Burn Bright - By Marianne de Pierres Page 0,2

at her stomach, snapping her back to the present. She uncramped her legs and forced herself upright. She’d starved herself after her last meal, keeping the hunger at bay with cranberry juice.

Pain can make you vomit. Best handled on an empty stomach. Joel had said that too.

But she should eat now, before the weakness became too great. Yet she was afraid. Was the food safe to eat? What if the others on the barge were like Cal? What if they despised Seals? She wasn’t used to groups of people. In the Seal compound, people her age were forbidden to gather together.

That hadn’t mattered really. Not while Retra had Joel. But when he’d left, the loneliness had gnawed at her like weevils at dry bones. That’s when she’d started to practise enduring physical pain. It distracted her from the hurt inside. Now that she was on her way to Ixion, though, the inside hurt had become a hollow fear.

Gripping the handrail, she let it guide her towards the cabin. Counting steps calmed her.

There were 1592 steps from her parents’ front door, across the grey cobblestones of the main courtyard, along the separate walking paths, to the fence of the Seal compound. She’d counted them many times in her head; pushing aside her sadness by filling her mind with the numbers. The compound gate was locked, opened only on Sundays when the Grave traders brought in groceries.

The obedience strip began to glow at 1492 steps, and with it came the pain. A hundred steps before the fence. Stabbing then easing, then stabbing harder. Like a branding iron sizzling skin at first touch, then easing in a rush of endorphins, only to turn into an inescapable agony as it bit deeper into the skin.

Retra knew how branding felt. Seal girls and boys received theirs at puberty. The strong ones didn’t make a sound when the hot iron bit their flesh. Retra hadn’t been strong. Then.

Twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven … The pain had eased but now she needed to count for calm.

When she reached the cabin she slowed. Fifty. Fifty-one. Past the corner of the housing. A glimpse of stairs. Then she saw the barge’s wide, flat stern, lit by glowing balls that dangled above a trestle table from invisible threads.

Some of the runaways were gathered around the table and the scraps left on the stainless steel food platters. The rest were huddled in groups, sitting on the floor. Cal was on the floor.

Seventy-five. Seventy-six. Retra reached for the crumbs of some cake and a pastry she didn’t recognise. The others had already eaten, giving her the confidence to try it.

She slipped the food into the pocket of her coat and began to back away until her hands touched the hard texture of a lifeguard ring hanging on the cabin wall.

Return to the bow, she told herself. But her breath caught in her chest; the Riper was back, standing in front of her. What does he want?

Without a word he leaned forward as if he meant to grab her but at the last moment he brushed past her waist, reaching behind her, into the dark hollow behind the ring buoy.

She heard a muffled gasp.

He wrenched backwards fiercely and a body catapulted from the cavity, knocking Retra sideways so that she stumbled over outstretched legs and fell close to Cal.

‘No!’ pleaded a young woman, grabbing at the buoy. But the Riper tore her loose and dragged her away towards the cabin stairs.

‘She must be too old,’ said Cal.

Retra picked herself up. She swallowed to ease her dry throat. Fear made her shivery. ‘What will happen to her?’

Cal shrugged. She turned her head in the other direction. ‘She was stupid to try to come here if she was too old. Everyone knows they don’t let you in.’

It sounded callous, but Cal was only pretending not to care. She was scared, Retra could tell, by the way she jiggled her leg and hugged her arms tight to her body.

Seal silence had taught Retra to understand the things people did with their hands and their bodies. She wanted to say something reassuring but couldn’t think of the right words. And she wasn’t sure if Cal would want it.

Instead, she climbed to her feet and retraced her steps to the bow.

It got colder as the engines propelled them through the waves. Mist stole across the bow and cloaked the barge, so that the dangle of party lights were only a bleary rainbow.

Snatches of conversation drifted down to Retra as she