A Life Less Ordinary (12 page)

She grinned. “Why are you still wearing your clothes?”

I flushed hotly and they all giggled. I had never liked undressing at school, even before I had turned sexually mature and discovered growing pains, periods...and boys. The ‘in’ crowd at school hadn’t hesitated to make fun of anyone who didn’t meet their exacting standards; the fat, the ugly, the small-breasted, the large-breasted...anything that could be used to draw a line between one human and another. Whoever said that girls were the gentler sex obviously never met a girl in his life. I didn’t want to undress, yet it could be taken as an insult...reluctantly, I removed my top and jeans, followed by my bra and panties.

“Welcome to our world,” Sister Varsha chanted. Her friends echoed her words. “We stand naked before the feminine principle, the source of life and light and hope. We ask for the blessing of the goddesses upon our new sister.”

I stood before them, feeling the warm air brushing over my body. I had intended to strike an absurd pose, but there was something about the environment that made it unnecessary. They were all
comfortable
together and, somehow, that infected me. I felt comfortable too, even as I sat down on the grass and discovered that it was soft and warm, not scratchy at all. I figured out, afterwards, that they’d created the Sisterhood’s pocket dimension without any of the pests that featured so prominently in the mundane world. Whoever talked about sex in the open air obviously hadn’t tried it before talking about it.

“You are welcome,” Sister Varsha said, finally. She clapped her hands together and I suddenly had a glass in my hand. “Drink; there is nothing here that will harm you, although you may not care for all that we have here. And then we will talk properly.”

The conversation became relaxed, now that I had been welcomed into the group. I listened, without saying much, as they spoke, sharing their stories and tales of how they had found the Sisterhood. The Sisterhood itself was
ancient
, so old that it predated Jesus Christ – at least, assuming that one believed the very old women who ran it from behind the scenes. It claimed to have started as a cult worshipping various goddesses from afar, but later it had become devoted to the feminine principle, a super-goddess that represented the very core of what it meant to be female. I suspected, from what I had learned from books, that it was actually a representation of a concept. There was no way to know for sure. All that really mattered, as the women explained, was that they had the backing of a very powerful Great Power and the freedom to do their work without becoming involved in politics.

“You see, many women don’t realise their true potential,” Sister Varsha explained, between sipping her own drink. “They find themselves wrapped in chains of custom and convention, from the cradle to the grave. Those who pride themselves on breaking out of custom and convention often find themselves in the same boat, just expressed differently.” She snorted as she took another sip. “It’s all about power, really; male power over women and female power over women.”

That made no sense to me. “Do you want to know,” the crone asked, “why women aren’t ruling the world?”

I considered it. Women were, on average, weaker than men. A woman who got pregnant would, in the later months of her pregnancy, be far weaker and unable to fend so well for herself. A woman who was born in one of the less-lucky countries in the world would be treated as little better than chattel. A tutor I’d had once had explained that female sexual regulation was necessary to keep society functioning properly. I had never found the argument convincing. Too many people had done ghastly things because they’d convinced themselves that they were necessary.

“It’s because we don’t work together very well,” the crone said, and cackled nastily. “Why don’t women band together to protest their treatment and demand better rights? We could be spending our time developing a system that would protect women from men, but instead we spend it swooning over handsome men and competing for their attention. Why, I remember...”

“I don’t think Dizzy wants to hear about your long and adventurous life,” Sister Varsha said, quickly. I was fascinated, despite myself. I had assumed that the women who found the Sisterhood would all have been abused, but the crone didn’t look abused. “You had six husbands and outlasted every one of them.”

“I wore them out in bed,” the crone said. She sat up and winked at me. “Men are good for something more than just helping us to make more women.”

Sister Varsha coughed loudly. “You see my point,” the crone said, returning to the issue at hand. “We spend too much time competing amongst ourselves. The men – the poor loveable darlings – do the same, but men have a sense of proportion. How many women do you know who don’t?”

“Too many,” I said, slowly. The girls I’d known at school had taken themselves far too seriously. They’d mercilessly bullied anyone who didn’t wear the right clothes or had their hair done in a different style...I recalled one group of girls who tormented a newcomer who had caught the eye of the leader’s boyfriend. There had been nothing fair about that, but...men bullied each other too. I wasn’t sure that I believed her claims, even though they seemed to make logical sense at first. “I take your point.”

The crone laughed, seeing right through me. “Ah, you do not believe,” she said. “And who asked you to believe anyway?”

I shrugged and took a sip from my glass. It was a heady vintage, although after my head swam once it stopped affecting me. The pleasant glow that had come over me had more to do with the company than with the wine. It was odd, sipping wine while naked and with a bunch of other naked women, but there was nothing sexual about it. It felt more like coming home.

Sister Varsha sat up suddenly and looked suddenly serious. “We have little to do with the Thirteen,” she said, flatly. “We do not bow to their authority within our world or outside it.”

I nodded, although the sudden change of subject was disconcerting. “I was told that that was so,” I said, neutrally. I had been told nothing specifically about the Sisterhood. “I imagine that you would prefer to have nothing to do with them.”

“The Thirteen are very male,” Sister Varsha said. I was starting to understand what she meant when she called herself the Spokeswoman. The magical threads I had sensed earlier had converged on her, allowing something else to speak through her to me. Was it the essence of the Sisterhood itself or something far older – and perhaps more dangerous? There was no way to know for sure. I tried to open my senses, but there was too much wild magic floating through the air. “They seek power above all else.”

“Power to win mates,” the crone said. She too sounded very serious. “They know nothing of the subtle arts of female magic. They will never understand the Sisterhood.”

I shivered in sudden understanding. When mankind had been young, men had scrabbled over everything from property to women, while women had been effectively enslaved. The women had had to learn a different approach to magic than the men, spells that required little power and far less preparation. A male magician was likely to match power against power in a desperate struggle; a witch was more likely to be subtle, carefully crafting her spells to weave every edge of advantage together before starting the fight. I understood, now, why so many cultures had produced witch-hunts and religious inquisitions. They had been reacting to a terror they might never have understood, but they’d been aware of, even if only dimly.

Sister Varsha smiled as her face suddenly became normal again. “You will always have a place amongst us,” she said. “That is your right as a woman. Until the day you come to us ready to learn from the Sisterhood, go back to your master and tell him that the Sisterhood will remain uninvolved in political affairs. I do not imagine that he expects anything else.”

“I will pass on the message,” I said. I hadn’t known what to expect. “Thank you for showing me this place...”

“Oh, you don’t have to go yet,” the crone said. “You are welcome to join us for dinner and then to share the feminine rites.”

I laughed. I hated to admit it – although I wasn’t sure
why
I hated to admit it – but I loved being in the enchanted glade.

“Here,” Sister Varsha said. She pulled a small pendant out of nowhere and carefully placed it around my neck. “If you wish to enter our world at any time, use the pendant to open a gateway and just step through into our place. No male will be able to use the gateway and remain a man.”

The crone snorted. “You should tell her about the robber who tried to steal the Orb of Athena from us a few hundred years ago,” she said. She grinned at me. I suddenly realised that she had been there personally. “We told him that no man could enter our temple and remain a man...so we turned him into a woman and let him go. He – she – had quite a remarkable career until he died and the spell was broken. His poor husband had a heart attack on the spot.”

I laughed. It wasn’t really funny, but I laughed anyway. “One final point,” I said, seriously. I
did
have a date in the evening, after all. “What do you think of half-elves?”

***

That evening, once we had returned home and Master Revels had debriefed me extensively about the Sisterhood, I dressed for my date. Fiona had been quite happy to offer advice, but once I saw what she thought I should wear I put my foot down hard. I wasn’t going naked, nor was I going so covered up that he wouldn’t even be able to see my eyes. Fiona explained, between sniggers, that dragon courtship was different and they found human sexual customs absurd. There were times when I wondered if they were right.

Finally, I settled on a modest green dress and a shirt that allowed me to conceal several magical items I’d decided to take with me, just in case. The first time I stood in front of the mirror, it revealed that the back of the dress was magical, charmed to allow a watcher to see through the fabric if he kept staring. It took several tries before I was able to cancel the charms and wear it as a normal dress. I had no idea who had created the dress originally, but it was clear that they had been comfortable with showing more of their body than I would on a first date.

“Here,” Master Revels said. He passed me a silver ring, engraved with a dragon’s head. “If you need help, use the ring” – I could feel a complex charm woven into the silver – “and Fiona will come to your aid.”

“Thank you,” I said. I meant it. “You’re very kind.”

“Just remember what I told you,” Master Revels said, tightly. I knew that he wasn’t happy about me going on a date at all, let alone with a half-elf. I had no idea how his master had treated him, but it didn’t matter. I wanted a social life of some kind. “Watch your back.”

Fiona snorted. “In that dress, everyone is going to be watching her back.”

I was out of the door before he could come up with a suitable retort.

Chapter Eleven

Edinburgh is a beautiful city in the daytime, but at night it comes truly alive. The skyline of the Old Town is lit up for miles around, with the castle glowing brightly in ways both mundane and magical. The party never really stops during the Fringe; I walked past entire crowds of entertainers, pausing only to watch a man walking across a set of burning embers. As far as I could tell, there was no magic involved, only sheer grit and determination. The man who was playing with fire, including breathing and even eating it,
was
a magician, someone with a remarkable talent for controlling one of the four great elements of the universe. It struck me as remarkable that the crowd couldn’t tell that it was real magic, but then...real magic had no place in the mundane mindset.

I had agreed to meet Cardonel in the market, believing that it wouldn’t be fair or just to ask him to pick me up from home. The market was glowing with life as I slipped through one of the entrances and moved towards the bookstall, curious to see if there was anything new on the shelves. Now that I knew more about what I was being trained to do, I’d been told that I could keep an eye out for interesting or unique books and – if I found something unusual – I could ask for it to be held for inspection. At night, the market seemed to take on a more sinister aspect. I saw a line of humanoid bears walking through the market, each one carrying a gun slung over his shoulder and glaring menacingly at all and sundry. They didn’t seem inclined to break the truce that held the market together, but their teeth and claws looked terrifyingly sharp and their eyes promised mayhem and murder to anyone who got in their way. It was a great relief when they were gone, followed by a horde of tourists babbling on about the right to arm bears.

They weren’t the only sinister newcomer to the market. A spectre wearing a long black cowl – hiding any and all features from my eyes – seemed to drift through the crowd, emitting an aura of cold terror that seemed to affect everyone nearby. I felt, for a second, unseen eyes resting on me and cold terror stabbing deep into my soul, before the spectre drifted off into the distance. It didn’t seem to walk out of the market; it just faded away. A pair of adult vampires, wearing garb that suggested that they’d just stepped out of an adult horror movie, were bragging about their success in Hollywood to anyone who would listen. According to them, vampires were now more popular than ever before and innocent young maidens were just lining up to be bitten and drained of their blood. I had always known that show business had teeth. I’d never wanted to act myself, but one of my friends had tried to become an actor and had left the business totally disillusioned, claiming that they’d seen her as nothing more than a pretty face and a nice pair of tits. They had probably been right.

One of the vampires came over to me and tried to make eye contact. It would have worked if I had been unprotected, but the wards I had developed to protect myself laughed at such basic hypnosis. The vampire stared at me for a long moment, then bowed and walked away, leaving me shaking with anger. It seemed that hypnosis – maybe even Compulsion – didn’t violate the truce of the market. I walked towards the bookstall, putting the matter out of my mind. Perhaps I could convince Master Revels to go to Hollywood and start hunting vampires. I chuckled, despite myself. They could name a show after me and call it
Dizzy the Vampire Slayer
.