Emmi Itäranta - The City of Woven Streets

‘I don’t know,’ I say.

‘Neither did the midwife who helped deliver me,’ Ila says. ‘Do you know what is done on the island to newborn babies whose bodies cannot be named male or female at once?’

I do not respond. I have never thought about it. I did not even know it was possible.

‘If you haven’t seen others like me before, it is not because my kind are not born into this world,’ Ila says. ‘It is because we are not allowed to live.’

‘But you live,’ I say.

‘Only because of my mother’s courage,’ Ila says.

He turns to Weaver and lowers his chin in a nod. Weaver looks at her son and responds to the nod with a similar gesture, and for a brief moment their resemblance is so striking I am surprised I did not see it before. I have never seen Weaver’s face like this, soft with unspoken things.

‘When my son was born,’ Weaver says, ‘the midwife intended to kill him. She said it would be more merciful. But I didn’t let her.’ The words exit her mouth weighty, yet without hesitation. ‘I hid him in the only place on the island where I believed he would be safe.’

I finally understand Moth’s questions, why he wanted to know things about the House of Webs. I see the years he has spent in the House of the Tainted, imagine the childhood that was even more hidden than my own. I imagine the loneliness: reaching in all directions, the few and secret moments when a stranger who called herself his mother visited. The pieces move and come together, settle into an image where it all finally fits.

‘But the Council learned about him,’ I say. ‘Is that it?’

All softness falls off Weaver’s face, and for a moment it is a wide-open wound.

‘Yes,’ she says. ‘They could crush him like an insect. And that would be my end, too.’

‘You bought his life with mine and Valeria’s,’ I say. My voice is cold and hollow. Irena stands like a spectre behind Weaver. Orange and blue light flickers across her skin and clothes, tugging them in two different directions.

‘I didn’t know,’ Ila says. ‘I wouldn’t have agreed to it.’

‘He speaks the truth,’ Weaver says. ‘I’m only here because he eventually learned what happened and demanded that I come.’

I turn to Ila.

‘You helped me,’ I say. ‘And I’m grateful for that. But Weaver betrayed us.’ It is almost a cry.

A voice speaks from the edge of the room.

‘Would you not do the same?’

It is Tirra. I turn my head.

‘I ask you,’ she continues, ‘would you not save the life that matters to you most, if you were faced with a similar choice?’

She is right. I would sacrifice Weaver in an instant, if it brought Valeria back. I might sacrifice everyone in this room. The realization is an unfamiliar and chilly undercurrent, yet impossible to deny.

‘I don’t know,’ I say.

Tirra gazes at me across the room, then turns her face to Weaver. She turns up the palm of her hand, bends her fingers to invite more words. The eye on her skin stares.

‘In any case, you are mistaken,’ Weaver says. ‘Valeria is alive.’

Hope flares so white-hot it hurts and is gone just as swiftly. Irena’s eyes widen and her face sharpens. She stands straighter.

‘I’m tired of listening to your lies,’ I say.

‘It’s true,’ Ila says.

‘Where is she?’ Irena asks.

‘In the House of Webs,’ Weaver says. ‘She has been there all this time. The City Guard wanted to take her away. I managed to persuade them to let me keep her captive in the House of Webs without anyone knowing. I was trying to protect her.’

‘But you sent me to a trap,’ I say.

‘It was the only way I could protect you and the House of Webs,’ Weaver said. ‘The two of you had to be separated. Otherwise they would have killed you both.’

Alva has been standing behind me and takes a step forward, to my side.

‘We saw Valeria’s body,’ Alva says. ‘She had the same tattoos. Even the invisible one on her palm.’

‘It is not difficult to find a dead body in this city,’ Weaver says. ‘Or copy those tattoos. I staged her death, because I knew the City Guard would eventually demand to have her.’

I think about it. I want it to be true. Time begins to flow again, clouds move across the sky and shift their shapes, grains of sand fall in hourglasses and sea breaks free from its frozen spell.

‘If that is true,’ I say, ‘why did you leave her in the House of Webs?’

‘The house was evacuated with help from the City Guard. They would have seen her. I intended to go back for her later.’

‘Someone must go to the House of Webs immediately,’ Irena says.

A cold current rushes through me.

‘Not someone,’ I say. ‘I. I must go.’

‘Too dangerous,’ Alva says.

‘I cannot let you,’ Janos says.

I turn to look at him.

‘It’s not your choice,’ I say. ‘I’m the only one who knows the way through the web-maze. All other routes are cut off.’

Janos stares at me.

‘Weaver knows the way,’ he says. ‘We could send her.’

‘Do you trust her well enough to bring Valeria back unhurt?’ It is Irena.

A silence encloses the room. Eventually Alva says, ‘Eliana is right.’

I look at Tirra and Askari, who are whispering to each other. Askari straightens his back.

‘The choice is yours,’ he says. ‘We wish you the best of luck.’

I wait for Tirra’s words, but there are none. Janos says something to Alva, who nods. He walks to me and says, ‘I need to talk to you alone.’ His expression is tense, all taut jawline and dark eyes. I nod at Tirra and Askari and follow Janos out of the round room.

There are few places at the base that offer any privacy. Janos walks me into Alva’s makeshift emergency cupboard and pulls the door closed behind us.

‘It is not safe for you to go,’ he says.

‘Would you not go?’ I ask. ‘If it was me. Or Alva?’

Janos looks away, then lowers his gaze. His mouth is a tight line.

‘I would,’ he says. ‘But you don’t understand. Tirra and Askari will not stop you, but they won’t let anyone go with you, either.’

‘Why not?’

Janos takes a deep breath.

‘Everything they – we – have been working for is ready now,’ he says. ‘Every gear of the plan will be in motion soon. They are just waiting for the right moment. It could be tomorrow. It could be today. They will not be able to spare anyone. We all have our part to play.’

‘All except me,’ I say.

Janos stares at me. His mouth turns, makes a movement like he is swallowing something unpleasant.

‘You were gone for nearly three months,’ he says. ‘We didn’t know if we would see you again.’

‘I know,’ I say. ‘It’s not your fault. But it means I’m the only one whose life counts little enough.’ There are thick strands in my voice, jagged and bitter. ‘Besides Valeria’s.’

‘That’s not true,’ Janos says.

‘And yet it is,’ I say. ‘Dreamers would leave her to die.’

‘You don’t even know if she is alive,’ Janos says quietly. ‘Weaver may well be lying.’

‘I know.’ I look him in the eye. ‘But I cannot turn my back without finding out.’

Janos wears the two vertical lines between his eyebrows again. For an instant I can see how he will look in twenty or thirty years’ time. He gives a nod, another.

‘Be careful,’ he says. ‘And if you hear the flood bell clang briefly, then hear it pause, then hear it again, don’t head back here. Go to the trading harbours instead.’

‘I will.’

I hug him, then force myself to smile.

‘Take good care of Alva,’ I say.

Janos smiles back, but not without a shadow on his face.