In the streets and alleys of the city, the festival’s parade was in full swing.
Whistles rent the air, rising over the squealing and trilling voices of Pengali girls, the chants of boys, the cheering of the crowd and the deep thumps on the huge drum carried by four males.
Jessica rubbed her arms, where the skin had broken out into goosebumps.
A group of young males walked past, hair adorned with the same white flowers that grew all over the town’s gardens and neglected planter boxes. Some of the boys danced, wriggling their hips. Their white skirts did little to hide their swaying pride. Others, especially the younger ones, looked terrified.
Soldiers watched the proceedings from the street corners, brooding, silent. So many of them.
Iztho tightened his grip on her shoulder. “Come, my
