Phoenix Burning (8 page)

Ayla nodded. “My family was killed by Georgians. You won’t get an argument from me.” She looked at Summer. “So we have to wash our hair; then what?”

“Then we go inside,” Summer said. “No one knows much about what happens then, no one has ever told. I just know there are competitions … tests of devotion.”

“We’re good at competitions.” Brody grinned, revealing teeth almost as brown as his hair.

“So are we,” Toby added.

“What sort of competitions?” Rita leaned close. “What’ll we have to do?”

Summer turned to Rita. Her long pale hair reached the waist of her baggy cream dress and it rippled as she shrugged. “No one knows – it’s a big secret.”

Rita tutted and looked at the buckets of water. “Well, we’d better get started.”

Ahead of them a queue was forming. Each candidate had to kneel down and face the crowd, then an attendant
poured a bucket of water over their hair and scrubbed.

“Is that soap caustic?” Rita was horrified. “That’s not touching my hair.”

“They’re checking for dye,” Summer explained, anxiously touching her own gleaming and perfectly brushed golden waves.

One girl at the front of the queue was resisting as the sister behind her tried to force her to kneel. “It isn’t necessary. My hair is fine. Look at it, dark as night.”

“It’s natural, I can vouch for her.” Her partner’s platinum curls glinted as he moved to her side.

“Quiet.” Father Dahon spoke once more. “Either you submit to the washing or you leave without it.”

Toby strained to see as the girl grimaced and, slowly, kneeled.

As the attendant behind her sloshed water over her head, she clenched her fists. Then the woman scrubbed her scalp. When she was finished she pulled the girl’s head up. Dark streaks covered her face from her hairline to her chin.

“Dyed,” she spat, pushing her to the ground. The girl landed in the dirt, her mousey tresses flopping in front of her.

“You can’t treat her like that.” Her partner dropped to the ground beside her. “We believe more strongly than anyone else here. Who would be a better Sun and Moon?”

“You were not meant to be in the festival.” Mother Hesper stared down. “If you truly believe, submit yourselves to the sanctuary to become attendants, as these have done, or sunblind yourselves as an act of worship. Leave.”

The sobbing girl rose to her feet, helped by her companion. They plodded slowly after the couple who had already left. This time the crowd was quiet, simply watching them as they departed.

“Two couples down,” Rita whispered.

Toby nodded. “Eight to go.”

The candidates stood in a line. Toby’s knees ached where he had been held down and his head tingled from being scrubbed, hard. His shoulders were wet and he was grateful for the cool, but the sun was fast drying him out. All along the line, blonds were brighter and water had turned dark hair black. No one else had been sent home.

He squinted sideways to see Ayla untangling her braids. One of the brothers had tried to remove her beads and received a vicious pinch for his troubles.

Summer stood to his left, the doll-like girl looking like a tiny mermaid with her wet hair stuck to her face and arms. Arthur hovered beside her, looking like he wanted to put
his arm around her, but didn’t dare. Toby caught his eye and offered a slight smile – allies were valuable in every situation. His smile was returned.

Father Dahon walked the line, inspecting them. When he reached the centre he stopped and turned to the crowd. “True believers of Gozo, our candidates will speak to you for the last time until you meet the true Sun and Moon from among them.”

He gestured and the girl at the far end blinked water out of her eyes. “Me?”

“Yes. Who are you, where in this world are you from and declare yourself – Sun or Moon?”

The girl caught the hand of the boy next to her. Her dark hair was so thick that, even wet, it overpowered the delicate features of her face. “I’m Celeste and this is Aldo.”

The boy’s blond hair was so fine that Toby could see his scalp. His nose was large, but there was something indefinably handsome about his face. He squeezed Celeste’s hand and gave her a smile. “I’m hoping to be the Sun and Celeste the Moon. We have been sent by the priest of the community near Pompeii, in Italy. Praise the Sun.”

Father Dahon inclined his head. “I have heard good things about your community. You have your own colony of the sunblinded, do you not?”

Celeste nodded, then realized that Father Dahon would
not be able to see her. “We spent a year tending to their needs, Your Worship.”

“Good, good.” The father moved on to the next couple in line as the crowd murmured its approval.

Toby leaned forward, fascinated, the next to speak was the albino boy that he had seen earlier. He was standing next to a girl with even darker skin than Theo’s from the
Phoenix
. Her hair was cut close to her head and her tight curls were glossy in the sun. To Toby it seemed almost as if she had been polished.

“My name is Uzuri,” the girl said, folding her arms over her chest.

“And I, Zahir,” said the boy. He kept his eyes cast down, squinting every time he tried to look up.

Their accents were strange to Toby’s ears, clipped yet somehow smooth, like a river flowing over stones.

“Our village is a day’s walk from Cape Town. We were born on the same day, at the same time to two different mothers.” The boy smiled shyly. “Most men in my country would have killed me for the magical powers of my skin, but the moment we were presented to our Solar missionary, he pronounced our destiny – to become the Sun and Moon. Since that moment, we have been preparing for today.”

“And now we are here.” Uzuri held her head proudly, like a queen. “I am to be the Moon and Zahir the Sun.”
She looked down the line as if to say ‘and the rest of you may leave’.

Ayla twitched as the Scottish girl, Moira, curled a lip. Again, the crowd seemed to radiate admiration for the pair.

“Ah’m Moira and this is ma cousin, Brody. We’re from Glasgow. We don’t have parents – we were raised mostly by the Solar Mission near the docks. That’s why we’re here. Father Zee said this was the place fer us.”

Brody grinned, his freckles glimmering in the sun. “I’m the Moon an’ Moira’s the Sun. You cannae see it, Yer Worship, with her hair wet, but her Mohawk –” he tilted his head towards his cousin – “that represents the sun’s rays. Praise the Sun.”

“Nice,” Ayla whispered.

“They’ve all got perfect stories.” Toby clenched his fists.

She leaned into his ear. “So have we,” she whispered.

The big lad, Arthur introduced himself next. “We’re from Cornwall, the survivors of the shattered coastline gathered in the old Eden project. Summer’s been obsessed with the sun since she was born; she knows everything there is to know about the Orb and its worship. She’s read every book, taken every lesson. She’s the best Sun you’ll ever get.”

“And you?” The priest cocked his head and Arthur swallowed at the minute gesture.

“I’m with Summer. I’ll be the Moon to her Sun and you’ll never have a better.”

This divided the watching crowd, some cheered and others frowned. “Never have a better?” Toby heard insulted muttering.

“I see.” Father Dahon stroked his chin and took the final step that brought him in front of Toby. He was silent for a moment; then he gestured, sharply. “You?”

“My name’s Toby.” Suddenly their cover story seemed flimsy. What if the father knew the Saunders colony or the missionary stationed there? What if one of the other couples were from the Falklands?

Ayla sensed his hesitation and took over. “I’m Ayla.” Her beads clattered as she glared at the priest. “We’re from Saunders, in the Falklands. Not many survivors there, but those left are true worshippers. Your Solar missionary died not long after he arrived at the island, from a disease he caught in the Argentinan mainland.” She shook her head sadly. “He told us of the Sun festival.” She pressed her hand to her heart and sniffed, feigning deep grief. “Toby and I were with him when he died. His very last words to us were that we should make him proud. All he wanted was to know that he had been the one to find the couple who would lead the festival.” She wiped away a tear and Toby’s eyes widened.

“I, of course, will be the Moon.” Ayla lifted one of her braids. “Toby is the Sun.”

Father Dahon bowed his own head. “What was the name of this missionary priest, so I can remember him in my prayers?”

Toby caught his breath, but Ayla was prepared. “He told us only to call him Father, Your Worship.” She gave a small sob and Father Dahon pressed his lips together. Then he folded his hands and moved on. Toby’s racing heart almost drowned out the crowd’s sounds of sympathy and support. They had been believed.

Rita and D’von were next. D’von’s eyes were red-rimmed where his attendant had been too industrious with the soap, but he seemed unconcerned. Rita, the consummate con artist, was to tell their story.

“This is D’von.” Rita smiled. “He was a dock rat in Tarifa.”

“I was,” D’von hastened to add to the one part of their story he was comfortable with. “I was a dock rat and it was hard, hard work.”

Rita rolled her eyes. “He heard the Solar Mission preach one day and knew he wanted to come to the festival. He stowed away on the ship I was working. When I heard his story, I was moved. I realized that we were meant to meet. We worked our way from ship to ship till we found
one that was heading to the festival.” Rita patted D’von’s hand. “I am the Sun –” she tossed her bright golden hair – “D’von is the Moon.”

Toby held his breath, but again the crowd seemed to like Rita and her story.

The Croatians were next. The girl didn’t wait for Father Dahon to ask her to speak, she stepped out of the line and fluffed at her drying hair, which was already reassuming its flyaway appearance, sticking out all over her head. “I am Lenka,” she said clearly, “and this is Matus. I am the Sun and he is the Moon. Praise the Sun.” She raised her hand, fingers splayed and Matus did the same. “We are from Zagreb, where we worship the Sun day and night, night and day. We want no money, no glory, we simply wish to worship the Sun in the best way we can. This is our way. We are not here to make friends, we are here to win.” She stepped back into the line, ignoring the stunned crowd, who appeared torn between cheering and staring, wide-eyed, settling instead on awed silence. Her heel caught the French girl’s foot and Adele narrowed her eyes and hissed at her, before linking arms with her twin.

There was no mistaking their relationship. They were perfectly in sync as they moved, their mannerisms identical, their heads held at the same angle, the expression in their sapphire eyes the same.

Toby heard gasps of appreciation as the Gozitans took in the sight.

“I am Adele,” the girl said. “And this is Adrien. We are twins. Our only differences are to make us a more perfect Sun and Moon. I am blond and he is dark,” she said for the benefit of the blind Father Dahon. “We are from Brittany. There are not many survivors in our village, but we who are left are strong and firm in faith.” They stepped back together, blending back into the line and Father Dahon smiled.

“I-I’m Leila,” the next girl said, when beckoned. She had a yellow-blond fluff of hair, like the head of a dandelion, but her eyes were brown.

“Is that an
American
accent?” Rita murmured.

“I’m not sure.” Toby nudged her to keep listening.

The boy overheard. “I’m Noah. Our family live in Agadir now.” He adjusted a pair of battered glasses, then, after a hesitation, “But our parents were born in Maine, America. They evacuated after the eruption of Yellowstone. We have more reason than anyone to want to avert a second cataclysm; we want to do the Sun’s work. I am the Moon and my sister is the Sun.”

Ayla whistled under her breath. “Real Americans! Thought they were extinct. Didn’t the Russians bomb the states that weren’t wiped out by the volcano?”

“They said Maine.” Toby thought of Dee’s Atlas.
“It was up by Canada, maybe some got out.” He turned to the final couple and stared. The girl was opening and closing her hands as she awaited her turn, displaying those long nails he had noticed earlier. The boy was nervous, fidgeting in his place.

The girl spoke first. “I am Bianca and I will be your Moon. My friend, Cezar, will be your Sun.” She looked at her nails, turning them one way and then the other. “We are from Budapest. Our city selected us to come to the festival. We have been preparing in many ways.” She held up her hands. “This is to prove that I have not worked. I have been only purifying and praising the Sun.”

“They look like claws.” Toby shuddered.

“They’d break the moment she touched something.” Rita showed him her own short nails. “Don’t worry about those.”

Father Dahon had reached the end of the row. Now he turned to face the crowd of islanders. “These are exceptional candidates. As they compete to determine who will be the Sun and Moon, their trials will bring light to our island.”

“Trials?” Toby met Ayla’s eye and she spread her hands, pleading ignorance.

“With candidates as strong as these, this year will be a most successful festival. Pilgrims are already making their way here from all over the world, bringing relics and
other trade. Make sure to take advantage of this – greet and house them. Make sure all relics are turned over to the sanctuary and remember the percentage you owe the church from each transaction. Attendants will be on hand to help you calculate.”