Beyond the Endless Sky

Chapter 3

It was a peculiar sound, a hard click of nearly solid boots on metal, that woke Clarissa up. She threw herself upright, swatting at the wall beside her bunk until she found the light switch. She shut her eyes for a moment, blinked, and then looked around the room to see if anyone else was inside.

To Clarissa's relief she was alone, but the clacking grew louder, as if whatever making the noise was getting closer. Clarissa hugged her knees, held her breath, and stared without blinking at the door.

The clacking stopped, and someone knocked hard on the metal door. "Hey, kid!" an unfamiliar voice shouted through the steel. "I was hoping for a word, if you were willing."

Surprised, Clarissa floundered for a response, and stayed silent long enough that the person on the other side of the door spoke again. "Just a little bored on this voyage. Crew ain't exactly hospitable, and I've had every conversation I ever want to with my mates. And then some."

"Oh," Clarissa found herself saying. Before she knew what she was doing, she had already slid off the bed and was pushing her feet into her boots.

"Thought you might like to look at a bit more of the world. Monastery kid like you probably hasn't gone much beyond the farms. And if your room's like mine, you don't have a window," the woman said.

Something about the last sentence twitched at an unfamiliar urge in Clarissa, and it drew her eyes to the harsh lines and metallic gleam of the walls. Even the door, a metal oval with a lip at the bottom that rose almost to her knees, had lost something of the comforting lustre it had before she had fallen asleep.

Her room felt less like a fortress, and more like a prison.

"Yes," she said, despite the worries gnawing at her stomach. "I'll be out in a second."

Clarissa tied her boots and pulled her heavy grey cloak over her shoulders, bunching the material below her chin and pinning it in place. Clarissa then stepped up to the door, lifted the heavy latch, and pushed hard to swing the door open.

The woman waiting at the other side of the door was richly dressed. A vibrant red dress, with a heavy grey scarf wrapped around her neck, steeply heeled boots and long, lacquered fingernails. Even her face had the telltale contrasts — unnaturally long eyelashes, unnaturally white skin, unnaturally black shadows above her eyes, unnaturally red lips — of expensive and elaborate makeup.

Even the woman's smile, not lacking poise or enthusiasm, looked painted on.

"Well hello," the woman said, leaning forward just a little and resting her hands on her knees. "I was worried you'd turtle in there and we'd never get to see you again. What's your name, child?"

Clarissa bristled at being called a child, and stepped over the lip of the doorframe in an act of defiance. "I'm Clarissa."

"Just Clarissa?" The woman asked. She made a click with her tongue and shook her head. "Of course. You don't have last names at the Monastery. Just enough of an identity that your teachers don't have to point to single you out. I've always found it rather cruel."

"You know about the Monastery?" Clarissa asked warily.

"I've spent a lot of time in Bankerloft. Monastery's always been just around the corner, so to speak. Not that I end up knowing much about it, but I see the initiates, your age and younger, who come through on errands and such," the woman said, her smile holding neither warmth nor sincerity. Clarissa began to regret opening the door.

The woman tilted her head to the side and gave Clarissa a small grin. "Guess that makes us neighbours."

"I guess," Clarissa agreed.