge gave Retra a hard look. ‘Remember why you came here. Seek enjoyment or they will age you quicker.’

  Retra nodded. She must learn quickly.

  Retra lay in a narrow bed. The pearly blue satin of her new sleeping dress felt sinful against her body, and the stiff, white lace of her underwear grazed the soft parts of her flesh as if a deliberate reminder of its decadence.

  Charlonge had laid it out for her before leaving. ‘Wear this,’ she said. She’d also given her a small, numbered key on a thin gold chain. ‘Each resting place will have a locker that will match your key. Each locker will have clothes for you. You will always find your locker located in the same room in each of the churches. There are many rooms, don’t forget that yours will be in the narthex, close to the front entry.’

  ‘How do they get there? The clothes, I mean.’

  ‘The Ripers choose them for us and the uthers will place them there.’

  ‘Who are the uthers?’

  ‘They are servants of the Guardians. They do the menial work, provide the food and attend the clothes.’

  ‘What do they look like?’

  Charlonge frowned. ‘It’s hard to describe uthers. The live in the corner of your sight. It is easy to overlook them.’

  ‘But where do the Ripers get all the food and the clothes? Ixion is so far from everything else. How do they know what will fit me?’

  ‘They know everything about us. When you change, put your clothes in a collector. They will be cleaned and returned to one of your lockers.’ Charlonge’s mouth curved in satisfaction. ‘We are spared the mundane. It is one of Ixion’s – Lenoir’s – gifts to us. Our sustenance is provided; we have whatever we want as long as we adhere to his rules. They are few but absolute.’

  Retra pictured the beautiful, frightening Guardian. ‘Why does Lenoir – why do they – do this? Make this place for us?’ she asked, her tongue loosened by the cool, sweet drink Charlonge had pressed on her.

  Charlonge’s smile strained. ‘It’s not our business to ask such questions. They want us to take pleasure. That is all.’

  She’d left, and now, as Retra lay listening to the sounds of others being admitted through the church doors, she wondered again why the Ripers chose to indulge their pleasure so much. What was it that Charlonge had said? Their conversation was becoming blurred. Faint. Then gone, as her mind drowsed without sleeping for some hours, trapped in a reverie of waking dreams – about Joel mostly, but other images as well: the wallowing barge, the uneven, moss-wet stone walls of her home and her father’s cold expression when he realised she’d run away and gone after her brother.

  How he would hate her for it. How shamed he would be.

  Two from the same family, the Seal Superiors would say, tainted with lust and the lure of profligacy. Seal families would shun her parents for it. None would offer solace.

  Retra emerged from her waking dream state with a dull ache in the base of her throat. Mother, I’m sorry. She sobbed without noise: a silent, inner weeping.

  Then her thoughts came sharply to the new place, the dreaminess passing. She sat up in bed and scrubbed her face with her fingers.

  Candlelit bodies lay in the wrought-iron beds around her, drowsing in their satin and lace. Two were awake, whispering to another. They glanced her way but said nothing to her.

  Retra left her bed and slipped barefoot from the room.

  The sleeping chamber led to a hall and more rooms with doors firmly shut. Candles, melted in bizarre twisted shapes, lit her way. She touched the key on the chain around her neck and stepped softly. First she must find the clothes Charlonge had spoken about.

  But when she reached the stairs, strains of music drew her further on, to the other end of the corridor.

  Wall-mounted candelabra lit a grand indoor balcony in a blaze that banished shadows to high corners and revealed the muted colours of the many stained-glass windows. High above, vast arches with thick, decorative ribs marked the ceiling. Beneath her lay the sanctuary of the Church of Vank.

  Retra gazed down at the largest apse, where a guitarist sat on an altar strumming something sad. Bodies lounged on a row of pews in the nave, listening and talking
quietly. On one side a queue formed outside a curtained confessional: young girls mainly, dressed in black lace and silk, like Retra’s sleeping dress, though cut low and revealing. Some looked artfully torn, others were backless.

  The memory of Charlonge’s words jolted Retra: Modesty is a sin on Ixion.

  ‘Well, I guess it’s only a small island,’ said a sharp voice in her ear.

  Retra started and looked around. ‘Cal?’

  The girl she had met on the barge looked different without her Grave tunic. Her long hair barely masked the gape in the neckline of her sleeping dress.

  Retra’s eyes were drawn to the girl’s naked chest. Her face warmed with embarrassment.

  Cal saw her reaction. ‘Get over it, Seal. No wonder your kind isn’t wanted here.’

  The girl’s open hostility shocked her; made her wish that their paths had not crossed again. Yet she could not stop herself from asking, ‘Is Markes here?’

  Cal shrugged and stuck out her lower lip. ‘How should I know? I lost track of him at the re-birth. What happened to you? Your boyfriend was looking for you.’

  ‘My b-boyfriend?’

  ‘Rollo, he said his name was. Asking everyone if they’d seen you. Got all worried you’d freaked and jumped over the cliff.’

  ‘I … wanted to see the churches. This one was the closest.’

  Cal stared at her, her eyes glittering suspiciously in the candlelight. ‘I don’t believe you. I think you ran away from the re-birth. Seals can’t take their clothes off. They think flesh is sinful.’

  In a quick movement Cal tugged at the neckline of her own satin shift, exposing one of her small breasts. Cal’s nipple was pale and soft like an exotic deep-sea creature.

  Retra bowed her head, sick to her stomach with shame. She had never seen another girl’s body so closely, so brazenly.

  ‘Thought so!’ Cal sounded triumphant.

  As she tried to think of something to say, the smell of funeral roses filled Retra’s senses, telling her that another person had joined them.

  ‘Aaah, baby bats, getting to know each other, I see,’ said Charlonge.

  Cal released her shift and it fell back to its place over her breast. ‘How long do we have to put up with that stupid nickname?’