Watcher's Web (35 page)

They were in a
neglected courtyard surrounded on three sides by a high wall. The
house rose two floors above them, the walls covered in green slime.
A door into what must once have been a kitchen hung limp on rusty
brackets. Inside, broken shards of pottery littered the floor. How
many abandoned houses were there in this town?

“Come!” The
older boy waited in a dark alley between the house and the wall. A
wooden crate stood on its side. He jumped on top and then on the
wall, then held out a hand to Jessica.

Another thud
shook the timber door; the wood cracked.

Jessica
stumbled into the alley, onto pavement slippery with green slime,
but she climbed up the crate with ease, being so much taller than
the Pengali. The younger boy jumped on the wall, quick and supple
like a cat. Balancing on top, he took off his shorts and put them
on his head. Then he ran off over the top of the wall and jumped
down in another yard.

Jessica heaved
herself up. Wobbled on her feet. Oh God. She wasn’t meant to run
along this ledge, was she?

Yells rose
from the street, blocked from her view by low-hanging branches of a
tree. Thuds of rocks hitting the ground and rolling over the
pavement. Running feet. Another thud on the door. A slab of render
fell from the wall.

Jessica took a
step, waving her arms, ran a few paces, almost fell. Her sandal
slipped into the yard on the other side.

Shit.

The Pengali
boy nudged her.

She
muttered, “Yes, I’m going.” In the street behind them, rocks and
sticks flew through the air, followed by the
zhing
of discharging crossbows. A deep cold tore through
her. The boy pushed her again. “Come on!”

Jessica ran.
Over the top of the wall to a junction where three walls met. The
older boy waited for them in the yard beyond, next to a trapdoor
from which a smell of rot and stale water rose up.

God, what was
that?

Jessica
pressed her hands together, concentrated and let the light float
down into the hole. Globs of unidentified matter floated lazily in
a foam-flecked underground stream.

The eldest
youth jumped in; water splashed.

Holding her
breath against the stench, Jessica followed. She almost slipped in
whatever sludge covered the bottom of the drain—or should she say
sewer? She hitched up her dress, tightened the knot to make sure it
wouldn’t come undone. The younger boy jumped in and closed the
trapdoor before the two of them took off. Jessica had to run, bent
over double, to keep up.

Gushing water
spouted from drains on both sides. Sometimes they came out briefly
in the open air, at other times timber planks covered the passage.
At one stage, the voices of soldiers and yelling Pengali drifted in
from above. Running feet. Stones bouncing over the pavement. The
sounds of a fight.

Finally, some
time after Jessica would have been totally lost, the first boy
pushed open another trapdoor. Jessica stuck her head out into an
alley she recognised. A few days ago, she had run its length after
her fight with Daya. The Pengali safe house. Ikay, smiling widely,
waiting at the door. Jessica scrambled out of the drain into warm
and minty-smelling arms. She caressed Ikay’s bare leather-skinned
shoulders, too out-of-breath to speak. Ikay led her into the house.
“Safe here.”

When Jessica
had come in with Daya, she had only been to a room at the back,
where a jumble of mats littered the floor. Now, Ikay took her
through a narrow hallway which opened out into what once must have
been a grandiose entrance hall. Wan light fell through a ceiling
window, casting grey light on two flights of stairs, two galleries
around the perimeter and a large circular ground floor area.
Pengali sat on the steps, on the railings, on the floor and the
edge of a circular basin directly under the window. Many of them
still wore wreaths of white flowers on their heads.

At Ikay’s
entry, many voices rose up. Some in Pengali, some in keihu. Jessica
picked up single words. “Anmi . . . fighting-men
. . . council . . .” The youngest of the
boys who had come with her answered questions, gesturing wildly
with hands and tail. He still wore his shorts on his head like a
beanie.

Jessica stood
in the middle of the hall. She wished she knew what they were all
talking about; she wished her stomach could make up its mind as to
whether it wanted to get better or have a good spew. She wished
. . . no. No more men. No more lovers who wanted to use
her. No more lame apologies.

A group of men
entered the hall from the other side. Muddy trousers, dishevelled
robes, pale faces, bruised cheeks or injured arms, wet hair
plastered to their foreheads. Their long robes and twinkling
jewellery seemed out of place. Jessica recognised the rotund form
of Chief Councillor Semisu, although the rain had made his curly
hair limp and stringy. An increasing murmur went up amongst the
Pengali. Many wondered aloud what the councillors were doing here.
A Pengali male said in a loud accusing voice, “The fighting-men
stopped the parade.”

“They hit two
of my friends for not wearing a shirt,” another added.

“My sons were
in the parade,” wailed a woman. “I haven’t seen them since.”

Councillor
Semisu lifted his hands as if to start a speech, then let them sink
by his sides again.

“I’m
sorry.”

His robe was
wet and he sported a dark smudge on his cheek.

A young man
yelled, “Sorry? You invited the fighting-men. You let them cut my
tail! Sorry is the only thing you can say?”

A female
yelled, “Liggi, hold your breath and let him speak. The councillor
who signed for the fighting-men to come here died long ago. This
man comes in peace.”

The young man
scowled at her but sat down.

Councillor
Semisu heaved a deep sigh. “I don’t know what else I can say. The
Mirani are everywhere. I don’t know how they got that many soldiers
into the city. They did not just stop the parade, they stationed
troops in front of every public building. They’re checking everyone
who goes in or out, everyone on the street, but the only ones
they’ve picked up are women—women! Would you believe!”

Keihu
women. They were ones with
avya,
as the
clothes makers’ Pengali assistants had said. Daya had been right.
They were after people with strong abilities. To get her had been
the intention of the plan all along, from the moment she left
Pymberton airport . . . Dizziness came over
her.

“Anmi!”

Jessica
started, running her hands over rough mosaic tiles. How the heck
had she ended up on the floor? Ikay’s face swam before her. A wave
of heat swamped her, causing bile to rise in her throat. God. She
clamped a hand over her mouth.

“You
. . . sick.”

Under the
gazes of hundreds of Pengali, Ikay pulled her up, dragging her back
through the corridor, where the walls moved in and out of focus,
into the room with the mattresses. Pushed her down.

Ikay held a
bowl of water to her lips. Jessica lay back on a soft pillow. She
protested weakly and tried to get back up.

“I want to
know what’s going on.”

“No. You
stay.”

Ikay massaged
her skin all over, starting from her head and working their way
down to her neck, shoulders, breast,
stomach . . .

She took in a
sharp breath.

Jessica raised
her head. “Anything wrong?” Her heart thudded in her chest. She
half-knew what Ikay was going to say.

“I feel
. . . another . . .”

Damn. She was
not mistaken. Sweat broke out on her forehead. Involuntarily,
Jessica hands slid down her stomach; she sent out a weak
signal.

A flutter of
life energy responded.

Shit. Shit,
shit, shit!

Daya. Damn
Daya and his possessiveness. His actions had managed to do what his
words couldn’t. A breeding cow. No fucking way. She was no one’s
possession.

She grabbed
Ikay’s arm. “Can you help me, please? I
can’t . . .”

Face grave,
Ikay nodded. “Is right. Can’t have . . .
man . . .” She rolled her eyes in frustration.
“White hair.”

“No, I can’t.”
Although the child couldn’t be Iztho’s. “Can you help me
please?”

Without a
word, Ikay left the room.

Jessica lay on
her back staring at the ceiling. This was the room where she had
spent the night with Daya, the room where the child was
conceived.

Daya. She
hated him, his arrogance, his outrageous assumptions, she hated,
no, she loved his smell, his touch, his untamed and violent
passion, his wild mind voice and the way he’d been prepared to
fight for her, how he had stood there and declared that their
people would not be discriminated. Daya would toe no one’s line and
would be no one’s fool.

All too soon,
Ikay returned, carrying a cup. Jessica followed her back through
the narrow hallway into another room which must once have been the
kitchen. Steam rose from a basin in the corner and stone benches
surrounded the walls, empty except for a bundle of folded
cloth.

Ikay set the
cup on the bench in the centre of the room. Dark liquid sloshed
around inside, syrupy and oily. She handed the cloth to Jessica,
speaking in halting words. “Drink here . . . wait
. . . be sick . . . bleed.”

Jessica
nodded, grimly. Ikay had understood all too well what sort of help
she wanted.

Apprehension
must have shown on her face, because Ikay said, “Man
. . . white hair . . . bad.”

She squeezed
Jessica’s hands before leaving the room. The door rattled shut,
leaving a deep, hollow silence.

But
I’m not having Iztho’s child!
Although Jessica wished she would, just to annoy
Daya, and imagined his surprise at a little girl with honey-blonde
hair and golden eyes. But that was impossible. Aghyrians didn’t
interbreed with other races.

Her
hands trembling, Jessica picked up the cup and walked to the basin.
A foul waft rose from the liquid, reminiscent of rotting
cabbage.
You will be
sick.
Even the smell
was enough to make her gag.

Better be
quick, then.

Jessica held
her breath, set the cup to her lips . . .

Soft voices of
Pengali talk drifted in through missing slats in the door. She
remembered the tribe, the tumble of striped bodies of children
playing in the steaming pool. Heard their cheerful voices.

Hesitated.

Could she
willingly kill a tiny flutter of life which would grow to be her
only living relative in the universe?

She eyed the
towels Ikay had provided. Imagined clots of blood on the khaki
fabric. Blood and a tiny foetus.

Her hands
trembled so much that drops of liquid ran over the side, spreading
more of the vile smell.

Daya’s
voice sounded in her mind.
You would not be another Ivedra.

Didn’t he see?
She was already another Ivedra, wanted by everyone, including
him.

Three hundred
years ago, Ivedra had been eighteen when she had given birth in
prison. In three more months, Jessica would be eighteen as well.
Not quite in prison, but trapped in Barresh, where people shared
her ancestor’s abilities, where their history was written in
rock.

Tears flooded
her eyes.

Her arms
relaxed. She lowered the cup to the level of her chin, her chest,
her stomach, allowed it to tip so the contents poured into the
basin.

She sank to
the floor, her face in her hands.

Chapter
28

J
ESSICA HAD NO
idea how long she had been sitting like that when Ikay rushed into
the kitchen, speaking in rapid Pengali, grabbing the towels,
folding them out. Her eyes widened. No clots of blood, no strands
of mucus, no vomit.

Jessica stared
up, mouth trembling. “I can’t do it, Ikay, I can’t.” The enormity
of her decision fell over her like a wave. Tears came anew.

Ikay knelt
beside her, cradling her and muttering, “I help.” She ran her hand
over Jessica’s stomach in calming, soothing movements. For at least
five minutes, neither of them spoke, united by their bond and the
life of a tiny baby. Then Ikay rose and gestured at the door. “Go.
Visitor.”

In the dingy
corridor, Jessica undid the knots that still tied her dress around
her buttocks. She smoothed the material, hand lingering on her
stomach, wondering how long it would be before the slim waistline
became too tight.

Most of the
house’s refugees had gathered around the pond in the hall. Large
eyes glinted at the archway when Jessica came in.

A couple of
men she recognised as councillors of Barresh gathered under the
gallery, a small light on the ground between them. Still-wet robes
strained around their bulky forms, knees and legs poking out at
clumsy angles. Obviously not used to sitting on the floor.

A man in dark
clothing sat ramrod-straight in their midst, long-fingered hands on
his knees. Oh God, Daya. What was she going to say?

She didn’t
have to say anything. One of the men in khaki rose, grumbling and
cursing. Dark eyes met Jessica’s. “I don’t think we’ve been
introduced.” From close up, the Chief Councillor had a
coarse-skinned face, with a curious groove down the middle of his
nose. His hair looked like a bird’s nest of uncombed curls. A head
smaller than her and carrying a fair amount of excess weight, he
was neither attractive nor handsome, but the smile in his eyes was
genuine. “I’m Jisson Semisu, Chief Councillor of Barresh.”

“I’m
Jessica—”

“No.” Daya’s
voice sounded clipped. “Your name is Anmi Kirilen Dinzo.”