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Authors: Terry McGowan
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themselves. They too will be asked to confirm that they take part by their own choice. They will then face the final question. They will be asked to declare that they wish to take part in and adhere to the results of the Fall.”
He shuffled on the spot, building up to it. “Sponsors,” he called out, “do you attest to the truth that the person who you pledge for is here of their own free will and participates without force, threat or manipulation?”
As he listened to the words, Unt read them off the Order of Ceremonies. Even if he hadn’t been able to see them, weekly drills had imprinted them onto his memory. Now they played like familiar music in the background, listened to and not listened to at the same time.
“We do so attest it,” the sponsors droned in chorus. Somewhere among those voices, one voice spoke for Unt. It had only been at the start of this week that he’d realised that he had no sponsor. The sponsor was normally a parent but Unt had none. He’d had to ask Yvesse and when he did, she cried and then got approval from the Council. It hadn’t occurred to him until that moment that he was stealing her away from Bull.
There were no words of disagreement or, if there were, they were so drowned out by the chorus that they didn’t matter. Satisfied, Kelly continued. “Participants, I now ask you: do you hereby attest that you are here of your own free will and participate without force, threat or manipulation?”
Unt found the words automatically. “I do so attest it.” The same answer was repeated all around him. It felt almost like he wasn’t saying it himself.
Kelly held his glasses by thumb and forefinger around one lens and pulled them down to peer over. “Very good,” he said, “And so we come to the last and most important question: Do you, the participant, confirm your intention to be part of this ceremony, to abide with its results and to hereafter accept the law and spirit of the community?”
Kelly didn’t ask for a sign but all the same, they each knew there was a particular one they had to make. This was the most important question and they needed to show their agreement so there could be no doubt. A hundred and seventeen right-hands thumped across chests and with fists on heart, they announced, “I do confirm it.”
Kelly resumed. “Let it be recorded that all participants have signalled their consent to these proceedings.”
Croker, head bowed, scratched away with his pen, coughed as though clearing the dust from his tongue and in a voice to match his name rasped, “It is so recorded.”
“We will now proceed to the draw,” said Kelly.
All eyes went to the pot that sat in front of Morley. It was an ominous sphere of blackened glass. There was something baleful about it, as though it swelled with the resentment of all the bad luck that had ever come out of it. For the first time, Unt felt real concern.
“Balls will be drawn at random by Mr Morley,” Kelly explained. “He will then read the number of the ball. Mr Croker will announce and record the corresponding participant.
He turned his head to face the clerks. “Mr Morley, would you draw the first number please?”
The words were like a necromantic spell, waking the dead. Morley looked like he would have jerked in surprise, were he capable of such quick movement. A claw-like hand extended toward the pot, robes hanging heavily from his arm. It descended into the concealed black centre and emerged clutching a small reddish-brown ball. The ball was polished to a high shine with gold numbering. Uncertain fingers worked the ball until the number was facing his shrivelled eye. He brought it close to within a few inches, wheezed a cough and announced, “Number sixty-three”.
The words were like a slow-motion trigger to Morley’s counterpart, Croker. He gave the same almost-jerk as his colleague and began running his finger down the list. Unt could see him carefully scanning over all the preceding numbers:
He shuffled on the spot, building up to it. “Sponsors,” he called out, “do you attest to the truth that the person who you pledge for is here of their own free will and participates without force, threat or manipulation?”
As he listened to the words, Unt read them off the Order of Ceremonies. Even if he hadn’t been able to see them, weekly drills had imprinted them onto his memory. Now they played like familiar music in the background, listened to and not listened to at the same time.
“We do so attest it,” the sponsors droned in chorus. Somewhere among those voices, one voice spoke for Unt. It had only been at the start of this week that he’d realised that he had no sponsor. The sponsor was normally a parent but Unt had none. He’d had to ask Yvesse and when he did, she cried and then got approval from the Council. It hadn’t occurred to him until that moment that he was stealing her away from Bull.
There were no words of disagreement or, if there were, they were so drowned out by the chorus that they didn’t matter. Satisfied, Kelly continued. “Participants, I now ask you: do you hereby attest that you are here of your own free will and participate without force, threat or manipulation?”
Unt found the words automatically. “I do so attest it.” The same answer was repeated all around him. It felt almost like he wasn’t saying it himself.
Kelly held his glasses by thumb and forefinger around one lens and pulled them down to peer over. “Very good,” he said, “And so we come to the last and most important question: Do you, the participant, confirm your intention to be part of this ceremony, to abide with its results and to hereafter accept the law and spirit of the community?”
Kelly didn’t ask for a sign but all the same, they each knew there was a particular one they had to make. This was the most important question and they needed to show their agreement so there could be no doubt. A hundred and seventeen right-hands thumped across chests and with fists on heart, they announced, “I do confirm it.”
Kelly resumed. “Let it be recorded that all participants have signalled their consent to these proceedings.”
Croker, head bowed, scratched away with his pen, coughed as though clearing the dust from his tongue and in a voice to match his name rasped, “It is so recorded.”
“We will now proceed to the draw,” said Kelly.
All eyes went to the pot that sat in front of Morley. It was an ominous sphere of blackened glass. There was something baleful about it, as though it swelled with the resentment of all the bad luck that had ever come out of it. For the first time, Unt felt real concern.
“Balls will be drawn at random by Mr Morley,” Kelly explained. “He will then read the number of the ball. Mr Croker will announce and record the corresponding participant.
He turned his head to face the clerks. “Mr Morley, would you draw the first number please?”
The words were like a necromantic spell, waking the dead. Morley looked like he would have jerked in surprise, were he capable of such quick movement. A claw-like hand extended toward the pot, robes hanging heavily from his arm. It descended into the concealed black centre and emerged clutching a small reddish-brown ball. The ball was polished to a high shine with gold numbering. Uncertain fingers worked the ball until the number was facing his shrivelled eye. He brought it close to within a few inches, wheezed a cough and announced, “Number sixty-three”.
The words were like a slow-motion trigger to Morley’s counterpart, Croker. He gave the same almost-jerk as his colleague and began running his finger down the list. Unt could see him carefully scanning over all the preceding numbers:
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