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Chapter: #11 - Surely Sherl
Sherl was well aware that her position in life would now depend
upon some man. For the first time since she was a small child
she wanted to cry. Hormones, she thought. What a time to be
pregnant! At least she didn't show -- much, anyway. If the
game was about being taken in and sheltered by a male of any
species, she was sure to be the loser. Sherl was taller that
most men, with the exception of those last two sex slaves,
and built along magnificent lines that were intimidating at
the least. She was missing one breast as were all of the adult
Amazzone women, and she did not believe any man would want
her. And, of course, she was carrying another man's child.
She was quite sure that the father of this baby had no reason
to care about her or the child, and knew that the society
she'd come from had been warped in such a way as to make that
reasonable. There was much to discuss, but one thing she needed
to do was to get Marshall alone. Once done - how do you apologize
for rape? For she knew that was what it had been; the insights
she'd garnered during the last few months had altered her
more than she would have
believed possible. How could she have felt justified in turning
someone into her property, when that was the very thing ...
Internally, she seethed. That was what being an Amazzone was
all about -- not being vulnerable to the whim of any man.
She began to wish that she had never agreed to be leader of
this expedition. A thirst for the new, and a saner way of
life might be better pursued when one wasn't with child. A
number of her sisters felt the same. And knew that men would
not be attracted to them. Of course, that last didn't matter
much. Men, in her experience, weren't all that much fun between
the sheets. Oh, the physical side of things was all right,
but there was no emotional satisfaction in it.
She had not been forced to leave the Amazzone city, none of
them had been, and she might go back some day. But her sense
of adventure had lured her onward, and she hadn't given thought
to the untenable position she might be put into. Until now.
At home, her sisters of the Warrior lodge would have cared
for her during that time in late pregnancy and just after
birth when it was most needed. They would have helped to nurture
her little girl when she came, and Sherl felt a surge of joy
at the realization that her child, if a male, would now live
to grow up and fight it's own battles. This business of exposing
male children, while she had accepted it stoicly before, now
struck her as barbaric. Worthy of a man, an idea like that.
How had queen Opheltes ever come up with it, and why had none
of them opposed it?
The castle of the Anjele was quickly approaching, and her
nerves felt on edge. For her there was no possible approach
but
the direct. She was the putative leader of those women who
had wanted to make this attempt at association with men. Upon
arrival, she and the other women were shown to the old barracks.
It was a roomy, comfortable, barn-like affair with a communal
shower area, and stall-type toilet facilities. At least it
would have been comfortable if there had been even the hint
of color or softness to the furnishings. To Sherl's eyes it
was drab and lifeless. A lifelessness that didn't last long.
The women unrolled their colorful sleeping bags to use as
comforters and hung cheerfully colored outfits in the open
closets; and the barracks had taken on a new distinction.
* * *
Back at his uncle's castle, Abaddon was reveling in the night
air. Knowing that a boy who could fly would probably enjoy
being housed in the attic, Beelzebub had seen that his attic
was freshly painted and draped. It made him chuckle to think
of the joys of surreptitious night flying that he recalled
from his own youth. Of course, in his case, his exhausted
horse had told the tale to his mentors and tutors. He left
it to Abaddon to disguise his night forays by himself.
Abbi was pondering just that subject, as he knelt on the frame
of the lattice-work. He knew that his mother would not approve of his plans to survey the Mudmen's palace, however
tolerant she might normally be of his propensity to explore.
But
he planned on being careful, and was sure he would be back
before daylight - or not long after. Setting his sights on
the constellation they called Woman of the Sun, he glided
into the quiescent air. It was delicious. There was nothing
quite like the desert at night, when the small life that hid
in daylight was out and about. It was chilly and he was glad
he'd thought to wear his warm woolens. Who'd have believed
the desert would be so cold?
Abbi had discovered several years before that he was really
a night-bird, much to his delight. The dark held no mysteries
for him and he could see the scurrying mice on the sands below.
They crawled out of burrows that were sheltered by barely
surviving scrub plants and made for the nearby oasis. Before
him loomed the home of the mudmen. He blinked in surprise.
It had never occurred to him that they were so called because
their homes were made of mud.
The outer building was large and, though Abbi didn't know
it, was similar in structure to a Mexican-style adobe fortress.
He hovered over the top, curious as to where they'd gotten
the wood, and how they'd transported it, and -- oh, a thousand
things. He could hardly wait for the bazaar. Maybe he could
get one of the Mudmen to talk about themselves, if any of
them came. One of the lessons he'd learned from his grandfather
was that most people wanted to talk about themselves. The
center of the structure was an open-air court and he thought
that was silly. The thick walls of the buildings made sense,
given where it was, deep in the desert, but the courtyard
should have been roofed, or covered in some way. He swooped
in for a closer look.
She was standing on an arched terrace some 50 feet above ground,
and she was staring at him as if entranced. "Who knew
death would be so pretty, and it is a feminine character,
so the old verses were right. Kali, take my soul if I have
one, and if I don't, I prefer oblivion to what happens after
my next menses. Either way, thank you for coming." And
then she stepped forward, serene in the knowledge that death
was waiting.
Abbi heard the whole speech and was shocked to hear himself
called feminine, as well as to hear someone asking to die.
His young body was a stranger to the desire to die. It was
beyond his imagining. Surely, she didn't mean it. It was like
when he'd said he'd eat ice grubs and die - he'd regretted
it after the first grub. He dived as her foot went over the
edge, screaming 'NO!' at the full capacity of his over-developed
lung power. He was below her in the air and began to beat
upward with his wings, taking the impact of her fall in his
chest. Come morning, she would thank him for this.
* * *
Sherl groomed herself carefully for the meeting that night.
One of the other women helped her dress her mass of red-orange
hair in becoming curls which were held in place by carefully
placed braids of ribbon. She was nervous in her first attempt
to impress men. She wasn't hoping to attract one, just to
be attractive enough to bargain effectively. There were no
mirrors in this place so she could only hope that the effect
was pleasing.
For his part, Puck was overwhelmed when he saw her. Surely
not all the Amazzone women could be this -- large? A woman
should be a soft and delicate partner to her mate. Not a vivid
creature with red hair - and in a striking yellow tunic and
leggings. When Puck thought of a bride, this was definitely
not the image he conjured, and he'd had many long, empty years
to dream about the possibilities. Was she pregnant, he wondered?
Hard to tell, as something as insignificant as a baby would
be lost in that massive frame. But, perhaps she was just a
little thick about the waist? If she belonged to anyone she
wouldn't be here, he remembered. Must get her bonded to some
man as soon as possible. No unclaimed babies here. That was
no way to run a palace.
The concept of an unclaimed baby (unless it was a male) was
completely foreign to someone who came from a society of women.
The baby would, of course, have the same status she had. That
was what Sherl was here to negotiate.
Marshall was surprised at his own feelings when he looked
at Sherl. He found that he didn't really hate her. How had
he missed that look of vulnerability in their former meetings?
Then he remembered the unfeeling way she had treated him,
and that hardened his heart. One thing for certain, she could
never play the part of a `weak woman' with him. To do her
justice, she probably didn't know how.
That feeling was confirmed when she spoke her piece. She knew
what men were like, having grown up in a society that was
created to shield women from them. And she had very specific
ideas on what would be acceptable to women from her society.
Firstly, if a woman could do a job, then she must be able
to compete for it. Women were not, repeat not, the property
of any man. They were to each have their own status and occupations,
and those were to be on a scale with men's status. "What
do you mean by that?" said an incensed Puck.
"It's really very simple. We were visited once by a man
from Lord Marshall's world. He called himself `Ned'. He told
stories of how, for example, a man who cooked as his employment
would be called a `chef' and a woman who did the same was
just a `good cook'. There will be none of that here. If a
man is as good as a woman in my new home, he will certainly share the
higher title, (she sniffed as if it were unlikely that any
man could equal her women) but there will be no lessening
of a chef's value just because she is a woman." She took
a deep breath. "Another thing, no job will be treated
as being of less value because it becomes a woman's specialty
with few or no men in the field. Ned warned me about that,
too."
Marshall was enjoying this, for he knew how foreign these
ideas were to anybody raised under the rule of Yahoo. And
how foreign the idea of male equality was to anyone raised
under the rule of Opheltes. He knew that her steward, Hypsipylle,
would make some pertinent changes in their society and wondered
why Sherl had decided to leave. Truly, without members of
both sexes any society was doomed, but their new queen wouldn't
maintain the status quo - would she? Puck's reaction was surprising,
to Marshall at least. "Are you saying you want special
privileges? To stand as equals among men, you must be able
to perform as a man."
Sherl chuckled. "Well, ain't that interesting? A man
who thinks he's as capable as I am. I'm a warrior by profession,
and even though I'm more than `a little bit pregnant' I'll
be glad to take on the best of your warriors in an exhibition
fight. I'm afraid my responsibility to the baby prevents me
from doing more. As to the matter of chefs and such, why don't
we have a blind competition with these blasted Daemona as
judges? If my women don't hold their own overall I'll concede
your point."
Soon, much to Marshall's surprise, he was overseeing plans
for a fair. One and all were invited, and all would be the
judges. He drew from his memories of the local fairs he had played at over the years and was surprised at how many events
there were to be. As the lamp burned late (an oil lamp, as
the Angeles got their supplies from a rich supply of oil shale
near-by) he lost track of time. So he was surprised to see
dawn breaking while he, Sherl, and Puck rubbed their burning
eyes.
Sterling came bursting into the room. "Abaddon's gone.
Not in his bed and his mother doesn't know where to find him.
No one's seen him since yesterday. I'm leaving, don't know
when I'll be back." For the first time, Marshall heard
an audible clap of air as Sterling disappeared.
"Now, who in the world is Abaddon?" asked Sherl.
Puck told her, in slightly acerbic tones, assuming she wouldn't
care about the fate of a male child.
For his part Marshall was irritated as well as exhausted and
worried. "How the hell are we supposed to get there and
help them if every damn light-bearer in the place abandons
us?" And it seemed they all had, for the entire contingent
was missing.
Back in her quarters, Sherl gathered her warriors around her.
"This is our chance to prove ourselves to these people.
Desert gear for all of us, and remember to carry plenty of
water bags. I don't like the idea of a missing child near
the home of the Slamites. We've all heard the stories. Remember
that poor child who came to us some 80 years ago. She didn't
live long, but ..."
* * *
Abaddon was opening his eyes. The lids felt heavy, and he
wondered if he had to get up now or if he could snatch a little
more sleep before breakfast. As his vision cleared he found
himself looking into the liquid brown gaze of the girl in
his arms. "Am I dead now?" Her voice was full of
anticipation.
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