Liam put his fingers to his lips and signalled that he would go first. Naif and Jarrold waited while he climbed down and lay on one of the slanted struts. When he waved his hand, Naif began her descent.
With her first few steps a wave of nausea swept through her. She stopped and clung to the wood, waiting for it to pass. Being underground had been uncomfortable and claustrophobic but this . . . this was . . .
She felt a tap on her shoulder and realised her eyes were tightly shut. She opened them and stared up into Jarrold’s frowning face. He drew his eyebrows into a questioning frown.
She pointed to her mouth, indicating that she felt sick.
Without warning he pinched her cheek hard.
She flinched away from his fingers and glared at him. Her surge of anger pierced her paralysis and her nausea abated.
He grinned and gave her the thumbs up.
Taking a quiet, annoyed breath, she started to move downward again, not stopping until her feet touched the more secure-feeling surface of one of the thick ceiling struts.
Once there, she wriggled along it until she was almost parallel with Liam on the next strut. He gave her a grin of encouragement.
As she lay there, waiting for Jarrold to come, she became aware of voices below and she tried to make sense of what they were saying.
Jarrold’s foot glanced off her shoulder as he reached her strut and climbed over her to find a higher position.
She clung tight while he settled, then summoned the courage to look down. The voice she could hear seemed to be coming from a figure standing in the old pulpit of the church.
Now that she was lower, she could also see eight seated men in front of him wearing ceremonial attire; long suit tails and formal frock shirts, their lace collars spilling out from their jackets.
Low whining noises ran as an undercurrent to the man’s voice. Hounds lay on the floor at the foot of the pulpit, licking each other’s tails.
The wardens must be outside, guarding the doors, Naif thought. Which meant the Elders did not wish them to hear. She tried closing her eyes and concentrating on the voice again. Gradually, she began to pick up the thread of conversation.
‘. . . We are still searching for them. It’s known that one is the son of Grol Markes while the other is thought to be Retra, daughter of Pietr Romero. We will address that issue after the main item.’
There was a murmur of agreement among the listeners.
Naif gripped the strut even harder. They knew it was her. Which meant her parents would know as well. The thought made her feel sick again.
‘Elders, we have serious concerns to address today, hence the extraordinary meeting here in Oracion. Ixion is experiencing much turmoil, to the point that our harvesting programme is under threat.’
This pronouncement was followed by unhappy noises.
The Speaker raised his hand to quiet them. ‘Lenoir Riperian has not responded to our messages but the levia-flies reveal there are groups of youths running wild on the island. If we do not find a solution to this problem our longevity plan is endangered.’
‘What can we do from here?’ asked one of the seated Elders in the front row.
‘Use mercenaries,’ said the man next to him. ‘Plenty of pirates for hire. Send them in to clean out the troublemakers. And that damned Ruzalia as well.’
The man’s head was adorned in a grand temple hat and his shoulders were padded by rich satin robes. Naif recognised his voice though she had never seen him.
Emilia and Jarrold’s father.
She glanced across at the boy, who was staring down intently. His face showed a mixture of puzzlement and anger.
‘How typical of you, Theos,’ said the first man. ‘Always on for a fight. Remember your daughter was trothed to one of those runaways. And I believe that boy of yours is a handful. Surely there must be a less extreme way to resolve these problems.’
‘Mind your loose mouth, Ethel, lest it get you in too deep,’ Emilia and Jarrold’s father replied with heat. ‘Perhaps we should cut off their supplies? The uthers will do whatever we command. I mean, we have their queen.’
Naif’s breath caught in her chest. The gentle uthers were being blackmailed by the Elders.
She had wondered about the uthers’ connection with the Ripers, which seemed amicable. But like many things on Ixion, it was not as it seemed.
‘Now that’s a better notion,’ said Ethel. ‘We could begin by constraining their supply of cloth. The young ones like their costumes. If they do not respond to that then we can slowly restrict the food replenishment.’
‘Both suggestions are barbaric,’ said another man. ‘Are we not a little more civilised? Perhaps we could try something more subtle. We used the Angel Arias music to lure them to Ixion. Could we graft messages into their music to calm them?’
‘We understand your reservations, Her-Rollonspiel,’ said Ethel with mock sympathy. ‘You may have a son there.’
‘There is no evidence that my son went to Ixion. He has disappeared, indeed. But my considered opinion is that he went adventuring to far places. He is a boy with spirit, not a malcontent.’
The other Elders made rude sounds of disagreement while Naif grappled with a dawning comprehension. She stared hard at the back of the man’s head. The thin line of hair visible below the rim of his Temple Hat was a fiery red. Rollo’s father!
‘Be calm, Her-Rollonspiel. Both Theos and Ethel have made valid suggestions, but not ones we need pursue. I have a simpler solution,’ said the Speaker. ‘Since Lenoir has proved unreliable, I have forged a line of communication with another Riperian. I vote that we give her an audience now. Those in favour?’
All the Elders, with the exception of Her-Rollonspiel, raised their hands. ‘The vote is carried. Bring in the Riperian,’ said the Speaker.
‘A moment, Speaker. What news of the pirate? Was it she who brought the youngest Markes and the girl Retra Romeo back here?’ asked Jarrold’s father.
‘The wardens believe so. They are searching for them now while they also look for your son.’
‘If my son has been brought to harm by them, that pirate woman will –’
‘No need for threats. Ruzalia will soon have too many problems of her own to bother interfering with our business.’
‘Speaker?’
‘I have arranged with our supplier at the Port of Patience for the beads to find their way to her island.’
Jarrold’s father gave a satisfied grunt. ‘Ingenious as always, Speaker. Thank you.’
Naif took a sharp breath. Port of Patience. That was where Ruzalia left the over-agers; the place where she traded for weapons. It would have been easy for the Elders to have someone slip Jud the beads there. She must tell Ruzalia that her merchant was untrustworthy.
‘Now, Ethel,’ said the Speaker. ‘Please bring in the Riperian.’
The hounds began to growl as Elder Ethel went to the door and opened it. A figure glided in. She was much taller than everyone else in the room, with long black and white streaked hair falling straight around a pale and disfigured face.
Brand.
The Riper halted just short of the pulpit and turned to face the Elders. Though her expression was indistinct from this distance, Naif felt her confidence and her disdain.
‘Riperian Brand, please apprise us of the current situation on Ixion. Has our elixir supply been compromised?’
‘I’ve come to assure you that the elixir will be delivered as agreed.’
Many sounds of relief emanated from around the room.
This time Jarrold glanced up, giving Naif a quizzical look which she returned with a shake of her head. She didn’t know what elixir they referred to, but it had something to do with Danksoi.
‘I am relieved to hear that. An interruption in the dispensation of the elixir among us would be most detrimental. We are just beginning to see the benefits of it now. We are healthier.’
‘Of course you are, Elder Speaker. You are stealing their youth,’ sa
id Brand brusquely. ‘In time you will look younger as well. But as you say, the process must not be disrupted.’
Naif’s heart pounded so loudly in her ears that she could hear nothing for many moments. The Elders were draining the life from their own youth so that they could live longer.
‘. . . We’ll contain the current problems for you, if you concede that we are your alliance, not Lenoir. We will assume control of the uthers,’ Brand continued.
‘But Lenoir is your leader by your own acknowledgement. That is how this began,’ said the Speaker. ‘Our agreement with him was to let you use the rebels among our young to evolve your species if you also made the elixir for our use.’
Lenoir began this? Naif’s nausea intensified at the thought of what the Riper had done.
How could she retain any feeling for him at all? And yet the bond between them meant that she did; deeply and irrevocably.
‘Things have changed. I represent the majority of the Ripers now. Myself and my second, Modai.’
Naif bit her lip to stop from shouting that Brand was lying. Surely the Elders could see her deception?
‘Perhaps we should hear Lenoir’s version of events before making such a pledge, Elder Speaker?’ asked Her-Rollonspiel.
‘I believe time is too short for deliberating. We must have the next batch of elixir on time, or we will see reversal effects. Lenoir warned us that to stop during treatment could be fatal. I decree that we vote now.’
The rest of the Elders nodded.
‘Who favours Lenoir?’ asked the Speaker.
Only Her-Rollonspiel and one other raised their hands.
‘Who favours Brand?’
The remaining seven, including the Speaker, gave their vote.
‘It is settled. Please attend to the matters on Ixion with our full support. We expect delivery of the elixir on time. Do what you must to ensure that. At this point we will not suspend the delivery of materials or food to uthers.’
Brand gave a sharp bow and stalked towards the doorway. As she passed through it, Naif noticed a slight distortion in her wake; a movement in the air where there shouldn’t have been. She stared hard at the spot and after a moment or two she saw the outline of a creature; an uther.
It left the building after Brand, seemingly unnoticed by the Elders.
Was the creature accompanying Brand? Or shadowing her?
Naif’s mind raced with possibilities. The Elders were orchestrating their world with false rules about Ixion, which were meant to be broken. It made a lie of all the beliefs that had been instilled in her – her Seal principles. Were they just another way for the Elders to constrain their people? Perhaps Lenoir had been right about pleasure. Maybe it was something that should be embraced, not seen as a vice or sin. Perhaps prayer and denial and discipline were really nothing but mind control. Whatever the truth, there was one thing she must do at once. Her bond demanded it, even though she felt sick at what she had just learned.
Lenoir. She thought. Lenoir!
Nothing.
She summoned her feelings from the Enlightenment; how he’d touched her, how he’d made her feel. The intensity of those memories forced her to grip the beam even tighter. Lenoir! Please!
Nothing.
Lenoir, I need you!
Then it came, his voice tolling like a bell in her head.
Naif? What is it? Are you safe?
Yes, but you’re not. Brand has formed an alliance with the Grave Elders. You’re in great danger. I have learned the truth about Ixion.
The elixir?
I know about it and about how you use us.
You must understand. When we came here we were dying.
And now it us who die. I have warned you of the danger you face, as our bond demands. Now never speak to me again like this. NEVER!
Naif brought her knees up beneath her and reached for the nearest strut, tears streaming down her face. As she began to climb, Jarrold and Liam followed.
When they were safely through and had closed the hatch, she wiped her face dry and stared at the others.
Liam was calm but Jarrold looked deeply shocked.
‘Naif, I’m sorry for my father.’
‘You are not his keeper.’
‘But the things he said . . . I’m ashamed.’
Naif gripped his arm. ‘Then help me undo what they have started.’
He nodded and a look of stubborn determination entered his face. ‘Where is Markes?’
‘He’s gone to find Emilia. Bring her back.’
‘We go too!’ said Liam from where he perched up on the window ledge.
‘Wait. First I want to know . . . The elixir they were talking about – is it to make them live longer?’ asked Jarrold.
‘That what it sounded like.’
‘Naif –’ Liam began.
But Jarrold cut him off. ‘I don’t understand. Why are the Elders pretending they hate Ixion when they are using it? Why do they stop us going, when in fact they want us to go?’
‘If you think about it they don’t really stop us. They want us to think that they do by punishing those that are left behind. They use fear as a control, so we don’t ask questions. They are hiding what they are doing from the rest of Grave. Perhaps it’s even them spreading the confetti.’
‘Fross!’ said Jarrold. His young face showed that he felt as sick about the whole thing as she did.
‘Naif!’ Liam grabbed her wrist and pulled her close to the ledge. ‘We go now,’ he said with an emphatic punch downwards.
She looked over the edge. Hounds were at one end of the alley, sniffing around the grate.
‘Yes,’ she whispered with a new, growing alarm. ‘Now.’
Liam was last across the plank. As he crawled in through the window of the decayed building, the hounds were baying beneath him. He loosened the rope and dropped the plank over the edge, sending the hounds running.
The three sped downstairs and out through a door on the other side of the building. They found themselves in a large alley opposite the ruins of two smaller buildings. Rotten wooden beams were balanced against broken stone walls.
‘Naif.’
She looked to where Jarrold was pointing, and glimpsed a sled racing past carrying two of the Elders.
She ran to the end of alley and peered around the corner. Jarrold joined her but when they looked back for Liam he’d disappeared.
‘Where is he?’
Jarrold shrugged. ‘He’s weird.’
Naif looked out onto the street again. Several horses were tethered to the side of the building, and a grumehl blew steam a short distance away. Nearby, a small group of Elders stood talking, surrounded by a semi-circle of wardens who had been guarding the meeting from outside as Naif suspected.
Naif saw Her-Rollonspiel among them. He seemed to be in a heated discussion with the Speaker. As she watched, the Speaker made an angry gesture and then marched over and climbed into the grumehl. Several of the Elders followed him. Some wardens jumped aboard the front and the machine wheezed off in the direction of the city.
That left half as many wardens.
Naif turned back to Jarrold. ‘Will you help me with something dangerous? Something important.’
‘What?’ His eyes lightened.
‘The Elder called Her-Rollonspiel voted against everyone else. I want to speak to him. But I need you to get those wardens away from here.’
Jarrold’s eyes narrowed and he chewed his lip. After a moment he nodded. ‘I’ll call them from somewhere close, and pretend that I’ll show them where you are.’
‘How will you get away from them afterwards?’
He gave her a cocky look.
‘Come back to the jetty on the beach as soon as you can,’ she said.
‘We don’t have long before dark.’ He squinted up at the sky. The sun had set and the clouds had taken on a heavy lead colour.
‘Don’t be late. I won’t be able to make Ruzalia wait,’ she warned. ‘She is her own law.’
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br /> ‘What pirate worth the name isn’t? Watch out for Markes and Em. Tonight we’ll all be away from here.’
As she watched him run back down the alley and disappear into the building, she prayed he was right.
The long minutes she waited for Jarrold to reappear and catch the wardens’ attention gave her too much time to fret. From the scent of salt and the sound of lapping water, she guessed that the beach must be only a few blocks away, but with hounds loose and wardens patrolling, it might as well have been another world.
Her stomach ached with hunger and her tongue felt dry and swollen in her mouth. How long was it since she’d eaten properly? How long since she’d snatched a mouthful of water at the Deadtaker’s?
A welter of worries beset her. Would Ruzalia come as she promised? Had Markes found Emilia? And Lenoir?
Naif? You must leave Grave now. Brand knows that you’re there. She is hunting you.
Lenoir’s thoughts came through in a fierce burst that was followed by silence.
I told you not to speak to me again. Lenoir? LENOIR?
But his presence had gone. Completely. Utterly. As if the mind bond had been broken.
She felt lost without the weight of his presence. Panicky.
The horses tethered to the side of the church began to whinny and shift around. Each had a small lamp hanging from the pommel of their saddles which together cast a pool of light around the remaining Elders.
Jarrold began shouting from a distance away and the wardens left the Elders almost immediately to go to him.
Seeing her opportunity, Naif ran towards the small group of Elders. ‘Her-Rollonspiel,’ she called.
Rollo’s father turned to the sound of her voice and she nearly cried out loud at the familiarity of his round face and wide mouth. It was as if her friend was standing before her. She drew courage from the likeness.
‘I know your son.’
Her-Rollonspiel stepped out of the light towards her and caught her wrist. ‘My son?’ he whispered. ‘Where is he?’
‘On Ixion. They’re killing us all. You must stop the agreement with the Ripers or Rollo will die,’ she whispered back.
‘Tell me your name,’ he said loudly, trying to pull Naif back into the light. But she twisted from his grip and stepped away.
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