Chapter 23 #2
His cousin raced to the balcony and in one fluid movement dived over the wall and powered down after the tiny light, arms straight out in front of him, legs kicking as he sent power pulsing through them, flashing past cliff walls slick with water.
Although the light had a good head start, he gained quickly on it and caught it well above the spray thrown up by the waves crashing below, swooping around gracefully and back up to land on the terrace without a drop on him.
Everyone had gone to a window to watch the race by then, some of the Channellers flying out into the night sky for a better view.
Senan’s cousin turned to him, laughing. “Your turn!”
Lacking his cousin’s experience, Senan’s start was slower, but he accelerated hard and caught the little light just above the waves, wetting only the backs of his hands as he scooped it up and away.
The game was on, as Channeller after Channeller flew out into the night, plummeting toward the sea.
The Risen showed them other games: obstacle races around the turrets, in and out of the windows, through tunnels.
Others flew out with their Keeper partners, who shrieked and clutched them about the neck when they saw the sheer drop below.
The night was filled with the sound of laughter and screams, lights winking in and out of existence.
But as the sky lightened toward the east, one by one tired Channellers began to filter back into the hall.
éadha had put a shield in place after Senan’s raid on her earlier.
She was glad of it, as from all around the room she sensed Channeller threads snaking out, seeking power to replace what they’d drained by their antics.
Senan wandered over to where she stood. She felt his power brush against her wall and come away, her strength too well hidden now for him to be able to find it.
After a moment’s puzzlement he shrugged and thrust his goblet at her.
“Fetch me a refill. I’ll be over yonder,” he said, gesturing toward an alcove where the curtains had stayed drawn all evening.
She filled Senan’s cup and went to the alcove, pushing aside the curtains to hand it to him.
As she did, her eyes met a row of slumped forms, some fallen to the floor, others sitting, heads on the table.
At first, she mistook them for drunk students.
But as her silver fish gave a sudden leap of recognition, she realized that all about her were Fodder.
Her eyes widened in shock as her senses registered the scale of the life force sleeting past her from the alcove, out and up into the Banqueting Hall.
Inside, her silver fish twisted as though it longed to join the streams of power flowing soundlessly by.
So this was how they did it. They were here in the hall, just as Senan had said, but kept discreetly behind a curtain.
That way the more squeamish Channellers wouldn’t have to face the reality of what they were doing while the more brutal, like Senan, were free to come in and drain them directly.
In front of her, Senan sat holding the hand of a thin, dark-haired girl lying almost unconscious beside him. As éadha watched in horror, the girl moaned and tried to pull her hand away; it was almost entirely encased by his large hands as he gripped her tightly.
“Sit,” he commanded. “This’ll be part of your remedial training anyway.
” He held up the limp hand. “Now this one’s almost useless.
If I take much more, she’ll go past the point of recovery; she won’t have enough energy left to eat and restore herself.
A good Keeper would’ve switched me away a while ago.
My father always says the trick is to keep them at the point where they’re too exhausted to waste any energy talking or moving but not so spent the thread is compromised and they tip over into an irreversible spiral. ”
He dropped the girl’s hand, losing interest, and she slid limply to the floor.
At Senan’s nod, a manservant dragged her to the back of the alcove, where he opened a narrow hatch and loaded her into it.
Closing the hatch, he rapped once sharply on the side.
The sound of distant machinery could be heard, echoing faintly up a shaft from far below.
At éadha’s questioning look, Senan smiled.
“Fodder hatch. Sends the used ones back to the hold. We should get some fresh ones in a minute.” He sat back, staring at éadha over his wineglass.
“Best cure for a hangover, a good drain. Young ones are the best; my father says their energy is the most cleansing. Second Island is known for the quality of its Fodder; only the best for us Channeller boys. You’d make good Fodder, you know—all that fresh country air in Ailm’s Keep, hearty walks with young Ionáin.
For your sake, you’d better hope your remedial training goes well.
There’s only one way off this island—as a Risen.
Fall at this hurdle and you’ll spend the rest of your regrettably short life as a hangover cure for us Channeller boys down in the hold. ”
He pushed back the bench. “Come and tell me when the new Fodder arrives, there’s a good Keeper.
” He’d left the curtain ajar as he went back out, and through the gap éadha could see the Banqueting Hall, gray now in the first light of morning.
Half-emptied goblets stood on every surface, half-eaten food still piled on plates or ground into the carpets.
Here and there students slept on velvet seats or slumped against walls, the occasional couple wandering past, holding each other up as their heads formed the apex of an unsteady triangle.
Senan wandered through the center of the room, pausing to kick an insensible form.
It was Ionáin, passed out still clutching his goblet, clothes stained and drenched from his failed were-dive earlier.
éadha drew the curtain and sat staring ahead of her, fighting with everything she had to hold herself still, not to scream her horror and her rage while she did the only thing she could, sending her strength silently, invisibly into the people around her.
The only sounds in the alcove were their shallow gasps as they struggled to hold on to enough energy to keep breathing while the Channellers in the hall beyond drained them again and again to stave off their hangovers.
In. Out.
In. Out.
In.