Free Phoenix Burning by Bryony Pearce Page B

younger combatant. “But would we be here if it wasn’t for the promise of the stipend for our family?” She shrugged. “Maybe not.”
    “If they offer us money, we will turn it down,” the boy spat. “Is that not right, Lenka?”
    “Yes, Matus. Those of us left in Croatia know the meaning of true devotion.” The girl’s fine blond hair looked as if she had poked a finger in a socket. It stuck up around her head in a flyaway mass that matched her wide, shocked-looking eyes and two permanent worry lines that sat between her eyebrows.
    The crowd murmured its approval and the small group realized they had been overheard. The straw-headed Hungarian tossed her hair and swaggered closer. Toby saw with a jolt that her nails were possibly the longest he had ever seen, like claws. How did she do any work?
    “We understand devotion,” she snapped, raising her voice for the benefit of the audience. “But we also know how to survive. The more of us who live to worship the Sun, the greater the glory of the Orb.”
    “Ha! The Order will see through your contempt for the Sun’s glory.”
    “A bunch of idiots who went blind staring at the sky– I don’t think so.” The crater-faced young man laughed and his companion joined in. The Hungarian couple looked nervous and backed away, swiftly disassociating themselves as the crowd’s quiet developed a hostile edge.
    “A bunch of idiots?” The voice that hissed out over the square ended in a sibilance that sent chills down Toby’s spine. When Toby turned he saw a man with the milky eyes of the sunblind, facing the mocking speaker as though he could see him.
    “I am Father Dahon. Come to face me,” the man whispered.
    The young man and his wispy companion looked at one another.
    “I will not repeat myself.” Although he didn’t move, the father’s anger seemed to make him grow in size. Toby stared at him. He had a low widow’s peak and his black hair was oiled back from his brow. His face and hands were deeply tanned, but the arms that protruded from his long sleeves were as pale as his eyes.
    The swarthy boy with the terrible skin finally recovered his bluster. He dragged his companion to the front of the group.
    “We didn’t mean—” she began.
    “Silence.” The father turned to someone behind them. “Are these good candidates?”
    From deep in the shadows behind the father a woman appeared. Her eyes were so deeply overhung by her sockets that Toby couldn’t tell what colour they were. Her cheekbones protruded almost as far as her forehead and her lips were so thin and colourless that Toby could barely see them move when she answered.
    “The blond is average in colouration; she would make a middling Sun.”
    The girl gasped and her partner kicked her into quiet.
    “Neither would the boy be any loss.”
    The crowd jeered its approval and the couple flinched as their disdain rolled over them.
    The father turned back to the couple. “Leave.”
    “W-what?” the young man protested. “You can’t do that. We have no way off the island.”
    “Then we will allow you to remain on Gozo until the pilgrimage, when you should be able to find passage. You had better hope that you are a better fisher than a devotee. And, as all who live on the island must abide by our rules, we will expect to receive three-quarters of all you catch and mandatory prayers at sunrise, noon and sunset in the island’s centre. You will be watched.”
    The father raised his head as if to look past them, dismissing the couple from his world as effectively as though he had erased them altogether. The crowdclapped as they stumbled out of the area reserved for the candidates.
    Toby leaned close to Ayla, hoping that she had learned the same lesson he had. “Praise the Sun,” he said, pointedly.
    Ayla nodded. “Praise the Sun.”
    “I am Mother Hesper.” The woman spoke almost reluctantly, as though her name was precious knowledge that she was squandering by saying it out loud. “Before