Phoenix Burning (16 page)

At first it was easy to remain still. Toby sat with his legs folded, his hands resting on his knees and his neck slightly bent. After a while he closed his eyes; the sunlight gleaming from the bronze sunburst on the sanctuary roof was reflecting from the metal sundial and making his vision blur.

Time passed.

Toby opened his eyes again, certain that he must have been sitting for an hour at least but the shadow of the sundial had barely moved. What did that mean? Had it really been only a few minutes?

He shifted his gaze upwards without moving his neck. Uzuri and Zahir were utterly motionless, only the slight rise and fall of their chests told Toby that they were even breathing. There was no movement whatsoever to catch his attention and pull it one way or another. The teens all sat like statues, totally silent, streaked with silver where the mud had dried fastest.

Toby could tell where his own clay was drying because his skin had tightened underneath, pulled by the tiny hairs into the shell that was beginning to form around him. He glanced at his right forearm, fascinated by the process as the clay hardened, but underneath he began to itch.

He tried to turn his mind to something else.

Beside him he could hear Ayla breathing slowly, meditatively, in and out. He latched on to the sound, focusing on the measured inhalations.

But the more he thought about his inability to move, the more panicked his heartbeat became; it thudded against his ribs and forced his breath faster. He was sure the clay over his chest would soon shatter. Every muscle tensed. How was everyone else doing this?

“Toby.” Ayla spoke out of the corner of her mouth. “Take … deep … breaths.”

He tensed his arms even tighter, forcing himself to stay still and his breathing became shallow again.

“
Focus
,” Ayla whispered, her lips barely moving.

On what? Toby pictured himself on the
Phoenix
with Hiko and D’von. Polly was on his shoulder and he was running, playing a game of catch with Hiko. The boys had rolled their sleeves up because of the sunshine and Hiko’s tattoo flashed as he swung behind the mizzen mast and caught some rigging. Toby’s stiff mouth tried to form a
smile and he pressed his lips closer together.

In his mind he and D’von swung after Hiko, whipping past the pirates on the deck below.

Then Toby thought of Dee, stuck on the cold rocks of Faroe Island. Had
Birdie
reached them yet? If so, she and Marcus would have already gone on to Reykjavik. Had they really tried to get on the
Banshee
with Ayla’s note, or would they wait for a better ship?

A voice spoke to his right. “Keep … praying.” He didn’t dare look up to see which of the girls it was.

Someone else must be struggling with the challenge. Toby’s heart rose slightly. He had seen no movement, but at least he wasn’t alone in finding it difficult to sit still.

He closed his eyes once more. That’s how they were doing it – praying.

Could he? Toby didn’t believe what they did – that the Sun was listening, or that it was some all-powerful god capable of removing light on a whim.

But did he believe in anything else? There were a lot of different nationalities on board the
Phoenix
, each with slightly different beliefs. There were Catholics and Muslims, but also Methodists, Scientologists and atheists. They’d even had a voodoo practitioner once.

He thought of his hands, moving on the
Phoenix
’s engines. Did they know that he, Toby, controlled them?

His mind spun around the question. Of course not, there was no mind in a machine… But to a god, wouldn’t Toby have as much agency?

This was impossible. Did he think that someone was listening in to his thoughts? No. But did he think it was worth reaching out and asking for strength from somewhere? Maybe the simple act of asking would be enough to access willpower that he didn’t know he had.

His thoughts spiralled further and further inwards. His breathing slowed and when Toby opened his eyes, time had passed.

Now he was thirsty. When he swallowed it felt as if there was a coil of thistle in his throat. He, at least, had drunk a cup of water before the challenge had started. Ayla had not. How was she feeling? He listened for her breathing again. It remained steady. She seemed fine.

Sudden claws dug into his leg. Cramp. Toby’s eyes widened as he fought to remain still.

“What’s the … matter?” Ayla murmured.

“C-cramp.” Toby felt tiny flakes of clay crack and slide from his upper lip when he spoke. His breath came faster.

“Flex … your muscles … but … don’t move.”

“I
can’t.
” Toby felt the pressure of tears against his eyes and groaned. Opposite, Uzuri turned her gaze on to him, anticipating his failure.

All he wanted to do was knead the cramp away.

“If you move … I’ll kill you,” Ayla rasped.

“I
know
.”

Every breath was a groan now and Toby knew the others were listening, circling around his failure like sharks.

Then, as quickly as it had arrived, the cramp vanished. The muscle in his thigh quivered, as if exhausted. The clay on his thigh had cracked, but not flaked, not yet.

As his chest subsided and his breathing slowed there was a sigh from his right shoulder, a huff of disappointment that terrified him.

Sweat began to trickle down his chest and sides, wetting the clay. The mud was protecting him from the sun’s rays, but baking him alive. How long before nightfall?

There was a moan from his left, reminding him that he was not the only one struggling. He felt guilty relief.

This time when he took a deep breath, the clay on his chest cracked. Toby watched in horror as fissures appeared and chunks of clay tumbled down his front like rocks from a mountain.

He held his breath, but then his fingers twitched without his volition; a tiny movement, which might not have been seen. Toby closed his eyes, now he was praying.

“It hurts,” Summer whispered from Toby’s right-hand side and he fought the impulse to turn and look at her.

The shadow of the sundial seemed to have skipped towards the wall. Night was approaching. How long had the group been sitting there? Toby had no idea, but he knew he could not keep it up for much longer. The tiny movement in his fingers had spread and muscle spasms periodically created fractures in his clay coating. He could feel the creaking of the shell on his back. Would it soon slide off in one great piece? When he swallowed he could sense the armour over his throat lifting and falling. If that went it would take out his lap as well.

“How’re ye doin’ there, Falklands?” Moira goaded. “Looks like yer Moon boy is struggling.”

“Bite me.” Ayla kept her reply short but Toby’s heart thumped.

“None of you deserve this more than we do,” Matus muttered. “Just move.”

Was it Matus who had groaned earlier? Was he as desperate as Toby?

Then Toby heard quiet crying become louder sobs. He didn’t dare turn to see who it was, but he knew it wasn’t Uzuri, Summer or Ayla. Moira had recently spoken and she sounded more pissed off than miserable. That left Bianca, Lenka and Celeste. Was that why Matus sounded
so desperate, because he knew his partner was dragging him to the altar?

“My leg.” The words were whispered, but filled with pain and Toby knew who it was: Cezar.

“Pray, Cezar,” Bianca said. So it was Lenka or Celeste crying. The noise was grating on his ears.

The sun dipped below the wall, shrinking from an orb, to a semicircle, to a thin line. Then it was gone, leaving streaks of red in the clouds.

A breath of cool air descended over the courtyard and Toby heard the squeak of bats.

Torches blazed suddenly as brothers and sisters proceeded down the cathedral steps. They circled the teens and Toby’s neck prickled. The instinct to look up almost destroyed him.

Finally Mother Hesper spoke. “Judge, Brothers and Sisters – which candidate has lost the most clay.”

Toby found a new well of stillness inside him. As the heat of a torch burned on his back, he squeezed his eyes tightly closed. He did not trust himself not to look up at the attendant who examined him.

Footsteps crunched in the dust around him. He sensed the closeness of breath on his skin, then movement away.

“This one.”

Toby jumped, the voice was overhead. He looked up, but the attendants were not pointing at him. It was the crier, her sobs so much louder now: Celeste.

Toby had barely spoken to the Italian couple. They were so wrapped up in one another that they had no interest in anyone else, but their love had somehow lightened the atmosphere.

When Mother Hesper stalked behind them, Aldo simply reached across to Celeste’s hand and squeezed it tightly. They helped one another to stand, staggering as their legs unkinked, then they pressed their foreheads together. Their whispered “I love you” fluttered through the air, then they stumbled, with quiet dignity, up the steps of the sanctuary. The door closed behind them with a hollow bang.

No screams sounded.

The attendants surrounding them bent down finally, with wet cloths. Toby thought the sister behind him was going to wash his face, but instead the woman held it to his lips. “Take this first, you need a drink.”

It tasted musty, as if the cloth was old and unwashed, but the liquid slid down his throat and he closed his lips more tightly and sucked harder, getting every drop of moisture that he could.

Then the attendant took the flannel away and handed it back dripping once more. “Mother wants you to clean off the worst of it before you walk through the sanctuary to the baths.” Sympathy lined her young face.

“Did you have to do trials like this?” Toby rasped.

The attendant shook her head. “I wasn’t suitable for the festival.” She turned to show him a twist of light brown hair. “You’re lucky to take part…” She looked around swiftly and fell silent. Toby handed his cloth back to her. Under cover of darkness, she gave his hand a squeeze, then left with the others.

Toby tried to stand up, but his legs had completely seized. He rolled to his knees and saw Cezar clutching his leg with fingers that were bent into claws.

As they all struggled to rise, moans filled the air and bones cracked as they stretched.

Toby turned to Ayla; she was still covered in clay – hers had barely cracked.

“How did you stay so still?” he croaked, dust clogging his throat.

Ayla raised her arms above her head. “I pretended I was on watch.” A loud crack and slabs of clay broke off her shoulders and shattered on the floor.

Moira sidled up behind him. “Ye only just made it through that test. How d’ye think ye’ll do on the next one?”

Toby stepped closer to Ayla. “We’ll do fine. Are you worried?”

Moira shook her head. “No’ at all,” she sneered.

Ayla placed a hand on his forearm. “Ignore her.”

Toby nodded and turned his back on Moira, which put him in front of Lenka. She too smirked when she looked at him. “What’s the matter, lost your tongue?” Her hair still stood up and in the firelight she looked like a demon. “Next time. Right, Matus?” Beside her Matus nodded, the torches flicking shadows on to his face.

Instinctively Toby looked round. Arthur was watching him. It looked as if he wanted to say something, but then he headed towards the steps after Summer.

Toby and Ayla followed, separating only when they reached the bathrooms.

The tanks in the bathing house were heated by direct sunlight, meaning the water was never more than tepid, but Toby was grateful for the cool as he scrubbed the final streaks of dried mud into the greying tub.

He threw on his clothes. Zahir was in the next bath with his eyes closed; he looked like a jellyfish splayed in the water.

“Are you all right?” Toby touched his shoulder. Zahir didn’t move, but he opened his pink eyes and looked at Toby.

“I am just thinking, Toby. What will they have us do tomorrow?” He closed his eyes again. “I believe in the Sun. I was meant for this.” He sank lower in the water. “But … I am afraid.”