Burn Bright

They walked slowly, overtaken by others coming through the Register. Some ran, unable to contain their excitement.

Retra felt the lure of the night rainbows just as surely as she’d felt the hidden beast lurking at the side of the path. She found herself stepping carefully, delicately, between the warring forces of beauty and danger. The rainbows caused a shiver of anticipation to run across her flesh. But at the same time she was drawn to the shadows beyond the path, the sounds of scraping and the scent of perfumed rot.

‘What’s wrong with you?’ Rollo asked.

‘The Ripers. They scare me a little.’

He laughed. ‘Crowd control. They’re meant to. It’s just mental intimidation.’

‘Do you think so?’

But Rollo wasn’t listening to her. ‘Look, here’s your answer. That explains the strip down the middle.’

Ahead of them an ancient cable kar, gleaming with ornate dark-metallic trim and ingrained wood panelling hung adjacent to a paved station platform. The kar was attached to a glowing emerald cable that stretched away into the night, up the side of the crater.

A bell began to toll ponderously.

‘Come on,’ called someone. ‘This kar’s leaving in a moment.’

‘Quick!’ Rollo pulled her on board when she would have hesitated. The doors closed and everyone crammed together to look out of the open windows, shouting into the dark in excitement.

Retra wanted to shut their noise out, desperately wanted their silence, but all she could do was press her hands to ears.

‘What’s wrong?’ Rollo tried to tear her hands away.

She shook him off and prayed.

Silence is my duty,

Calm my reward.

She repeated the Seal mantra over and over as protection from the noisy jubilation. Only when the cable kar stopped did she open her eyes.

It hung next to an elevated platform from which stairs disappeared down into the dark. A slender girl dressed in a long, velvet dress cut away to show her stomach and the low curve of her breasts stepped from the shadows, as if she’d been waiting. The strings of her bodice trailed onto the ground. Around her, a drumbeat sounded. She beckoned to them with a shrill whisper. ‘Critical Zone, babies. I dare you.’

Two boys, the noisiest ones, jumped out from the kar windows, stumbling over each other, laughing, punching each other’s arms.

The girl smiled at them in a way that constricted Retra’s heart. It was as though the girl was a hunter revelling at the sight of weak prey.

‘Idiots,’ observed Rollo. ‘Zoners don’t get to go anywhere else.’

Retra looked at him blankly.

‘You never read the confetti?’

She shook her head, not wanting to explain about her father’s punishments.

‘Zoners aren’t allowed to use the churches. So they don’t get to rest, ever.’ He was doing his best not to look frightened.

‘What does that mean for them?’ she whispered, watching the backwash of shadows close behind them as the kar rumbled on.

‘I think that means they don’t last as long.’ He held up his palm and Retra saw the small tattoo in the centre of it. ‘The badge implant they gave us at the Register reduces our need to sleep but we still have to rest sometimes. Zoners can’t do that. It’s the one rule of their club. Burn bright and burn out – real quick!’

Retra was staring at him now, wide eyed. She slowly turned her hand over. Her tattoo was different to Rollo’s; duller and less defined, as though it hadn’t been properly administered. She quickly closed her fist. ‘That must be awful. Why would you go there?’

‘Dunno,’ he shrugged. ‘The girl behind me at the Register said everything’s better there. Sharper. More intense.’ He grabbed Retra’s hands and raised them up in the air so they swayed together like everyone else in the car. ‘I prefer to take it a bit slower. We’re gonna have fun. Let’s party!’

Retra snatched her hands back and turned away from him, pressing against the metallic window trim as the kar carried them higher into the night.

She became mesmerised by the brilliant streamers of lights, using them as a distraction from the raw mix of drums and synthesisers pumping through the speakers.

The kar rocked to the rhythm of the wires above and shook with the shuffling of feet. Bodies banged into her the way they had on the barge. She gripped the cooler metal of the window until it bruised her fingers, and prayed for the trip to end.

Moist, warm air slid over her, mocking her heavy coat and thick socks. Around her some of the others began to shed their clothing like skins of moulting reptiles. They dropped them at their feet, stamping and yelling.

Next to her, Rollo tore his coat off and unbuttoned his shirt. Beneath it his belly gleamed, white and dimpling soft. The sight of his flesh made her queasy.

‘Put it back on,’ she whispered. ‘Please.’

But he didn’t hear her. He leaned close to a girl with tight curls, talking. No. Not talking. Kissing. Retra’s pulse raced at the idea and her queasiness intensified.

Rollo nuzzled at the girl’s neck, ignoring Retra until the kar arrived at another dimly lit, already crowded platform.

Everyone tried to leave at once. Retra stumbled, knocking her knee against a pole as she stepped down. She straightened, catching a glimpse of Markes again – then he was gone.

Rollo appeared beside her and grabbed her hand. ‘Why didn’t you wait for me?’ he asked.

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 could 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.