Watcher's Web

by Patty Jansen

  “You knew who I was all along?”

  He nodded, once.

  No, no, it couldn’t be true. “You were? Tell me! Tell me. Was it because of you? Did you take something in your luggage that caused it?”

  His eyes didn’t meet hers. “I’m not proud of it, my Lady and you have every right to be angry. Commander Satarin sent me to pick you up for considerable . . . payment. It is complicated to explain, but he holds considerable power over me—over my family’s business. I was to travel with you, and bring you here. Things went wrong. We weren’t meant to crash, a craft was waiting to pick us up, but it was too foggy and we didn’t quite appear where it was planned. We didn’t plan landing in the Pengali territory either. The plan was just to get you, drug the others and send them back.”

  “And I was a thing to be picked up?” Her shout echoed in the hall. Daya watched her, tenseness on his face.

  “Please Lady, I’m asking for your forgiveness. Yes, I meant to deliver you to him at first, but . . . You, my Lady, are a treasure. No one should claim or use you. I’ve come to see that now . . . I love you. Please accept my love as a man, not as an agent of Miran.” He added in a whisper, “We will escape the army.”

  However much he might have meant them, to Jessica, the words rang hollow. Never agree to anything you don’t understand. Her father’s straightforward policeman’s advice. And she damn well wouldn’t. She might be young, but she was not stupid.

  She slid Iztho’s cloak off her shoulders and dumped the furry bundle into his arms. “If you really knew me, you would know why I can’t accept this.”

  For a few long seconds, his light blue gaze met hers. Before a sob could rise in her throat, before she would lose control, she turned and strode to the stairs. Two soldiers jumped to block her path. She swiped at them, sparks swirling over her arms. “Why the fuck don’t you leave me alone?”

  Eyes wide, they stumbled back.

  Behind her, Commander Satarin yelled, “Don’t shoot!”

  There was a crack of something hard hitting the wooden floor and a wave of cold swept the hall. Jessica turned. A small object on the floor drew all the Pengali mind lights into a twirling vortex, sucking all strands of light into it. People stumbled for the doors in increasing darkness. Jessica yanked her threads free just in time, and stood panting, gaping at the last remains of the tornado of lights. What the bloody hell did that?

  Daya’s voice jolted her. Run, my love, run.

  Jessica bolted up the stairs, out the entrance before the soldiers at the gate could even question her.

  In the street, the groups of dancing Pengali had gone. So had the food stalls, the musicians, the flower sellers. Screens of slats covered shop doors. An abandoned turquoise shirt lay in a puddle, amidst trampled flowers. Where was everyone?

  A voice shouted behind her. Jessica gathered her dress around her buttocks and ran. Her sandals splashed in the puddles. Around the corner, down an alley. Low-hanging branches of trees slapped wet in her face. She jumped over roots, puddles and piles of rubbish. Booted footsteps followed close behind.

  Into the next street. Two half-clad Pengali youths ran towards her, carrying sticks and looking over their shoulders, where figures in white linked hands, blocking off the road to the crowd on their other side. Yells and shouts echoed between the houses. Shit—a riot.

  Jessica hesitated and in that moment, her pursuer shot in front of her, blue eyes wild with triumph. “Don’t move!” The point of his crossbow aimed at her chest.

  In a fluid motion, one of the Pengali youths turned. He lifted the stick and brought it down on the soldier’s head with a frightening thunk. The man’s eyes glazed over; he slumped sideways.

  “Anmi.” The boy reached barely to her waist. Jessica needed no encouragement; two other soldiers had emerged from the alley. She ran to the door held open by the second youth.

  As soon as she was through, he pushed it shut and shoved a metal bar across. Yells echoed in the street; the door thudded. Jessica leaned against the rough wall, catching her breath and attempting to knot the flowing petticoats of her dress out of the way. She hated dresses.

  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 youn
gest 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.

  28

  JESSICA 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.”

  She bristled. “My parents call me Jessica.”

  Then she felt irritated that she defended a name she had never liked, not even as a child. She did like her real name, it was just that she didn’t like the way he was so definite about it, as if the previous seventeen years of her life had been worth nothing.

  For a moment, their eyes met. She received no feelings or images from his mind, as if he had walled himself off.

  On the floor before him lay a crudely-drawn map of the city, the stiff sheet held down by the weight of a Mirani crossbow.

  Daya rose gracefully, picked up the weapon and dumped it in Jessica’s hands. It was so heavy she almost dropped it.

  She glared at him. “What am I supposed to do with this bloody thing?” Wasn’t he going to talk to her at all?

  “A little demonstration. Let’s go outside.”

  He preceded her through the corridor, out the back door into the yard.