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‘This is another language,’ said Emilia suddenly.

  Charlonge leaned across to look over Emilia’s shoulder. ‘Some of the early monks came from the Far South of our world. When they died, no others came. They spoke a difficult language and not much is known about them except that they built the prayer hutches. The monks who came after them were from places much closer. They knew nothing of the Far South, only that the seas between here and there are rough.’

  That idea caught Naif’s interest, and her sleepiness abated a little. An unknown land, so far away they knew nothing of it, apart from the books left by courageous travellers. A place far away from Grave and Ixion.

  ‘Put those written in another language in a separate pile,’ said Markes. ‘I’ll look at them. Their word symbols look like music. I might be able to work out how to read some of them, if I can find a pattern.’

  Naif gave up on her current book and chose a slim, battered volume from halfway down the pile. This one, though mottled and torn, had a soft blue leather cover. The binding appeared to be a kind of resin, not the binding cord used on many of the others.

  ‘This looks more recent,’ she said.

  Inside, the writing showed spaces and some punctuation symbols, which made the reading easier.

  Brother Mahout be I, charged with the recount of the history of the Islands for His Most Holy Highness Lomakin . . .

  Naif felt a charge of energy. Brother Mahout talked about the islands. How many lay within the Golden Spiral? She began thumbing through pages for any drawings. A third of the way through, she found several maps. They showed a segment of sea sprinkled with islands of different sizes. A section of it had been shaded over lightly in an undulating shape.

  ‘The Spiral,’ she said out loud.

  Emilia shot her a questioning glance but Markes and Charlonge remained absorbed in their own reading.

  Naif thumbed back and began reading several pages before. Then she came to a page which had the corners turned down, as if to mark it. It read:

  Be told in tomes and stories from sailors that the sea be littered with remnants of God’s fury. Spits of land, cast from his mouth in anger as he tore the land of Lapith to pieces. His Holy-ness decreed new names for this land constellation . . .

  Naif scanned through the list and found Ixion at the centre.

  ‘It seems the island was larger and has not always been called Ixion,’ she said.

  ‘Yes,’ said Markes, looking up from his book. ‘In this book it’s called Lapith.’

  ‘Does it speak of the other islands?’ asked Charlonge.

  ‘Yes. Look. I have a drawing here.’ Naif placed the book in the centre of the circle so they could all see the sketch.

  ‘If this shaded section is the Spiral, it’s like a cloud surrounding them,’ said Charlonge. ‘That’s the first I’ve seen of such a map.’

  ‘You mean none of the other books have it?’

  She nodded. ‘Not the ones I’ve seen. Nor do they speak of it. I had begun to think that the Spiral was a name made up by the Ripers, and spread to other places by pirates.’

  ‘What’s that tiny mark at the bottom of Ixion?’ asked Emilia.

  Naif squinted at where she pointed. Beyond the southernmost tip, a reef was drawn in wavy lines and beyond that the dot of a tiny atoll. She examined the book’s cover for date marks but the torn hide showed no stamp or engraving. ‘Perhaps the Spiral didn’t exist until the Ripers came?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Markes. ‘How could it not have existed?’

  ‘The Ripers aren’t of this world. Lenoir spoke of being caught in the pull of the Tri-Suns.’

  Charlonge frowned. ‘If they’re from other worlds perhaps their arrival somehow caused the Spiral to be made?’

  ‘How?’ scoffed Markes. ‘Are you saying the Ripers can move land and water? And bring darkness?’

  Naif flushed, angered by his scorn.

  ‘They could be right, Ewan,’ said Emilia.

  The use of Markes’s Grave name jarred on Naif but it made him listen.

  ‘We were taught at school that islands formed when the sea flooded up the sides of mountains. Some of those mountains still run with hot flow from the belly of our world. What if the Ripers fell from the sky into the sea, upsetting the earth and water? It could be that the ground shifted beneath their crash and more islands formed,’ said Emilia.

  ‘That’s fou,’ said Markes, using a word Suki had taught them.

  ‘No!’ disagreed Charlonge. ‘On Lidol-Push my parents told me stories of a God that fell from the sky. He disobeyed his father God and was cast from the heavens. They said the night sky blazed for so long from his fall that night became day. When the light finally dimmed, it left a well of dark water where the young God fell.’

  Naif’s stomach tightened in excitement. If the Golden Spiral had not always been there then whatever had occurred to cast Ixion into darkness could perhaps be undone. She would not share her hope with the others yet. Not until she learned more.

  ‘Find the books that are written at that time and see what stories you can find about Gods falling to the sea.’

  ‘What time was that then?’ asked Emilia.

  Naif jogged her friend’s elbow. ‘Char?’

  ‘My parents said it was Pama’s story and she lived six decades. She died a year before I came to Ixion.’

  ‘Then look for anything written less than a hundred years ago.’

  ‘What are you thinking, Naif ?’ asked Markes.

  ‘Knowing how the Ripers arrived means also knowing how they can leave.’

  Charlonge crawled back over to her pile of books. ‘You believe you can make them leave?’

  ‘I don’t know. Let’s find out more.’

  ‘But Eve and Clash have their own plans to defeat them. They have weapons,’ said Markes.

  ‘They won’t succeed,’ said Naif quietly. ‘They cannot. Even if every single young one on Ixion joined them. They cannot win. The Ripers and the Night Creatures are too strong.’

  ‘Your bravery deserts you now, Naif ?’ said Markes, surprised.

  Naif clenched her fists. Markes dismissed her ideas the way Clash did. ‘Bravery is not what we need. We have to be clever and far-sighted. It’s not just the Ripers that need to be stopped. What about our Elders? They are just as evil. They are the ones trading our lives.’

  Charlonge nodded but Markes remained unconvinced. ‘Once we’ve defeated the Ripers we can take our fight back to Grave.’

  ‘And do what? Slaughter our parents and cousins and friends?’

  ‘Seals have no friends,’ he said.

  Naif ignored the barb. His argument was hollow and he knew it. ‘You aren’t a Seal. You left behind friends.’

  ‘Ewan, listen to her,’ said Emilia. ‘Please.’

  It was the third time she’d supported Naif, and Markes fell silent. The four of them stared at the books.

  Markes got to his feet. ‘I need air.’

  Emilia looked at him uncertainly. ‘Ewan?’

  But his attention fell to Naif. ‘If you are right and the Ripers come from another world, don’t you think they would’ve left already if they could? Have you thought, perhaps, that they choose to be here?’

  Naif shrugged. She did not want to tell him of her nascent plan to destroy the Golden Spiral. Nor did she want Suki or Eve or Clash to know. They wanted to fight. ‘As I said, we should keep reading. It cannot hurt to learn more.’

  He made a frustrated noise. ‘You learn more. I’m going outside.’

  Emilia looked forlorn but Naif refused to be daunted. ‘Char, Emilia, keep reading. Please.’

  Charlonge nodded and began separating her books by date. Emilia sat unmoving, clearly torn.

  ‘You are clever, Emilia,’ said Naif. ‘Make your own decisions. Use your mind to help protect your future.’

  The girl’s eyes grew wide with the compliment and with the suggestion that she should act on her desire. At first, Naif thought she might get
up and follow Markes, but after a moment or two she bent to the task.

  From then, Naif lost track of time, reading until her eyes stung and watered and pain stabbed her shoulders where she bent over the books. Some of the stories read easily, some were told in such an obscure manner she could only guess at their meaning. She desperately wanted to stretch out and sleep but she refused to succumb while the others still toiled.

  An hour or more later, Charlonge still looked fresh and able to concentrate. Naif marvelled at her stamina. This is her world. Her passion. This is what she came to Ixion for.

  As Naif watched her, Charlonge gave a little cry and looked up. ‘I found something! Listen:

  ‘A giant creature fell from the sky and there was a brilliant burst of fire and then all Lapith became dark. The earth spewed its anger and bellowed its rage. Waves beat the shores and winds raged. All of the lowland Mu-ers perished. Some of the Goan heathens hid in the high caves but we, the Los Fien, who God blessed with high position and status, remain. The High Priest prays for forgiveness and the return of the light but while the sky-beast lies in the water beneath us, the sky can only rot. My mentor fears the traders will no longer come with supplies. We pray God will provide.

  ‘“The sky-beast lies in the water beneath us”,’ Char repeated. ‘What could that mean?’

  ‘Could it mean the vessel that brought them here? Like an airship that can travel even further than Ruzalia’s. Up in Sky-death?’ Naif pointed upward.

  ‘But out there it is endless night and nothing,’ said Emilia.

  Charlonge made a derisive noise. ‘What do you call the Tri-Suns, then? And the stars? They are hardly nothing.’

  ‘The stars? We’re taught that the sparks in the night sky are pieces flung off by the Tri-Suns to light our nights,’ said Emilia.

  Naif stared at her. ‘You were taught about Sky-death?’

  Emilia frowned and then a look of understanding flashed across her face. ‘You’re a Seal.’

  Once more Naif felt a surge of frustration. She knew so little of the world because the Seal Superiors had chosen to keep them in ignorance. ‘These books must be preserved away from Ixion,’ she said urgently. ‘Ruzalia would keep them safe on Sanctus.’

  Charlonge smiled for the first time in a long while. ‘You see now why I sought them out. You see why I came?’ Then she frowned, having a second thought. ‘But Sanctus is no safer than Ixion.’

  Perhaps Char was right in that. All the young ones on Sanctus were dying. And everyone on Ixion; all the people that Naif cared for. She had to find more answers. Quickly.

  She stood and stretched her cramping muscles. ‘I need to walk a little to stave off sleep. I’ll take in some air and return.’

  ‘Bring back more of the honey cakes,’ said Char, helping herself to the last one on the platter. ‘Stolen Ixion food is far better than Ruzalia’s stew.’ She bent over her book again, straight away lost in her reading.

  Emilia nodded at her, and Naif found it in herself to return the gesture as she left.

  Moving more quickly than her tired and cramped legs should have been able, she left the cave and climbed down the rock lip. In front of her, the torches lit a buzzing camp. Not a single person sat idle. Eve strode from cluster to cluster of workers, speaking curtly, gesturing in her sharp, emphatic way.

  Naif wanted to walk among them but a stronger compulsion resisted. Suddenly she found herself walking quietly to the edge of the dark, out past the camp’s limits. She began to sweat in fear. What is happening? She tried to call for help but her lips clamped shut, her throat seized.

  Her legs drove her body up the steepest part of the ridge, where it met the rock wall that harboured the caves. She slipped on rock screes, sliding back and then having to scramble forward again. But the compulsion did not give up.

  It told her to get to the top of the ridge. Lie down. Hide.

  Her already-sore body ached and cried with fatigue as she scaled the last distance. Fresh grazes stung her palms, and from the wetness trickling down her shins, she knew her knees had started to bleed again.

  Her mind fought a furious battle with her body. Turn back! Turn back!

  She tried to look over her shoulder, but the compulsion wouldn’t allow it. Not until you are at the top, prone and out of sight.

  But what am I hiding from? she challenged it.

  No reply.

  And so she pushed her body up over the ridge of loose rock and unexpected sand traps until she reached a granite slab bigger than herself.

  Only then did her compulsion to climb ease. Abruptly, it became a downward pressure, forcing her to lie down between two rocks.

  The steady weight stayed on the middle of her back, crushing the energy from her and casting such a thick, black fog across her mind that she could no longer think or fear or fight . . . only watch.

  Below, she saw the camp, the torches, the Leaguers. She could even make out Clash and Eve, crouched together near the pile of spears.

  A scream from the far end of the camp sent a chill through her numb body. Near the farthest prayer hutch a commotion had started. At first she couldn’t make sense of it; Leaguers running, some falling, unable to stand again.

  Her vision blurred as though tears or sand blinded her. She blinked rapidly and each time her sight cleared, more Leaguers fell.

  Clash! Suki! Charlonge! Markes, Jarrold and Liam! Her eyes flicked in frantic search of her friends.

  Clash and Eve had their weapons drawn but they stood still as though immobilised by shock. Naif blinked again, realising that the blurring was movement; creatures travelling so quickly that her eyes couldn’t focus upon them.

  Ripers. A dozen or more, devastating the camp, taking Leaguers down, killing some – those who fought.

  Naif saw Clash and Eve fall to their knees. Lassoes fell across their shoulders. Clash rolled away but was dragged back.

  Naif opened her mouth to scream warnings to those still in the caves below her but the compulsion had stolen her voice. She fought against it like she had nothing in her life before. With more anger and fear than she’d held for the wardens.

  But the sound that escaped her throat was a soft gargle that carried no further than her breath. She tried again and again, all the while watching the Leaguers being tied and dragged and taken away into the dark. As the blur of Ripers reached the caves she strained so hard to speak her heart thumped against her ribs and her ears felt as though they would burst.

  Finally, something broke free within her and her voice loosed.

  ‘Char–’

  But her scream fell victim to a strong, unrelenting hand that clamped over her mouth.

  ‘Hush. For your own life’s sake. You cannot help them, Naif.’

  Lenoir!

  With Lenoir’s hand stifling her scream, Naif could only watch as the Ripers took them all. Last were Emilia and Charlonge, their clothes torn, their skin bare and white against the torchlight.

  When they were gone, Lenoir finally let go.

  Naif lay still, dazed.

  ‘You made me climb here,’ she said finally, in a voice that sounded strange to her.

  ‘When I learned that Brand intended this, I knew I couldn’t reach you in time,’ he said softly. ‘It was the only way I could save you.’

  She could not bring herself to look at him. Or to be grateful. But she had no energy for anger. Only for questions. ‘Those Ripers were all with Brand?’

  ‘She has more than half of us with her now.’

  ‘But the League has been in this camp for ages. Why do this now?’

  ‘Until now, they had not planned a war against us. Eve is foolish to think it would go ignored for long.’

  ‘She believed you were too busy fighting each other.’ Naif thought for a moment. ‘Brand didn’t kill them all. Only the ones who resisted. Why?’

  Lenoir hesitated and then gently put his hands to her shoulders, helping her into a sitting position. He placed a hand under her chin and tilt
ed it upward.

  Finally, she looked at him. In the light cast by the empty camp’s torches, his face looked sadder and more beautiful than she remembered it being. Her breath caught in her throat. Beauty masking brutality. Yet his touch was so gentle.

  ‘I’m sorry, Naif, but your kind are more useful to them alive for now.’

  Naif’s heart contracted painfully. ‘She’s taking them to Danskoi?’

  Lenoir didn’t answer but nor did he look away. He met her gaze solemnly. ‘I could not let them take you. While I live, you live.’

  Naif climbed shakily to her feet. The compulsion had lifted now. ‘Then you must help me free them at once.’

  ‘They are safe for a time,’ said Lenoir. ‘Our . . . synthesis takes time and there are others before them. They’ll be kept asleep until the time is right.’

  ‘How long?’

  ‘Two Early-Eves, at least.’

  Early-Eve occurred once in a Grave day, which made it a similar measure to dawn.

  Naif stared into his eyes, looking for the truth. Was it a beast that lay behind there? Why could she only see concern? Unable to stop herself, she reached out and touched his cheek. The skin felt slightly rough. Not the marble smooth that she had known before.

  He closed his eyes and turned his head so that his lips grazed her fingers. Her flesh lost some of its numbness.

  ‘Your skin . . . are you sick?’ she whispered.

  ‘Hungry, Naif,’ he said. ‘For so many things. Come with me to a safe place. You may bathe and change and eat. We can talk,’ he said.

  ‘Safe?’

  ‘We move our nest regularly. Brand cannot find us.’

  ‘Yet you easily locate her?’

  ‘She is arrogant and careless. She doesn’t believe she needs to evade me.’

  Naif watched him. ‘You are planning something?’

  He held out his hand. ‘Come, baby bat.’

  His voice fell hot and heavy on her mind. She tried to resist it, to think her way to another course of action, but fatigue and shock contrived against her. She should be going straight to Danskoi. She should go . . .

  But instead, she took Lenoir’s hand.

  He immediately enfolded her in his embrace and she gave a moan of relief. His arms were a cool haven against the heat of his voice. If she tilted her head against his chest she could so easily sleep . . .