The Dark Citadel (The Green Woman) (5 page)

The evening shadows had lengthened to fill the
roadway and the doorways, the sky was obscured by a desert dust storm, and the
first street lights would be glowing weakly in the richer neighbourhoods. Men
were still filing out in the direction of the nearest temple, occasionally
throwing Zachariah a questioning look, but none wishing to get involved with a
dusty, out of breath young man who was not in his rightful place.

He was there! His mother’s was the ground floor
apartment; a hand was closing the shutters from the inside. He ran, shouting,
“Mother! Mother! It’s Zach—” The name hung half in the air, half stuck in
his throat as a hand was clapped across his mouth and his arms were twisted
roughly behind his back. He struggled free and screamed again, “Mother!”

He just had time to peep in through a half-closed
shutter, just time to see a slight grey shape moving silently and quickly from
the stove to the window. He had almost, but not quite, time to see her drop the
dish on the table as she passed and turn her dark, startled eyes in the
direction of the clattering sound outside her door.

Even above the noise the guards were making,
Zachariah heard the angry noises coming from inside the house, a man shouting,
the woman’s voice raised in fear, crockery smashing, a child crying. Zachariah
struggled as they dragged him away, biting the guard’s hand. Hot tears of rage
and frustration blurred his vision.

“Mother!”
  

* * * *

Zachariah was locked in a cell in the House of Correction. He had not been
charged and had no idea what was to happen next. Justice was summary and
arbitrary in Providence. He wasn’t even sure who meted it out. But he did know
he had committed a cardinal sin: he had broken the taboo of ignorance, and he
had dared to show attachment and affection. There was no place for his kind in
Providence.

Chapter
7
 
 

Ezekiel was
just
coming up from the night shift when he heard the news of the population
cull. Beyond the arc lights and the towering constructions of the pithead, the
Hemisphere stretched, invisible, keeping out the terrors of the night. His gaze
darted everywhere, seeking out armed thugs in the unlit streets, half-expecting
to find Black Boys in riot gear waiting for the surfacing miners.

Instinctively he drew closer to the group of
Ignorant men preparing to leave the site. The streets appeared quiet, but he
knew the news was not just wild rumours. The underground tunnels were full of
evil; why would the streets above be any safer?

His eyes narrowed and the muscles of his stomach
contracted. Despite the glare, he caught a movement, a sliding and a fluttering
just beyond the reach of the lights. It was only dusk, not deep night. The
demons were growing fearless, and he thanked the Mother his own were safe in
Underworld, the Ignorants’ secret city beneath Providence.

The dark times were returning, just like in the old
stories. Evil was dragging Providence back into the shadows, to the place of
eternal torment. Fear brought out a cold sweat on his brow as a name took form
in his head, a name that was too dreadful to be spoken aloud. Gehenna.

It was then he heard the shriek. The crystal
Hemisphere kept out the desert noises for most of the inhabitants of
Providence, but not for those who lived at the edges of the city. The demonic
sounds of the wasteland spread terror in the Ignorant neighbourhoods of
dilapidated tenements, factories and mines in the sectors closest to the
Hemisphere. Ezekiel looked up anxiously, searching the veils of darkness for a
sign of the demon, but the Providence sky of late evening was a thick soup of
brown sand and angry black cloud. He shivered and grabbed his brother-in-law’s
arm, hurrying him out of the colliery. It was a fortnight since they’d been on
the same shift—Ezekiel wanted a word.

Ezekiel was an Ignorant and the Ignorants were different
from other people. The Ignorants did the unpleasant work; they swept the
streets, worked in the slaughterhouses, and the sewers. They worked at night,
out of sight, and they lived in the grey tenements of the outskirts, where only
the crystal dome lay between them and the beasts of the desert.

Stories were told about the Ignorants, that they
neglected their religious duties. Because they could not read, they sang songs
when the other men were reading the Book. They lived on the scrapings from the
slaughterhouse floors and worse, so it was said. And their women gave birth in
secret so their children would not be given.

But the Ignorants were also feared because they
remembered things everybody else had forgotten, about the times before, about
the Green Woman and her enemies. Ezekiel knew the inhuman shriek that rang out
as he stepped out of the lift cage was not just the cry of a sandwraith or what
the Elders called souls in torment. It was a servant of Abaddon, the great
serpent.

 
“There’s another one.” Dan, Ezekiel’s brother-in-law,
shuddered and pulled his thin jacket tighter. “Same as the buggers we hear down
in the pit sometimes. Did you hear what Bragi and Nat were talking about before
the Flappy Trousers came and shut them up?”

Ezekiel nodded. “I saw the faces on ’em too. The
Flappy Trousers are scared stiff. They can dole out any punishment they like
for
seeing things that aren’t there,
but they know as well as you and me there’s something up.”

“’Course they do! You won’t catch any of them going
down the side shafts to find out where the moaning’s coming from. They wouldn’t
even go looking for Toby, Big Skadi’s husband. Remember? Not after the boys
said they’d seen him dragged down that disused shaft by one of those
things that aren’t there!

“The darkness is growing, Dan, all of the
mineshafts are full of it. The supervisors won’t let on, but even they’re
starting to feel it. I heard a rumour they’re closing a couple of the abandoned
shafts until
the problem
is sorted
out.”

“Problem!” Dan snorted. “What they don’t like is
it’s holding up the work, when the lamps keep going out and the props fall down
for no reason. They don’t give a toss about the lads who’ve gone missing, or
been dragged up from the deep shafts half-mad with the heebie-jeebies.”

Another wild cry rent the air, and the Ignorant
miners hunched their shoulders higher and hugged the walls, keeping to the
darker shadows cast by the tall buildings. Dan started nervously. “By Old
Pimply Arse, that one sounded close!” He grinned but his eyes betrayed his fear
as he peered overhead.

The shadows obscured the sky and seemed to hang
lower, reaching through the crystal, sending searching, elusive tendrils to
scrape the rooftops. Dan caught Ezekiel’s eye, and they exchanged worried
glances before pushing the pace harder, eager to be home.

“They’re trying to get in,” Ezekiel whispered. “If
they can’t get through the Hemisphere, they’ll find a way up through the mine
shafts. That’s obvious.”

“But what do they want?” Dan’s voice sounded pale
and thin in the darkness that was filled with the dying echo of the demon
scream.

“She’s moving, Dan, she must be. And the Black
Demon wants her.”
  

“You know what that means, Zeke?”

Ezekiel nodded in silence. He was thinking of the
stories of the return of the Green Woman. She had the power to mend the broken
Pattern and bring back the days of the old stories when the world was green and
the Ignorants were the Danann people.

He looked at Dan, at the eager expression on his
face. “You’ve heard what they’re saying about her, that she plans to destroy
Providence—”

“Bloody good luck to her,” Dan muttered.

“And they think we’re going to let her in.”

Dan grabbed Ezekiel’s arm. “If the Elders think
She
is moving, they’ll do anything to
stop her. They’ll spread any lies they like, and the stupid sods’ll all lap it
up and—”

“Aye, lad, I know. We’ve always been fair game, but
this time, who knows how far they’ll go?”

“What’ll we do, Zeke? Where can we go?”

Ezekiel shook his head. “I don’t know, lad.” He
slapped Dan on the shoulder and grinned. “There’s always the Garden.”
 

Ezekiel had heard the rumours, seen the reprisals,
the blood on the streets. He knew the darkness creeping into the city was a
reflection of the darkness growing in the minds of the Elders. Ezekiel was tall
and strong and not too old to fight.

The other fathers, and mothers too, would all fight
if their backs were against the wall. There had been massacres before, and they
had always survived. But this time, Ezekiel had to admit, he feared the
unspeakable was being prepared. The time had come for the Dananns to leave
Providence and find the promised Garden. Unfortunately, none of them had the
faintest idea of where it might be.

Dan grinned back. “Your Maeve’s always going on
about it being time we sent out another expedition. Why not round up all the
worst of the little bleeders, like Nat’s awful Ruairi and that little Psyche
pest with the ginger plaits, and send ’em out to look for it?”

Ezekiel’s grin faded from his face. “I have a
horrible feeling it might come to that, Dan, this time.”

Chapter
8
 
 

The bare cell
where Deborah was
expected to ponder on her sins and repent contained a narrow bed, a slop pail,
and had one small window that looked down on the exercise courtyard. Over the
wall of the House of Correction rose the ugly tenement blocks of the Ignorant
quarter and beyond, the vague, brooding wasteland of the desert. No matter how
long or how hard she stared, she could make out nothing in the thick, troubled
air of the far side of the great crystal dome.

Within the Hemisphere the air was heavy and
cloying, like tepid water with a little sugar in it. Beyond, in the desert
chaos, the wasteland created by the war, who could tell how the air felt on the
skin? The Elders said it was poisonous, like the breath of a demon, that the
burning sand rasped the skin from the bone, that only evil could survive in it.
Sometimes the erratic desert wind whipped up sandwraiths, twisting plumes of
dark sand that danced high overhead in wider and wider spirals until they were
lost from view.

Deborah stood on tiptoe and rested her chin on the
high window ledge.
 
She stared out,
feeling bored and resentful. Her eyes narrowed to green slits as they always
did when she was thinking deeply. As usual it was about the injustice of it
all. Women must obey men, and all must obey the Elders. It was all in the Book,
they said. If only we had lived by the teachings of the Book, the war would
never have happened, and the desert would not now be swarming with devils and
demons. But had anyone ever seen a devil? And what exactly would happen if a
couple had two daughters instead of one daughter and a son? Or ten sons? Or
none at all? And why was it sacrilegious to want to decide some things for
yourself?

Deborah knew that simply thinking heretical
thoughts made her a suspicious character to be shunned and avoided. Only Hera
would have anything to do with her. With a twinge of guilt, the thought of Hera
flitted moth-like into her head and out again. Hera was her friend, and Deborah
did not wish any harm to come to her, but sometimes you had to take a stand
even if it had uncomfortable consequences. She hoped Hera would understand.
Then she forgot about her.

In the exercise courtyard the boy prisoners were
walking round and round, reading aloud verses from the Book. One of the boys
stood out from the group. He was not shuffling dejectedly like the others; one
hand was stuffed in his pocket, from the other the Book dangled unread. As he
walked, he kicked out at small pebbles, raising up little clouds of grey dust.
Suddenly the boy crouched down, tossing the Book aside to peer at something,
something fragile and fluttering that he held carefully in his cupped hands.
The chanting stumbled to a ragged halt, and in the deafening silence, two supervisors
came running over, their white trousers flapping like drying washing.

Deborah could easily make out the shrill abuse. She
heard the sharp blow that sent the boy sprawling in the dust, the insolent
reply he gave as he was dragged to his feet. She saw the flutter of delicate
wings, a bright splash of colour against the dull stone walls, and the head of
the boy turning to watch. There was a sharp clap, and the insect disappeared
between the paws of a supervisor. The boy shouted shrilly and gave a hefty kick
to the Book that sent it spinning across the yard, its cover torn.

Deborah jumped up and down on the floor clapping
her hands in a wild burst of applause. She hauled herself back up to the window
just in time to see the boy being pushed towards a small staircase, and his
raised face as his eyes searched for the source of the applause. Stretching as
far as she could, Deborah thrust a hand through the bars and waved.

* * * *

The sound of boots tramping purposefully down the corridor outside her cell
made Deborah leap to her feet. The jingle of keys was followed by the grinding
of the heavy lock, and the door swung open.

“Slopping out duty,” the guard bawled. Dark eyes
flashed out of a face that was all bristling black brows and short
square-trimmed beard. He moved aside, waiting for Deborah to pass. “Get a move
on, we haven’t got all night,” he barked, pointing at the buckets standing
outside each of the occupied cells. “Take them to the privy at the end of the
corridor and empty them. The other prisoner washes them and you bring them
back. Got it?”

Deborah nodded, thankful she wasn’t the one
detailed to do the washing out. The buckets stank despite their closed lids.
The privy stank worse. She tipped the contents of the first bucket down the
shaft, and holding it out at arm’s length, handed it with a grimace to her
companion. The boy ran the empty buckets under a tap, swilling them along a
yellow-stained gutter that disappeared into a hole in the wall.

At the same time, Deborah noticed with distaste, he
was splashing the ends of his trousers with the filthy water. The boy turned to
take the next bucket and Deborah recognized the curly black hair and hawk nose
of the hero in the exercise courtyard. Her heart leapt in spite of the
unsavoury situation. He held out his hand for the bucket and nodded a sort of
greeting.

Deborah smiled, eager to win the confidence of the
rebel. “I saw you in the courtyard, it was me who waved. I clapped, I wanted to
cheer.” Her voice rose in excitement.

The boy put a finger to his lips. “Not so loud,” he
whispered. “They’ll hear.”

“Let them,” Deborah raised her voice a tone. “I
don’t care. What can they do?”

The boy frowned. “If you don’t know what
they
can do, then you’d best be quiet.
Tomorrow I will receive five lashes for blasphemy, and I hope I will bear it
like a man. But I don’t want any more just because of some girl’s squealing.”

Deborah’s face was burning with confusion.
Something about the boy had seemed…special. Something about him had made her
think of the dream laughter, and for a moment she had wondered if…The thought
dissolved into a sad puddle. This boy certainly never laughed like that. And
now she had annoyed him. She found herself imagining his pale back ripped and
striped with bleeding furrows.

“Come on,” he snapped. “Just give me the bucket or
you’ll have the guards over.”

Deborah’s eyes narrowed as she thrust the slop
bucket at the boy. “And I thought you were different.” Her lips twisted in
scorn. “You’re just as much a coward as the rest.”

The boy raised himself to his full height and
sneered. “And you’d know all about heroics, I suppose. Was it for heroics in a
dark corner with some Ignorant boy they picked you up, then?”

“Oh,” Deborah gasped in indignation. “You arrogant
little shit!” With a furious gesture she sent the contents of the slop bucket
over the boy’s shirt.

“Hey, you two,” the guard shouted. “If you like
paddling in crap so much you can clean out the privy at the end of the week.”

They finished their turn of duty in icy silence.
The full buckets were slopped into the privy, water from the tap swished round
in the clean buckets, and splashed in the gutter. Empty buckets rattled and
clanged as they were set back down outside cell doors. When the job was done
the guards escorted them back to their cells. They parted without a look, in
silent anger. The guards didn’t even notice.

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