Naif peered down at the steepest stairway she’d ever seen. It stopped just short of a maze of crisscrossed ceiling struts. Further down from that, another set of stairs ran along the wall and must have once been joined to the belltower stairs. Now the only connection between them was a buckled railing. Far below, through the gaps in the struts, she glimpsed a large room occupied by several Elders.
Her heart pounded. If they made a noise as they climbed down . . . or they slipped . . . or someone below glanced upward . . .
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,’ said 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.