The Dark Citadel (The Green Woman) Read Free

down the shabby
street. Home!
    Dust clouds rolled up over the crystal dome, and
the light dimmed further. The dark end of the street, where the girl lived,
seemed unusually menacing in the gathering gloom. The sound of her running feet
was suddenly too loud, too lonely. She stopped.
    A scream rang out, a harsh, evil cry from the
depths of the cloud. She clutched the headscarf, wanting to hide in its folds
but refusing to show her fear, and cast about, searching for the source of the
cry. Standing firmly in the middle of the street, with clenched fists, hair
loose and wild, she raised her eyes to the unseen crystal dome, defying
whatever was hiding in the murk to show itself. The cry came again, harsher,
strident, and the girl, with a last angry glare at the blanket of cloud, ran
for the shelter of a tenement doorway.
    * * * *
    Far above her head, hidden in the coils of the sandwraiths—twisting
plumes of sand that shrieked in the wild winds—a demon blinked its yellow
eyes. It gripped the crystal Hemisphere with clawed wings and turned its lizard
gaze away from the city centre, peering down into the shadows of the squalid
streets. Dust settled.
    Dusk crept out from the cracks in paving stones and
mingled with the shadows cast by the buildings. Darkness crept along the city
streets, filled unlit windows, spilled out from doorways until the light was
smothered. Something darker than the night was slouching into Providence.
Something deeper than the night shadows, something uglier than the most hideous
demon, was creeping into the city’s heart. In the gathering cloud beyond the
Hemisphere, leather wings rattled, claws scratched the hard crystal, yellow
eyes peered, the demon waited.
    Suddenly it sensed her presence, and waves of
hatred rolled down the dingy street. The waves of hatred followed the girl,
like running dogs mad with hunger, then fell back, marking the spot with their
slaver. The demon had seen it, the russet aura that enveloped the tall girl
like a mantle of flame. This was Deborah; the power to reassemble the broken
Pattern of the world lay in her memories. If only she knew.
    The demon snarled. Dry wings spread, ear pressed
against the crystal. Dust settled. The demon waited.

Chapter
2

 
 
    In three
months’ time, Deborah would be sixteen. Then she would be married. Yes, even she
would be married, Serpentspawn or not. That was all the girls in her class
seemed to talk about, the stupid cows, as if it was something to look forward
to! Her green eyes flashed as she plunged the dirty pans into the washing-up
water. Well, she was not looking
forward to it. In fact, she thought she would rather be stoned to death as a
heretic. Deborah was going to get away.
    Her mother had escaped from Providence, and her
father had tried. She knew that much, even if she refused to believe the cock
and bull story about what made them do it. One day, soon, Deborah would do the
same. She would rather be torn apart by bloodthirsty demons, or the Deformities
who haunted the desert, than marry a man like her givenfather.
    Dropping the pan back into the soapy water in the
sink, Deborah wiped her hands on her apron and pushed a lock of red hair behind
her ear. She went to the door, casting a glance at her givenbrother, Baruch,
who had raided the sweetener ration and had sticky crumbs all over his podgy
cheeks.
    Baruch smirked at her. “If you go out, I’ll tell.”
His cherubic features twisted into an unpleasant grimace.
    “Want to find a scorpion in your bed tonight?”
    The colour drained from Baruch’s rosy cheeks, and
he watched in silence as Deborah flounced out of the door.
    * * * *
    She just had to get out of the apartment she called home but which had all
the charm and warmth of a prison cell. Yet once the door closed behind her, she
hesitated. Deborah didn’t care that it was forbidden—she paused because
she was afraid. Fear walked behind her every day, making her jump at shadows
and constantly look over her