Chapter 12: The great city of Cucuteni

He commanded the earth to spread out like a carpet for you and enabled you to trace roads therein. He showered water from the sky that enabled the growth of many kinds of vegetation to nourish you and to pasture your cattle. Herein are signs for those endowed with perception. - Qur'an, Ta Ha, Surah 20:53-54


Zeremaya rode into the walled city with the supply people -- in a pronounced bad mood. It was bad enough to have to deal with any overprotective family -- dealing with a man who had decided that she was not the most dangerous person likely to be within the city walls was an added and nasty complication.

Adding to which that he was the primary reason she had to make this trip – when he had walked into the blaze -- his clothes had burned from his body. This city had men’s shops but he had to be well-dressed on arrival.

She had even tried to see if her 'clothes-healing ability' might be of some use come morning. This was not a slightly worn blouse, with maybe some ground in dirt, his clothes were ashes mixed into a great fire.

She grinned. He would have a great gig back at home at Burning Man, if his magic would work there, she thought. As it was she had to replace the very best clothes he owned, the articles used by him in his role as emissary.

That meant she had one morning to estimate what were the proper costume for a young non-gypsy man in this area, nice but not too nice, figure out how to pay for them, pay, and return.

And, if there was enough time actually, visit the temple and see if there were people there who could answer her questions. She scanned the crowd. In general Karl was just a little shorter and just a little thinner than the average man walking by -- that would make it easier. It helped that she was about as stout and only a little bit bustier than Apriliya, so she could blend in better than in full regalia. Her most important materials were still with her, slung in a bag hanging between her legs, the rest being guarded by Mother Faa, after Zeremaya had warned her at least two times too many that the items in the wrong hands would be very, very dangerous, and not in the way that would make them valuable.

She was able to find a used clothing store and worked through the open racks, getting a feel for local tastes and uses of color. She would then find a new-clothes maker and see if she could discretely pick up what the local preference for "silly young man" might possibly be.

The young woman in charge of the shop was very friendly, to the point of flirting. How kind of you to offer but ----- Zeremaya felt comfortable asking for directions to the local temple. The woman brightened and looked even happier, so Zeremaya made a slightly rushed exit and led her horse down the stone streets.

She had some money, of a sort, to give to the temple and to trade with. She had several beeswax-dipped bags of fermented butter, marked as over a year old and with Apriliya's mark on them. They were hers rather than the tribe's because she had pointed out the passing of the parasites to Apriliya, who was positively delighted and who then asked her to treat the whole herd and the whole rest of the family. She had also examined the various pregnant animals, and sorted out the male eggs from the female eggs so that Apriliya could hatch out only female chicks in a month or so, and eat the eggs that would have become male. Even though she explained carefully that not all eggs that read as female would indeed hatch, some would die in the shell as eggs often do, that was still well good enough for the farm wife and Zeremaya was sure that she would be asked to read each and every single egg until the gypsies left.

For that Apriliya had given her enough fermented butter so that Zeremaya had only actually rode her horse up to and through the gates. Putting her own body on top of that load seemed like a mean thing to do to a fine, cooperative animal. At this point Zeremaya had no solid idea if she was carrying the financial equivalent of bags of feathers or bags of gold dust, and she was hoping that 'green' would not stand out on her face.

Her hair was done in a fairly common style, actually, with the difference that many of the other women's felted cords actually terminated in glossy snake's heads, with a tuft of hair at the end dyed red and serving as little tongues. Up above, in hats or woven into the hair, were any and all matter of delicate porcelain flowers and birds, metallic leaves, and strange, unfamiliar objects. All in all it was a cheerful city, with people wearing comfortable, simple clothing and fanciful permanent decorations -- if you could imagine "late Edwardian" meets "seventies disco queen" thought Zeremaya fondly. The hairdo that Karl had given her probably meant, someone a bit simple and practical, but inside of the lower end of community standards for her age and Apriliya was that sort of practical person to match the hair so she probably blended in -- out of town, but not out of the ordinary.

Zash’s mother had even loaned her earrings to match the dress, and the lighter weight and greater movement startled Zeremaya when she moved her head suddenly.

Some of the men were veiled, but none of the women, unlike the custom of the caravan, Zeremaya thought. How strange to be a dull bit of paper floating around in a sparkling snow globe for a change!

The streets were laid out on a very logical, mathematical grid so it was easy for Zeremaya to find the temple. The temple itself looked like a bank, Zeremaya thought -- not particularly grand or interesting, but with a very welcoming inner door.

Zeremaya decided to turn into a side street and examine the city for a while before entering. Her gaze was attracted by a group of young men, looking as if they felt a bit dangerous, looking over her. Well, thought Zeremaya. What better way to find out what sort of treatment the out of towners might get. She allowed herself to be talked into taking drinks with the young men.

Five young men, one Zeremaya. Maybe a fair bar fight with Zeremaya not having powers, she thought. Yes, I am from out of town, and that shows. They should give me an idea if the people around here are used to guests from ---- way out of town.

After some idle conversation, Zeremaya asked for directions. One of them directed her out to the alleyway. Casually, his hand fell over her forehead. Zeremaya felt magic crackle – some of these people had power. He was reading her mind, sampling her memories. The pleasure of contact was overwhelming – Zeremaya tried hard not to leap for it, starving for contact. Rather than him assaulting her, she had to fight her own nature, not take all that he was offering – and a lot more. She reached out to see if she could heal him, knowing that this would drain some of her own strength. She could hear him gasping, knew his one hand was welded to his face as if she were loaded with live current. His other hand was on her clothes, but the link he’d opened was strong enough so that they stuck even through her blouse. With difficulty Zeremaya opened her eyes.

“Since copping a feel of my power is turning out so badly – I guess you won’t be raping me, huh?” He gasped, groaned.

“I don’t know where you have been! You’re a monster! Augh! Augh!” Zeremaya had a dim idea that his friends were looking, begging her to let him go. Dammit, she was trying. None of them was even close to within reach – he was going to have to take the full load or she was going to drain him, possibly even kill him. She felt him, trying to look for an injury, something to take a lot of crude, unformed power in a hurry, put enough of him back so she could disengage. Her eyebrows shot up with surprise.

“Oh.” One hand jetted between her legs, one on her forehead because her attacker was female – though genetically male, and because of that insanely lucky.

“Be who you are.” It probably hurts to go through puberty in five minutes, thought Zeremaya. She completed the job, turning a tall, ungainly woman dressed like a man into the physical form of a man. She could feel his mind turn over in disbelief, shut down from shock. Not a lot she could do, she had to pour out somehow. If he didn’t want to be a man after this he would have to find his own witch. He dropped to the pavement.

“Well?” she turned to face his friends. “Any more swans want to have a dance with me?” The others looked at their friend.

“What did you do to him?” one asked. Zeremaya chuckled.

“I pulled his balls out and his clit is seriously enlarged. He is and will be continuing to be growing into a man’s body. I’m sorry, I had to use magic on him to break the bond – not nice to pick other people’s brains any more than it’s nice to pick other people’s pockets.”

“Now, boys, or girls, or whatever you are, I’m just here to trade and not make trouble. You know that your friend jumped me. I’m happy to help you to pay for keeping our secret here, but I really don’t have time to ~find~ you if you think you all are a private news service, you know what I’m saying?”

The young men sighed as one, then the clump of them ran away, leaving her with her unconscious would-be attacker.

The city itself had been walled, but the walls were not particularly high nor particularly well maintained. Zeremaya guessed from the plants and animals and house construction that the weather here was fairly severe, and she had seen a great triangular swath of forest on the mountain directly above the city, so she also guessed that this was avalanche country. Any wall and series of protection in an area this cold implied that living people had experienced attack, but the people here were also guarded by their biggest problem -- the harsh climate and fickle weather.

There was a young girl playing near the door to the temple. There was also a pile of fruit available. Zeremaya smiled, and asked the price. The young girl smiled, and told her.

"Pick me out the piece that tastes the best, young sister." said Zeremaya. The girl frowned, pondered, and took one of the more wrinkled, misshaped pieces. Zeremaya bit in. It was a fig, fermenting, and absolutely delicious.

"You look like an intelligent child. I am not an intelligent woman," Zeremaya confessed, ruefully, "I never learned how to read. Can you give me the meaning of the golden words over the temple gate?"

The young girl started, as if she had never noticed that there was any writing on the temple at all. Zeremaya smiled. The girl was probably from this community and that which was ordinary to her passed by without her ever seeing it."

"It is impossible. It cannot be done. Now let us begin." intoned the girl in a tone of great importance. She frowned. "That doesn't make any sense. Hey -- there's writing all over the temple, over all the doors and windows. Would you mind selling my figs for me for a moment?" The girl sprinted off not looking behind her to see if Zeremaya had taken on the task the girl and given her. Zeremaya felt satisfied.

There are those who have been scarred by fear and hunger and misuse, Zeremaya thought. This girl is free from those marks, and does not expect to see them in me, a stranger to her city. That's a good sign, a very good sign for the sake of these people.

Zeremaya knelt down sitting on the length of her legs from her knees to her toes, and even sold a few figs for her. The girl came around from the other side, breathless and exited, ticking off on her fingers the sayings she had read over each opening. Zeremaya rose to her feet in a single, graceful motion and indicated the small pile of coins. The girl considered, and pushed one towards Zeremaya.

"For your time." the girl said. Zeremaya accepted, with thanks. Zeremaya walked her horse to the gate, picked up the "horse diaper" to contain any materials her horse might decide to donate inside temple walls, and talked over to the first window.

Zeremaya explained that she had earned the butter at Apriliya's farm, and the cashier beamed.

"We just knew she had some in reserve, we'll credit your account right away." she held out a hand.

"How do I get an account?" Zeremaya asked. The woman at the window handed her a stone donut on a string, and instructed her to look through it with one eye, "either your left or your right, it doesn't matter." Zeremaya did as she was told and instead of a donut she now had a blue stone with an exact replica of her own eye on it. It looked very much like an Evil Eye necklace, Zeremaya thought, hefting it quizzically. The string still passed above the replicated iris, and there was now a ring of gold around it. Zeremaya passed through the bags of butter and each time the gold outside of the token shimmered.

"Apriliya has a reputation for high-quality goods. The value stored in your shell is my best estimate; there will of course be a more formal evaluation. If there's something wrong with the butter your account will be charged. If you want to join the temple that will protect you from penalty deductions without a hearing and provide you with better service in many parts of town." the woman said, as if she was speaking a phrase she was as used to as breathing.

Without slowing down, or even paying attention to her words, she continued, "Apriliya can take possession of the token and give you hard currency if you leave the area, if she so desires, but the temple charms are valid anyplace under dragon wing, by contract and mutual obligation." she paused. "I do believe you are from outside of our community?" she said more than asked.

"Don't be concerned, I think I'll need to spend it all today." said Zeremaya. The woman smiled. "Then let me give you a complementary day pass." She took back the amulet and pressed a brilliant green jewel into it, where it instantly bezeled itself. "You're in luck -- many people honor a temporary amulet at a higher rate than temple membership."

Zeremaya smiled back. A woman walked up, removed the now full horse diaper, and replaced it with an empty one.

"What's it made of?" Zeremaya asked.

"Dragon shell. Wonderful stuff, takes a charge again and again before turning grey on you." said the woman. "I chose a fresh piece of shell since your green eyes are so rare --- 'cat eyes' we call them. Even an old piece of shell would hold magic long enough for a day job, but it's gratifying to replicate colors like yours -- dark gold at the rim, with all those brown lines mixing into dark green and all those little pale flecks -- your eyes are like looking into deep ocean water." The woman gave a sigh, seeming to truly enjoy her job, handing back the amulet with some reluctance.

"Anyway, I imagine that you will want to stop for a bit, worship the goddess for a while before the day warms up. It's still cold for shopping and the temple is wonderfully warm. We'll stable your horse for you for the length of your stay."

Well, that was a very convenient segue for me, Zeremaya thought, and nodded. Her horse went left and Zeremaya went right, with amulet around her neck and into the temple, following a helpful attendant.

Worshipping the Goddess, it seemed, was not about sitting and kneeling here. There were several options but the most appealing to Zeremaya involved following the scent carried on delicious steam.

After traveling with the gypsies for two months the idea of a steam room and privacy in general sounded like the best idea Zeremaya had ever had.

She walked into the first room, where the attendant instructed her to disrobe, locker her clothes, then lie down under a huge, hot white towel in a large stone basin. The attendant came back in, beaming. The tub was filled with sulfurous, effervescent water that swirled around her body, cleaning her as she lay. The attendant took the hot towel from the surface of the water and soapy water came down, soapy with a good quantity of salt. This too pulsed around, and seemingly through Zeremaya under the watchful eye of the attendant. The last change of water was faintly oily, leaving Zeremaya again under a hot bath sheet, ready to move to the massage table.

She lay down on her back and the attendant removed two huge steel swords -- for scraping down any excess skin and body hair, Zeremaya knew.

Last was a vibrating powder bath that carried away any traces of skin and oil, leaving her feeling tingly and very ready to return to Apriliya's clothing.

The attendant poured scented oil over her head, and smoothed her face by hand, dressing Zeremaya's face with the cosmetics she had seen on other women. The attendant held out a mirror, and Zeremaya admired the results. With the attendant's help she was almost up to the level of cute -- and Zeremaya wished to tip her.

"I'm a magic user, a healer. May I show my thanks?" The woman beamed, and Zeremaya took her hand. Zeremaya's magic flowed into the woman repairing any number of small injuries and insults over time. This also would have a second effect -- though any temple would be charmed to prevent anyone being harmed by magic from within this sort of display of power should be sending people in authority running. Just to make the point solid she reversed the flow very briefly, savoring the woman's hidden desires and, in a very minor way, fulfilling them. Out of respect she did not even allow herself to know what they were, just allow a brief taste of her attendant's longings to pass into her.

The woman excused herself and Zeremaya dressed. As expected there were visitors outside the door, and they looked very angry.

"What in Ballah's hell are you doing here?" was the greeting.

Chapter 11: Recuperation

Death is nothing but a continuation of life. The completion of life, the surrendering of a human body but the heart and soul live forever they do not die.” - Mother Teresa


The lonely sound of a freight train, far away. Zeremaya shivered, pleased. There were tracks leading from main city to main city here, but no roads. Maybe in areas where some great civilization had risen and fallen there might be some, but here nothing but crushed grass on a long prairie walk.

She looked to Zash, and then to Karl, touched him to take on a full charge of his magic and then turned heel and walked back to the vardo she was staying in before the visit to the city. Ulaanaa would be there. She would need nursing care, and she could see that Zash was not with her.

Zere’maya had met up with her briefly. Ulaanaa had had the repair surgery and was on a lot of pain medication, and still groggy. The gypsies had her in a suspension “cocoon” hammock and every few hours the weights needed to be moved around since Ulaanaa herself could not roll over on her own. As grueling as a procedure like this would be on a world roughly at 1900s level medical understanding this was a big improvement over thanking God for Chloroform and doing the operation herself, on a woman who hated her.

She checked Ulaanaa’s suspension system. There was a simple pendulum gently rocking her back and forth while at the same time imperceptibly slowly spinning her around as if she had been on a spit over a fire. A draining sandbag was gradually tipping her from flat to upright – between the change in angle and the regular motion pressure sores were unlikely. Ulaana was being given the pain relief medication, then would be switched over to the caravan’s supplies. Zere’maya laid a hand on Ulaanaa’s exposed feet, guiding Karl’s magic into her deliberately. Zere’maya could see the hammock also changing, taking on a newer form. She was no better at controlling the seepover than she had been before her long sleep, but it did seem that some of her own physical ailments had benefited by Zash’s stasis spell.

In the quiet of the vardo she could hear the low rumble of the passing train. There was no sound in all the worlds to impersonate a steam engine.

Zeremaya had had work in worlds far more technically advanced than her birth world, and almost any world anywhere was more magically advanced, but here was one of a society's sweet spots -- before cars, before radio, but with high speed transport. Everything in this world was just beginning to move just a little bit faster.

Today, if she was not on mission, she would be drinking good, strong coffee in the morning sunlight, warming her feet on the slate tiles of her kitchen, tucked underground in a cozy niche, in her burrow under the light of the great gas giant planet, never named, that her moon-world circled, with Ora, the other settled world, a green star in her sky, with her double suns visible in the evening, only when her home was turned away from the planet the two little worlds circled.

Once apon a time she had been worried, almost, with the idea of being so close to a sun that wasn't exactly a sun, that was far too small to be a proper star, and orbited like a planet does, but that gave off light and heat like a sun does. She even had tried to name it, just for her own thinking's sake. Nothing had stuck. There was no word for "a sky with a luminious planet in it" or particular reason to have a name for "a sky with a single, large moon" had been for people she had grown up with. "The sky" had "the planet" with "the suns" and that was all there was to it. She had read but didn't understand back then that her world with its one large moon and one close sun was really very special, very rare out there among the solar systems.

This world was such a rare world, Zeremaya thought contentedly, the first like it she had been on since leaving her own world. It also was just "the world" but she had heard that the people here were Goddess worshippers, with a great mother goddess and temples seeming much like what the women of her time had hoped for. There seemed to be at least a normal share of non-paradisical, ordinary quarrelsome human behavior, but she hoped to see a real temple with real priestesses for herself. She would need to, anyhow, to figure out how her mission here had gone so wrong.

Zeremaya was fairly sure she had missed her mark, wasn't able to communicate with anyone of the people who had sent her here but she hoped perhaps the educated in magic here would be willing to join with her and help her repair any damage done (if any) and set the matter right.

The final approach to the biggest city on the planet was as it would be in any of a thousand worlds. First, a few scattered farms, here and there. Follow the beaten path, come up. Stop the caravan obligingly for any passers-by, hope that they spread the word. Stop again to sharpen a few knives, buy food, share news of the outside.

Now, outside of the city, there would be excitement, and preparation for the next city. Zere’maya checked Ulaana’s vital signs carefully. She was able to reach into her pocket and use some of her equipment, taking careful notes as to how the healers here had tended to Ulaanaa’s injury. Nice job, she decided. If Ulaanaa can avoid infection at least one of the two fistulas should be healed, and they also had removed a good deal of the scarring.

Zeremaya wondered, briefly, if the people who repaired Ulaanaa were dragons, or something else she had never seen before walking around with a human face on, then let it drop. A woman came in to watch Ulaanaa, so she walked back out again.

She wasn’t tired – who would be after sleeping a week through – so she walked up to the main campground. A large group of children were practicing gymnastics. Several men were making music along the side. There was a slack rope set up, and one girl was practicing waking up the crowd, walking along the edges of an imaginary stage.

“Come on now, right up to the tape, you know we do better when you cheer us on – if you like what you see – clap for us! If you don’t like what you see – clap anyway! Yeah, we may turn it around if you go crazy, we’re like that, we’re kids, you know!”

Zere’maya laughed as the young girl pointed out acts that weren’t there, praised people’s performances then urged everyone to be “very very quiet, the performer needs his concentration.”

Of course, she didn’t get quiet. Next to her were four male contortionists forming rather amazing structures with their bodies, and looking in general like they had no bones on their bodies outside of their heads.

The young girl on the slackrope was contact juggling with a plate – first under her foot walking on the rope, then rolling it around her body, then roundoffing from the rope, gathering up the plate and making the rounds, thanking the invisible crowd for the wonders of her performance.

To the children this was like Halloween, only they were earning money for the whole tribe rather than collecting candy for themselves. Zere’maya smiled. Some of this – this she had done herself.

She looked over, trying to find Zash’s long, dark body. What was her skill? Sure enough, Zash was a senior member of the children’s troupe. She was practicing with a fire sphere, doing an elaborate contact juggle mixed with some contortion. She was being backed by Karl, who had two wands with streamers on them – standins for torches, Zere’maya knew. The lithe gypsy woman was easily head and shoulders taller than Karl, and she walked up his body, ducking between the “flaming” wands, stood on his head, slipped down his body – Karl could easily take any amount of punishment like this, so he would be an ideal stunting partner.

Their bodies wove together, and Zash picked up a pair of poi – clearly also standing in for flamers. The musicians saw Zere’maya watching, and walked up to Zash and Karl. The drums changed beats, and the two young people moved from experimentation to a deliberate fire dance. Zere’maya could see in her mind’s eye the stage over the baths, imagine how the couple would be reflected in the water, how the pattern of lights would bounce all over the insides of the cavern. This was what she had missed. Zere’maya would work hard to ensure that she did not miss such a performance again.

“I’d kill for a Krispy Kreme right about now.” She said out loud, and dealt with the twisting of her throat in even thinking about eating or drinking anything. Never mind that she was three hundred years from the nearest donut conveyer belt, she had to remain detached about the idea of eating or drinking until she was rescued or healed.

And ok, right, things had gotten a little out of hand with Karl. Enough so she knew that wasn’t what she wanted, and that Karl was falling in love with her. Or, more precisely, the idea of another magical being who was soft and female, and the breasts didn’t hurt. Oddly, the fact that she could hurt him seemed to be behind a good deal of the infatuation.

All right. Think it out. Zash wants Karl. Karl wants her, Zere’maya. Zere’maya wants to go home. Mother Faa wants Zash to marry someone with magical strength, like what she has. That would be Karl, except that he can’t do anything magical – he simply is magic.

She felt a brush against one leg and pulled out one of her tools. She could normally call out on it, she could work with it, she could play games on it. Zash at that moment was balancing a ball on her sternum, one foot on a slackrope. The Gypsies were very polite when hearing about the outside world but aside from the youngest children they weren’t interested. Not turned off, not holding themselves above – the subject was dry and nothing Zere’maya could say or do had made people even slightly interested. Karl and Zash helped her but at the first sign of freedom were glad to be off. There was not the slightest danger that anyone in the caravan would try to use her tools without her permission.

It was like trying to settle gypsies back home – if there was illness or social disruption of some other sort – maybe for a time. But at the first opportunity they would unsettle and go.

Zere’maya couldn’t make even a wild prediction on what the caravan could do if Karl ever did learn how to be a dragon except – the core lifestyle would not change. If there were gypsies who used spacecraft their children were probably rolling balls from one arm to the other, too.

It was also true what she had perceived as a child – the children earned the bulk of the income, the women the lion’s share of the rest. There was plenty of internal work in their society for Romany men to do, and disinclination to interact with the Georgio world – here as now. Then as now – children enjoyed and were proud to bring money home. Then as now – children love to hear applause and praise.

There was no place for gypsy children for school – as such. They were learning all the time. The adults could speak and read several languages each – when and how they learned Zere’maya found was an individual answer. Most looked at her as if she’d asked how they had learned to see, or taste things. Truthfully, Zere’maya had to tell them that she didn’t remember when she had learned to read, either.

Those who didn’t look at her with surprise (and maybe a tinge of pity) told her of learning one on one at an older age, but learn they had. Moreover, they that could actually used their skills. It was a different world than that she remembered as a child on Earth. She sighed, and dropped her device back into her pocket.

Mother Faa came walking up to her, interrupting her musings.

“We have need for some replacement items before the next show. We’d like you to ride along ahead and shop for us. We’ll give you money. You will then be able to look at the next town and see for yourself without identifying yourself as one of us, so much.”

Zere’maya scowled at her. “Yes, thank you. Unfortunately your message comes at a bad place in my internal conversation.” Mother Faa laughed.

“I was afraid it might. You won’t have to bathe to go into the next city, it’s not a medical facility. Also not so fancy. But I think you’ll have a better understanding of why I was so cautious by the time you’ve finished our errand.”

Zere’maya gave a long, sonorous groan. “This is just like touring when I was a child. We rarely talked about what city, or what wonders – they all rather blended together, just seemed like different versions of the same city. I would wake up not knowing what state I was in, and then, I wouldn’t even think about that for days on end. I was home because my people were here, it didn’t make any difference at all if this was New Orleans, or Crooked Creek, Kentucky, Seattle or Denver. What did matter was when we’d get to the next gathering of several caravans – the fairs. Are we close to a fair, Mother Faa?” she asked.

“It really doesn’t matter, we’d still have to sleep you at this point. You’re very different, and your talent can’t buy you your liberty.” Said Mother Faa.

“Eventually I’ll have to. I know I’ve – well, as they’d said on Earth, I screwed the pooch – I think that I’ve done something – don’t know what – that has gone permanently wrong. The children on this caravan know about offworlders but Zash is the only one who has even a tiny amount of interest. Karl wonders if the dragons out there can help him, sometimes. I don’t know if the local people, the main community knows about off-worlders, mostly because the people on the caravan don’t have any interest in the subject of main society. A little bit of distaste, a whole lot of boredom. I don’t imagine other caravans would be different? Why would I have to sleep through a Fair?”

“There are other offworlders among us, but you are the only human offworlder I’ve ever heard of.” Said Mother Faa.

“It’s true. Most of the worlds out there – are completely different than this world. Most of the civilizations are made up of creatures that live either breathing water or supported by water. The interplanetary space ships I’ve been on all had to keep me in a tank, in life support. I’ve been among people who live in ammonia seas – they use ammonia where we are built with water. Nearest I can describe my best friend is an octopus who lives in an ammonia ocean. I’ve been among water-living beings whose space ships are big water tanks, with guest accommodations built for an air-living person. The nearest thing to a human being is a gilled life form that probably started our myths about mermaids – but you’d have to have been at sea a long time to see one as a human female. There are quite a few shapeshifting beings, but humans are about the only species who could survive a world with no oceans whatsoever.” Zere’maya laughed.

“But how does that make a middle-aged young grandmother a threat to a Fair?” she asked.

“All those different people, from different worlds, all in one place – all with the exception of you were here to expand, explore. Wouldn’t the first thought you had with a sentient machine be how to get back to your world?” said Mother Faa.

“I’d want it to be ‘what was the threat to this world’ but I see your point.” Said Zere’maya. “I really do have to see the next town, find out what kind of mainstream culture I’m dealing with here.”

“That you do, and no one here really cares enough about them to have found out for you.” Said Mother Faa.

“Would the farmer here – Apriliya I think it is – would she know?” asked Zere’maya.

“Apriliya is a native of this world. She doesn’t know what she knows, ‘ask a fish to study water’. She knows we’re Gypsies, and she likes having us here. She is sympathetic to our ways. Her daughters have even traveled with us, briefly, to go from place to place. She’s smart enough to pick up our speech, but when she’s overheard us talking about otherworldly issues she thinks of us as superstitious, or as telling a story.” Said Mother Faa.

“Here’s the problem.” Said Zere’maya. “Ordinary visitors to a town aren’t explorers, either. They already have some idea of what they will find. I don’t want to go into town like a tourist. Tourists pour themselves in, take samples, fill empty areas. I’ve been under cover in other worlds for many ordinary lifetimes, and what I learned early is that space is something; it’s not a gap waiting to be filled. Nine times out of ten I’m here because someone is going to try to fill an empty space, because someone’s young enough or has hubris enough to think every corner of existence has to be shaped, filled, manipulated. People need to learn to be comfortable with empty spaces. Resist the urge to fill up every unfilled spot. Learn to tolerate and then to enjoy the void.”

“You aren’t like one of your Star Trek characters, are you?” asked Mother Faa.

“No. No, I’m really not.” Said Zere’maya. She laughed, rueful. “You know what? Me and Jaqueline, we’d love to be here together. Our daughter, too. Jaqueline, she’d be having a wonderful time, she’d get along getter with all of you than I do. She’s thrived out in the universe. I miss her so.”

“What would you be doing if you all were among us?” Asked Mother Faa. “Assuming that your Rhree wasn’t dead, you weren’t ill, and there was no mission. How would you use your time on our world?”

“That’s easy. Me and Jaqueline, we think in TV, early, cable TV and movies. That was our growing up time. We’d work hard, live your life, then come out on the hill here and imagine if we were a TV show – who would play us in the TV show about our lives. Jauqueline loves Gina Torres. My daughter loves JoJo. I bounce around a bit. I’d want to be played be someone who was good at comedy. America Ferrera could do it, I’d rather have her play my daughter though. It’s always hardest to pick out who should play yourself. I think I’d cast Brandy as Zash, and Karl? I don’t know, he’s more of a cartoon character. Something Foglio would dream up. Sweet on the outside, dangerous as hell on the inside, meaning well and brooding – maybe a young Gene Kelly?”

“And me?” asked Mother Faa. “Margaret Cho. Definitely.” Said Zere’maya. Mother Faa burst out laughing.

“So – you know Cho?” asked Zere’maya.

“Oh yes! And I’d cast you as Christina Ricci. Everyone would see that movie, just to see those two actresses play off of each other.”

“Oh yes, that would work. Gina would be up here, and I would be down here.” Zere’maya gestured with her hands. “We’d give Christina a curly wig and we’d be like the Eye Girls!”

The two women laughed, and Zere’maya mentioned actresses and actors, finally giving up when Mother Faa knew several Zere’maya didn’t know.

Zere’maya puzzled, “All right then – you have no tech to speak of and you’re a trashy TV fan. How? And when? The road doesn’t allow for time to sit down and boob out.”

“If you are with us long enough you can come with us to the Mountain, where we spend the coldest three months of the year. There’s all the tech you’d want there. But you have to understand the most of the people, to understand why we don’t just teach what we know to all of them. And why we don’t always use fancy tech – there’s more than you think. Keep on looking.”

Chapter 10: Alleliea and other worlds

"The world might stop in ten minutes; meanwhile, we are to go on doing our duty." - C. S. Lewis

Later that day Zash came up to Zere’maya. She was tapping away at a large boulder, not drumming her fingers but some other kind of motion. Zash had seen Zere’maya do data entry before, but this time there was an earnestness and dedication to what she was doing – she looked driven. Like any cat who has seen her owner reading a newspaper, Zash’s first and gut response was to stop this behavior at once.

Zash bent over. “What are you doing?”, she asked facetiously.

Zere’maya jumped. “Glad you’re here, I’m just ready to edit this thing.” She gestured to the small screen.

“Why don’t you just talk? I know your wand understands you when you speak.” Asked Zash, trying to delay her – if possible.

“I’ve told you, most people aren’t human. The first person I’m sending this to communicates by changing the color and texture on his/her/their/it’s skin, sometimes shaking little sections, like horses can. Entering the information symbolically – it’s like Chinese characters. They will read this in their language, the scant humans will read this in their languages.” Zere’maya racked her knuckles and smiled at Zash. They both understood that Zash was stalling. Zere’maya accepted this. It was as much a survival skill for Zere’maya as coming to terms with the sun rising and setting, and gravity pulling people down. Young people of every type, human or not – did this.

Zash looked up “I live in a universe that can’t hear – without songs, without the understanding of music.”

Zere’maya shook her head. “It’s not like that at all. Back at my home people who couldn’t hear sung – in gestures. The movements had their own music, as valid as any other. And if you could see my boss sing, you’d understand the skill, the delight, and you’d hum along, just as a hearing person can recognize sign language poetry when they see it – even without understanding the meaning.”

“Big universe.” Commented Zash.

“Bigger.”, affirmed Zere’maya. “Anyway, from your descriptions of the city we were just in I have a life cycle map. That’s a cookie cutter idea of what it means to be a human here – no one’s life, but everyone’s, without particular situations. Want to hear it?” asked Zere’maya. Zash nodded eagerly.

“I’m starting at age twelve. Makes more sense that way, I think. At age twelve a young girl goes out with her mother, who has an apprenticeship – in this case maintaining the great engines that supply fish for a smaller city. Your mother and her mentor have a lot of talking to do. You’re doing the scut work – making them snacks, running errands, cleaning up, entering data. It’s not a lot of fun and there aren’t many other children to be with. Your mother heard and complied with the folk wisdom “one daughter is one daughter. Two daughters is half a daughter. And three daughters is no daughter at all.”

Zash laughed. “That is true in the caravans as well as in the cities.”

“Sure. Anyway, if she doesn’t already have an older sister who is raising her baby, there are other young women that she knows of who have gone back home and are happy mothers, back with the grandmothers. As soon as your mother no longer needs an assistant you apply to your family, or to another family and get back to being pampered.

If you can you find a wealthier family than your own – but you find a family and apply and are accepted to your own house. You live with a bunch of granny women – great-grandmothers and older – who posset and pamper you through your pregnancy and as long as you can carry your baby easily you walk around with her. If you bear a son you get extra praise and support, extra cushy if you have a wealthy family so that your child’s father is right in the home, raising your baby with you. There aren’t enough men to go around, so usually you bear a daughter, and conceive that daughter at the temple. “ Zere’maya looked to Zash. Zash nodded.

“At her puberty you’re both antsy – you write around for an apprenticeship somewhere, and your daughter begs to be out of the house and free, too. You go to work at the baths – taking care of those engines, which are a lot like the aquaculture engines. You concentrate on the most interesting parts. Eventually your daughter grows up, about the same time that the woman you’re working for is ready to move on. You take her job, someone else becomes your apprentice. “ Zere’maya looked over. Zash nodded again.

“You’ve got the general point. Some women get a longing for another child at that point. Since most women have their first and only at sixteen or so, that would make this woman about 32 – still able to have another child if she wants to.” Said Zash. “Usually the poorer women try again, and again choose daughters. That’s when the wealthier women choose to have sons.”

“An heir and a spare.” Agreed Zere’maya. “Boys can’t have children. Obviously. Actually, the wealthier women tend to have these children at a natural gender ratio – I haven’t found any culture that tries for boys thoughtfully. Anyway, at this point the woman has been working along, and masters her craft. She’s getting stupid bored, and the hard physical labor is becoming more difficult every day. She’s got money saved up so she goes to college. That’s a group of women who pay a teacher, more like a salon. She usually goes for something that will enable her to plan out improvements on the guild skill she knows, becoming a master teacher. This too makes her money, everyone likes someone who has ideas that make life easier and nicer. At this point she’s the most likely to have a son – end of fertility baby. That accounts in part for the people here living so long – most of the sons are born from very old mothers. Add that to good health and low disease, and you’ve got long life with your body dying before your brain dies, which is the worthier way to do it.”

Zash nodded. “Yup, that’s what I’ve seen. And gypsies agree – best to have your body wear out and die with your faculties intact.”

“That traveling stage ends, too. They get to want to settle down, so they pool their money with other old women and found a new family, or bring their money back to the home that raised them. There’s babies to play with and food to make and lots of crafty things to do. There’s young women in the house for all of the hard physical labor, usually your own descendants. You then wear out doing homey things, people come more and more to your house, and eventually you don’t wake up any more – and you leave your inheritance to your house and your son or sons, if any.” Concluded Zere’maya. “That would be no one’s life, exactly, but basically the stages of a woman’s life. And women are the only people here, except for the outlying towns and scattered settlements. What I haven’t figured out is what happens to the boys during their lives, and where the dragons fit into all of this.”

“Boys if they can – and they try very hard – get the h*ll out of the cities and return only when old men. The old men live in the temples. Just like anywhere, most of the people who want to run away with the circus are boys. Girls – rarely. There really isn’t a point in their lives where they don’t have a role to play, people who need them. Every now and again we pick up a woman, and that’s practically always the women from the outlying towns. The straggling boys usually hang on until we get to the next city and are so incredibly glad to be back away from “barbaric” conditions.” Zash shook her head. “Some of the best and brightest attract a woman and join an outlying town.”

Zere’maya laughed. “I don’t get it. From what you’ve said all men are born rich, so they don’t have to work a day in their lives, and the ratio of women to men is something straight from a Gor novel, talk about a male fantasy world.”

“But not your fantasy world, either. Lesbianism is practically unknown. Think about why that would be.” Said Zash.

Zere’maya looked around, bewildered.

Zash looked surprised. “I know the partner you long for is female. Did you really not realize everyone can see that? ”, she asked. “I don’t know much about the relation of like to like, or where your daughter came into it but it seems right out in the open.”

Zere’maya shook her head, trying to get the bees out. “Chantilly is mine and Jaqueline’s. How she came about --, “ Zere’maya paused to try to explain. She sighed.

“You’re right, it was nothing like the way babies are made here. I almost never go to work with Jaqueline. On one of the few where we did end up working together -- “, Zere’maya paused again.

“There was some strong magic involved. We never expected to have a daughter together, but when we found out we were pregnant, we were overjoyed. Long, weird, complicated story, with details I don’t think your grandmother would like me to tell you.” Said Zere’maya.

Zash laughed. “I’ll let you tell me and mother Faa together sometime. I can tell you aren’t comfortable about the subject.”

Zere’maya sighed. “ I don’t even find it easy to talk to Chantilly about it and she repairs magic, as I do.” Zere’maya blinked. “Zash, are you flirting with me?”

“What does Chantilly look like?” asked Zash. Zere’maya sighed. “She’s my child. I know her well enough, and at so many ages. I would have an easier time telling you about Jaqueline, who she resembles more than she does me.” Zere’maya cleared her throat. “Zash, you are beautiful, really, you are, but you are weirding me out.”

“Tell me then – What does ‘Jackie’ look like?” Said Zash. A little bit of what she did with Karl and Zere’maya got squirmy. At least there was a response for her here. She didn’t dare try those motions on the boys her own age – they might tell their parents, and their parents might make her mother – or worse, Mother Faa – walk around hopeful. Zere’maya smiled.

“We met by accident, she saw me whirling away in the magic and reached for me. I’ll always see her, so brave, reaching to me, trying to pull me free, as she was being pulled in. She had never seen me before, that didn’t stop her.”

“She sounds brave.” Said Zash.

“Oh, she is.” Said Zere’maya. Zere’maya let out a long whistle, fading into a whine.

“She is usually oiled, and shines, dark and rich. Her collarbones arch under her skin, like a necklace gracing her breasts, like some sort of torso eyebrows. Her skin is about as dark as people can be, her nose is jutting-straight, like mine. Chantilly has both of our noses, so sharp it almost doesn’t look natural. Jaqueline has the cutest little rabbit-ears.” Zere’maya laughed. “Back on Earth my being mixed-race and she being Black would have been a big deal, but out here in the universe where there are so few human beings, that being human seems so much more in common. Like two people meeting up in Africa who both came from the same little Midwestern town. Almost a miracle.”

“I suppose that having a child with the only other human being I would meet for so very, very many years trumps that we are both female, somehow. I’m glad we had Chantilly, even though she sure wasn’t planned, she was serendipity.”

“You miss her terribly.” Said Zash.

“So bad it feels like dying.” Said Zere’maya. “The taste of brass in my mouth. Not that I’m not glad to have met all of you, and to be here, she feels like she’s missing, like I’m wounded. We always thought we’d grow to little old women together, sharing tea. She’s not magical, she understands that I am, and it’s like there’s a huge, aching wrongness in my life.”

“That’s not much like the relationships between women here,” said Zash.

“No, and that’s probably part of why this world didn’t jump out as different for me. Being community to people and loving people are not the same thing. This is more like a girls’ club world. I’m guessing that about as many of the women fall in love with each other here as in my own world, or any where.” Said Zere’maya. Zash nodded.

“And fewer act on that sort of impulse. Romantic love, like you and Jaqueline –“

“All right. Tell me the way the way this world works, tell me like you’d tell a young child, in nice, simple, language.” Said Zere’maya.

Zash clapped her hands. “Oooh! I get to tell you a story! All right, this is how it goes:

“About in 2020 in your time, in your world in Japan there was an escalator that was built over an ancient river, filled in with concrete. Women rode down the escalator and into this world. The spirit of the river wanted to go somewhere where people didn’t fill rivers in, so they/she/he/it came here. In the process a great many women and a few men showed up. We were already here – we’d jumped the creek to this world to be safe long ago – and helped them set up their first city.”

“The people from here are here more than ten centuries and came after your people did? And the people here don’t look particularly Japanese,” commented Zere’maya. “More like people from India, maybe –- all kinds of shades from wheatish to after midnight. And most people’s hair is textured.”

“Let me tell the story, ok? Well, there were only a few men and those men were those who prefer men partners. There were only a few young boys. The women got used to this. The temples are the descendants of the homes of the men, who realized early on they’d need some personal space. At first this was just a club around a bathhouse, then the men moved in for good.

At first women raised their sons as usual, but the women had gotten used to the way of life in an all-female society and that caused all kinds of trouble. There was lots of room to run around in and not a lot of supervision. It didn’t help that a lot of the most powerful and intelligent of the women were from a women’s acting troupe – you might have heard of Takarazuki?” asked Zash. Zere’maya shook her head. “Think Kabuki, only the other way around, with a huge female fan base. Lots of fans and quite a few actresses. The women and girls loved the boys who could get along well, but wished that they could find a way to only have wanted boys.

The rate of boys born that survived dropped. No one likes to talk about how. Grim business. But, even in a magic-poor place like this the occasional off-world trader comes through.” Said Zash.

“Even on Earth? Are there off-world traders coming and going on the homeworld?” asked Zere’maya.

“Good grief, you’re learning from the children!” Zash scowled. Zere’maya play pouted.

She continued. “The temple has a fairly accurate way to tell the gender of a child very, very early in pregnancy, and we believe they have at least one of the ways to prevent boys from being made in the first place –- Temple born children are very rarely boys. Most children are Temple born, from their mothers visiting the men who live there. Depending on the area somewhere between one in twenty and one in fifty people are male – and outside of other cultures here, like we Gypsies – there aren’t any ‘men’ as you think of them.

Most households are line marriages (you figured that out for yourself) where one group of women friends gathers together to have a family. As the children grow up they try to stay there and have children of their own. Larger or richer families often have one male among them but it’s considered a luxury to support an adult male. “

Zere’maya mused. “Then men don’t want to work?”

“Men who can attract women don’t have to, and the competition is pretty light.” Replied Zash. “Sometimes our men decide to join in on mainstream society, but far more boys join other societies running away from Aleleian society than the other way around.”

“I wonder what sort of man would really want to live in a woman’s world. It sounds almost like Mizora.” Said Zere’maya.

“You know, Mizora is a real world, not just a novel.” Said Zash. Zere’maya gasped.

“I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve been to the real Dinotopea, after all.” Said Zere’maya.

“The funny thing is that Mizora isn’t populated by White Russian-looking women,” said Zash. “In an ultimate twist of author’s privilege, it’s the home of one of the Lost Tribes. Minessah is filled with scholarly Jewish women, who eventually cast the author back out again. Mary E. Bradley Lane was the only blonde in that world.” Said Zash. Somehow Zash’s dark looks seemed especially beautiful to Zere’maya then.

“Oh and yes, it’s hardly a quiet place, it’s full of learning and technology, both magic and science living in harmony – but that being the only harmony. Most everything is as it’s described, especially the food, but the time saved is used mostly to turn the whole society into a women’s academy. I long to see it someday, when I get to lead I want to jump the creek and take the caravan there.” Said Zash.

“Crud, I’ve traveled around for a very long lifetime and never even thought to look for worlds of all women. Are there worlds of all men?” asked Zere’maya. Zash shook her head.

“Not that I know of. Most worlds with intelligent life don’t have humans at all and we tend to only go to the human habited worlds. And it’s been generations since anyone has left this world.” Zash answered. Zere’maya frowned.

“It’s amazing what people can get used to. When I hear of how men among the gypsies fare on Minessah, it’s as if they were seen as women – the whole population seems to have forgotten men exist. I’ve wondered if there was some magic going on there. Then again,” paused Zash, “Our men are just about as hairy as the women there, it’s as if the differences were seen as unimportant.”

“Do the people of this world know where they came from?” asked Zere’maya.
“They have long since forgotten,” said Zash. They have no knowledge, not that this would matter. Each young girl dreams of finding her home, her “golden combination”, with one strong, clear minded woman and her “daughters” -- surely you have seen the women wearing necklaces with linked rings, little figures all holding hands, whatever? Sometimes a man will be among them, but generally not – the women raise their children as siblings. Sometimes – often – all of the children have the same father, but he’s more like a trusted uncle among our people.”

“I’ve never encountered people like this,” said Zere’maya quietly. “I don’t know if I was supposed to be protecting them – or changing them – what the danger to the Magic was. I don’t want to change their lives, I hope it won’t mean changing what makes them so happy.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” said Zash. “It’s not magic that does it. Though the temple likes to make everyone think that’s how it works.”

“Oh?” asked Zere’maya. “How then? So we actually, know, we aren’t just guessing?”

“The men enjoy making mead, and many other products using honey. It’s a male-drone-bonding sort of thing. The honey that gives the best ‘kick’ also lowers male fertility to nearly nothing. There’s another sort of ‘blessed’ drink men use if they want to have daughters. There are hints, though. You’ll often see “look to the bee” and beehives and bee decorations.”

“There were intoxicating and downright deadly honeys on Earth.” Said Zere’maya.

Zash nodded. “An added benefit is that some honeys or pollens will stop a woman’s cycles and can be used for years, so much older women who want children can have healthier babies – as if they were young women in their bodies, while with the wealth and power of older women. Most women have one or two; rich women often have three – sometimes more. Poor women are more likely to buy the honey sold at the temple. Though everyone understands. Everyone talks a good game about how desirable men are. Doesn’t change how women feel when they are intending to have their babies. Lots of love for men. Little boys – however.” Zash smiled. “We don’t buy our honey at the temples.” Zere’maya understood.

“Do you tell the local people that it’s the honey and not magic?” asked Zere’maya. Zash shrugged. “People hear what they are prepared to hear. It’s not for lack of telling, it’s that the people really just accept this as how life has always been. They have special ways to talk about the societies with equal numbers of men and women, but to them they are just ordinary.”

“As it is any place where people live.” Said Zere’maya. “When I was growing up there was lots of talk among Catholic people on the joys of huge families, and the badness of birth control – and the women still had two, three, four children. I have to wonder if there was a gender pill for men if their mashed potatoes might not have tasted funny.”

“What does our place look like?” asked Zash. Zere’maya started.

“You mean from outside, out of the world?” Zere’maya asked.

Zash pointed straight up.

“I am beginning to remember. It’s difficult and sad for me because I can’t do so much – I’m so limited this way. I can’t go there – can’t even fly. Though flying did disappoint me, because it felt just like working the silks. Only without the silks, of course.”

“Zere’maya!” scolded Zash.

“All right. I just don’t know how much you know about outside, out there. The first time I saw this place, it looked like a ball suspended in black, starry sky. No moon, no oceans, just two ice caps covering most of the world, and much of the rest being desert and mountains. This is one of the least habitable worlds I’ve ever visited, that’s one of the last thoughts I had before focusing all I had into finding the person or place that was most ‘wrong’, the point of pushing.”

“Why do you push at it?” asked Zash.

Zere’maya frowned. “It’s because there is no better feeling. It’s like a release, like finally finding a bathroom you’ve needed for far too long, like the most intense pleasure you can imagine. It’s thrilling, almost painfully pleasurable. When magic comes loose from restraints, it’s ---“ Zere’maya gestured.

“Even in a world like mine, where very little works right and disaster is almost always the result of trying, the urge is built in. It’s the magic that calls, if there’s anything strange about “planet of the catgirls” here, it’s that the calling is missing. It’s like my insides are all clammy. Does this world have a name?” asked Zere’maya.

“It’s just “the world” for everyone but the Rom. Since we go more places than just here, we have to call it something. This is Alleleia.” Said Zash. “The sound of their flapping scarves, you know.”

Zere’maya nodded. In a world known for its harsh, changeable climate and fierce bugs there really was no season where a wrap or a shawl was not advisable.

“Is your spaceship companion – the Rhee female?” asked Zash. Zere’maya shook her head.

“Sometimes she takes the form of a green girl to communicate with me, but – I don’t think male and female even apply. The Rhee aren’t that close to human. They aren’t people, not in any sense like that. They are closer to a horse ~~and~~ the vardo, who loves you and takes care of you like you or I might love any of our working animals. I think we’re to them like cats or dogs or maybe horses are to us. They have humans. We really don’t have any way of communication with them. They can communicate with us a little bit.

“I accidentally walked into my Rhee during the disaster. Or perhaps my Rhee caught me. I have never been able to determine much more than that my Rhee means well, and I have to take on faith that my Rhee would never have left me here if she had any choice in the matter. It’s easier to think of this individual as a female, but it’s like giving a gender to honor that fact that she’s sentient – almost certainly more so than I am.”

Zash snuggled down. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anything other than human.”

“Other than human is all around you. It’s recognizing the other, that we are truly not alone, that is the real trick. Unless I’m seeing things that aren’t there, even on a cut-off planet like this the other than human is here.” Replied Zere’maya.

Zash looked stern. “Nothing other than human has ever introduced it, him, them or herself me, then.”

“That I don’t doubt.” Zere’maya looked distant. “I feel scared, sometimes, thinking that something that can kill, defeat or at least delay and distract any being as tough as a Rhee.”

Zash looked troubled. “So you know she’s dead?”

“I remember. I remember as if I have known all along. I don’t think I could have dealt with that memory up ‘til now, before I found myself a place among you.” Said Zere’maya. ”I’ve observed that, when faced with reality, people often do exactly the opposite of "facing and adapting to reality", they ignore it entirely. Denial is a powerful tool for emersion into fantasy. Fantasy has always thrived in the rough times, for anyone as an escape from the harshness around them. Times. I wouldn't count on harsh times to kick people into gear.”

At that moment Karl came walking over the hill. Zash and Zere’maya smiled at each other.

“I know you two are lovers now.” Said Zash in sotto vocce. Then to Karl, “Good timing.”