Burn Bright

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?’

Charlonge stepped closer to them, breathing the sweet floral scent from her mouth. ‘Until you have earned a real one.’

Cal’s eyes widened for a moment then she gave a brittle laugh and walked back down the corridor.

‘Thank you,’ said Retra.

Charlonge sighed. ‘You of all must learn quickly … what Ixion name have you chosen? It is customary for the younglings to do so. A fresh start.’

‘I don’t know,’ answered Retra. The question surprised her. Many would think her Seal name unattractive, but it was still hers. She had no wish to change it. She would not lose her identity in this place.

Charlonge saw her reticence and shrugged. ‘Naif would be my choice for you – naive – but there’s time enough for choosing, I suppose. Come with me and I’ll show you your closet and where you may eat.’

‘Is Charlonge your adopted name?’ asked Retra as she followed the older girl.

‘Yes. I grew up to see things: outside what is visible, I mean. But my people disdained the occult. Somehow “Charlonge” seemed right. It means acceptance, you know.’

Retra didn’t understand what Charlonge meant. The occult was not revered in Grave, but neither was it disdained. In Grave it was more sinful to be joyous than a practitioner of the Dark Arts. ‘Who are your people?’

‘The Lidol from Lidol-Push.’

‘Another world?’ Retra gasped.

This time Charlonge laughed freely. ‘You are truly naive. Your real name should be Naif. Not another world, silly batling, another province. Grave is not the only land near Ixion.’

Retra stared at her, embarrassed and amazed. ‘How many others are there?’

‘Many.’ She laughed. ‘I’ve heard a reaction like yours once before. Are you what they call a Seal?’

Retra nodded.

‘Aaah. Then your learning has been very narrow. Your Superiors keep things from you. You must keep your ignorance a secret.’

‘What is your land like? How does it look? Where do you find it exactly?’ asked Retra.

But Charlonge shook her head. ‘Maybe I will answer you another time. Or maybe not. Now, though, you must dress for the Early-Eve. Your sleeping attire will never do.’

As they reached the foot of the staircase, the music swelled in soulful strums, each note more beautiful and sadder than the last. It plucked at Retra’s senses.

‘Charlonge. The music. Who is playing it? I couldn’t see properly from the balcony.’

Charlonge paused. ‘Aaah, at last, a good sign from you. You are among many to ask me that question. He is like you – a baby bat. But not for long, I think. His name is Markes and he has wings. Brilliant, jewelled wings.’

Markes was here. Cal had lied to her!

Charlonge beckoned Retra across the entry to what must have once been the church’s cloak room. It was now filled with rows of drawers and full-length mirrors.

‘We call this the neglegere. Beyond it is the wash room. Find your closet and choose your Early-Eve clothes. You must eat in the transept, take confession and then leave. Those who linger are noticed,’ she said.

‘C-can I come back?’

‘Of course, when you need to rest, but not before you have been other places. Baby bats love to explore.’ She began to turn away.

‘Charlonge, I am looking for someone …’

Charlonge turned slowly back to face her, a half smile hovering on her lips. ‘A boy, no doubt.’

‘Yes. But not like that. I’m looking for my brother. He and I … we look similar, though he is taller and came here a while ago. I m-missed him, so I came after him.’

Charlonge’s expression became guarded. ‘Do you know how many come to Ixion? How many I see? Why would I remember one boy above another?’ she said in a harsh whisper.

Retra flushed, stung by the girl’s sudden change of tone. ‘Can you tell me where to look? Where would I start?’ said Retra softly.

‘I would not start. Forget your brother.’

Charlonge walked away, leaving Retra standing alone, unsure of what to do.

Her indecision was broken a moment later when four girls pushed past her. Giggling and talking loudly, they sought their lockers and pulled out their new clothes like birds tearing apart an old nest of twigs.

Retra followed them in and sought the drawer numbered on her key. Again she hesitated before opening it.

One of the girls stripped off her sleeping shift and slipped a thin, see-though shawl around her nakedness. ‘Shall I go like this?’

The others snickered and tugged at it, one pulling at the fringe while another uncurled a studded belt from her drawer and slapped the girl’s buttocks. She screamed and giggled more.

Their behaviour disturbed Retra and she buried her hands in her face.

The girls ignored her, dancing and cavorting.

‘What’s your new name?’

Retra looked up. Another girl had entered and opened the drawer next to hers. The new girl flicked a straight, thick lock of hair back from her face and stared at Retra with lively, brown almond eyes.

‘I don’t know,’ said Retra. ‘I don’t want one.’

The girl hesitated, frowning. ‘But everyone has a new name. Everyone.’

‘Retra is my name,’ she stubbornly, waiting for the girl to turn away from her for being a Seal, like Cal had.

‘Retra.’ The girl let it linger over her tongue. ‘It’s a tight name but it’s okay. Maybe you could go for something softer.’

‘Like Naif?’ said Retra.

‘Oh, that’s pretty. Mine is going to be Suki.’

Retra forced herself to respond in kind. ‘That’s pretty too but I think I’ll stay with Retra.’

The girl grinned. ‘Fair enough. Do you want to come with me to find the food? I’m starving. All that dancing naked last night, well … it made me hungry.’ She glanced at the others with a disparaging eyebrow. ‘I’m over it now, though.’

Retra’s lips curled involuntarily. Suki’s direct manner was not offensive like Rollo’s or Cal’s. And there was a lightness about her that wasn’t silly.

‘Yes. I’m hungry too.’ Retra took a velvet dress from her drawer. It seemed modest enough. She glanced around for a changing cubicle but there was none.

Suki had already dropped her nightdress to the floor and had begun to wiggle her small, muscular body into a dark corset with a frilled trim that made it look like a skirt. Retra knew about corsets; her mother wore one. So did all the older Seal women. Her mother’s corset was skin-coloured and serviceable; a brace. It had no frills or bows or lace.

‘Hook me up, will you?’ asked Suki.

Retra fumbled with the long laces, tying them inexpertly. Then she dressed, trying to hide her body from the others. ‘Is it breakfast?’

Suki shrugged. ‘Who knows? I guess it doesn’t really matter when there’s no daytime.’ Her eyes sparkled. ‘Wow! You look good in that. You need to let your hair down, though. It’s a great colour. A real rich brown like your eyes.’ She looked Retra up and down. ‘How did they get the fit so right? It’s magical … the clothes and everything. I think I’m going to love this place.’

Retra straightened, catching her reflection in the mirror on the other wall. The velvet coated her body like honey. She felt more naked than the girl in the shawl. She reached into her drawer for another robe.

Suki grabbed her hand, her expression confused. ‘Don’t you want to look good?’

No, thought Retra. But the butterflies in her stomach said something else. Yes.