The Jekyll Legacy by Jaye Michael & Levanah Greene Chapter Twenty Softly, Softly

Victorian alchemy meets modern science and magic.
What could possibly go wrong?

The last thing a woman will consent to discover in a man whom she loves, or on whom she simply depends, is want of courage.

 — Joseph Conrad
Victory: An Island Tale

 

Na-Noc was suspicious when the centaurs left, followed closely by the men-at-arms and servants, so kept careful watch for a full day and night after, to be rewarded by the sight of the Wizard himself leaving with a train of luggage, provisions, apprentices and servants, guarded by a small troop of men-at-arms. He hadn’t seen the off-world apprentice, but reasoned that he might have slipped away concealed in the great mass of centaurs, who’d raised a cloud of dust that might conceal a hundred apprentices.

Even then, he hid himself from easy view and spied upon the entrance to the Temple of Zampulus, wherein lay hidden his most powerful sigil, by means of which he could once more dominate those he encountered, even that upstart Apprentice who’d wounded him through trickery and some sort of collusion with the centaurs and the Wizard. His hands had burned, just like the centaurs’ hooves, so he didn’t doubt that the centaurs were the real force behind this Apprentice’s supposed magic. They’d pay, all of them, once he became strong again and gathered in his strength in the form of human lives and bodies. Once they’d been subdued, the secret cavern they’d invaded before the Dark Gods had cast him out into that horrible world of hobgoblins and cockroaches might sport a few more slowly-writhing decorations.

“Is he still out there?” Rhea asked, scowling and impatient as ever.

“Sure is,” Phil replied, “although he’s been creeping forward recently, then dodging back to his bush and pretending to be a rock.” Phil’s notion — that the harmful dart he’d magically wished into Bluebell’s body — formed a link to its origin by means of which Na-Noc could be traced, so Phil found it easy to keep track of him as he skulked outside, starting at dust and blowing leaves, to judge by his movements. All in all, the whole affair reminded him of fishing, an activity he’d never been at all fond of. He wasn’t at all fond of hunting in any sense, because of the cruelty involved in the so-called ‘blood sports,’ the same general impulse, he thought, that made creatures like Na-Noc contemplate killing with pleasure. The only man described in the Bible as a ‘mighty hunter’ was Nimrod — whose very name means ‘nerd’ or ‘klutz’ in modern parlance, and had other dark connotations in Rabbinic literature — the man who introduced the eating of flesh to humanity, who were purportedly designed to be vegetarians, the man who first made war upon other people, the man who tried to kill Abraham, the ‘rebel’ who thought to build the Tower of Babel in order to ascend to the Heavens and confront God, not that confrontation was necessarily a bad idea, but the Rabbis agreed that he was probably up to no good, or God wouldn’t have been in such a snit about it as to give everybody in the world different languages so they have trouble understanding one another. In any case, hunters have never had a good rep in Jewish circles, whether the distaste for the trade is based on Nimrod or the fact that an animal killed by a hunter is invariably treif, killed as if by wild beasts, in pain and terror. God is supposed to have allowed humans to eat meat because Nimrod introduced them to the habit, and he made the concession away from vegetarianism out of concern for mankind’s weakness, but then hedged the nasty habit about with so many rules that vegetarianism would seem attractive by comparison. There’s a popular story — well, popular in Jewish circles — about a small town in Poland whose butcher had died, and the citizens were concerned about finding a replacement who was especially punctilious about adhering to the stringent requirements of kosher slaughter, designed to ensure that the animal experiences no pain or anxiety. They interview several, and had turned them all down for one reason or another, whether they weren’t quite as knowledgeable about the law, their knives weren’t quite as sharp as they could be, or some flaw existed in their execution. Finally what seemed like a perfect candidate arrived, with sterling recommendations from a host of Rabbinic scholars, knives that were perfection in themselves, with edges so sharp that a hair floated down upon the edge parted in twain so effortlessly that it was as if the hair had been in two pieces all along, as if the blade had simply reminded them that they had other places to go and so just drifted apart on their way to separate destinations. The town elders asked to see a demonstration of the man’s technique, and the man obliged, slaughtering a lamb so delicately that it was as if the lamb had simply fallen asleep, without a trouble or care in the world. Contrary to his clear expectation, the town elders sadly told the man that he had not passed the test, and the man was astonished. Hadn’t his knowledge of the laws been faultless? His tools and techniques perfection itself? The elders admitted that, yes, all these things were true, but they had to look further because, they told him, ‘Our old butcher, when he drew the knife across the animal’s throat, he wept.’

“So?” Rhea asked. “Does it look like he might try sneaking through the gate any time soon.” She was irritated, he could tell, and idly wondered if she could read his mind, since he was pretty sure that he hadn’t spoken his rambling thoughts aloud.

“I don’t know, dear heart. My experience of social interactions with Na-Noc is very limited.”

“You don’t have to get all sarcastic about it!” she said forcefully.

“I’m very sorry, dear, I didn’t mean to be sarcastic, even if it sounded that way. I know that this endless waiting is hard on all our nerves, and I apologize for my lack of consideration. It’s easier for me, you see, because I can feel where Na-Noc is, and generally what he’s up to, all the time. I’ve been unpardonably thoughtless in not giving you periodic updates without prompting on your part.”

She thought about his reply for only an instant before she said, “That’s okay, sweetie. I’m just premenstrual, I think. Too many updates with nothing happening would be irritating too.”

“Uhm…. Okay.” Like many young men, Phil was a little nervous about the business end of relating with women on an intimate level, and Rhea and Selene’s casual attitude about their periods, and other intimate details about their bodies, sometimes bothered him a little. If they could change that much in just a few weeks — or month’s, he still wasn’t sure how exactly how much time had passed for them when they’d been here before, because they’d already been gone for several weeks on his calendar, long enough for him to have had time to practice quarterbacking with the team, if not quite long enough to become fully-confident in his new rôle, yet they seemed to think that it had been only a few days, and had been surprised that it was Halloween already, but they were acting as if they’d been women all their lives, as if Hastie and Jack had both been vivid dreams, from which they’d woken up to their old realities, as comfortable with their bodies as if they’d grown up in them, had had mothers to advise them about the mysterious changes in their bodies, and had grown into their breasts and hips and… other things… over years of familiar experiences — what did it say about the nature of one’s personality and being if they could change so profoundly in the blink of an eye? If they ever went back to Earth, would they send him to the store to pick up tampons as casually as his mother did his father? The impossibility of their situation overwhelmed him at times. He could see that Mr. and Mrs. Lanyon had been changed, seemingly beyond remedy, since the former husband was now one of many plural ‘wives’ and pregnant with a centaur foal besides. He himself was in a difficult situation as well; with two wives it might be difficult explaining to his parents how exactly this had come about, but he did want to see his parents again, if only to introduce his wives, of whom he was very proud, admiring their incredible skills, loving them both with all his heart, yet joyfully married in separate ceremonies that few amongst his peers — much less society at large — would accept as anything other than a serial crime, if not necessarily a sin. He hoped that his parents would understand, and come to love them both as he did, but didn’t know what strains the situation might provoke in his wider family, or among his friends. He’d known enough gay and lesbian kids, even in school, to realize how fraught family and social situations could become when children — even children who were almost adults — strayed beyond the lines in the social coloring book. He didn’t think that his own parents would mind terribly much that neither Rhea nor Selene were Jewish, since they were Reform, and ‘Jewishness’ was a matter of negotiation, not maternity, at least for their children…. Children! He hadn’t thought about children at all, but he supposed they were inevitable, since they hadn’t been taking any sort of precaution, nor were the typical ‘precautions’ available in what amounted to a medieval society with no more knowledge of modern biochemistry than they had of flying to the moons that orbited this strange planet. He’d heard about the ‘rhythm method,’ but had no clue about how it worked other than an ominous mention in his mandatory sex-ed class that it wasn’t at all reliable, although no details had been forthcoming, nor had he been particularly curious at the time. Already he could envision problems, though, with two potentially-pregnant wives, both demanding pickles and ice cream, in different flavors, on a world which had neither, as far as he could tell. It wasn’t as if he could run out to the Seven-Eleven at the drop of a hat. He’d have to ask Akcuanrut some probing questions about conjurations in his new milieu. He was quite good at conjuring gold and other metals, and had at least participated in large-scale shape-changing, but wasn’t fully aware of what was possible and what was not. Did an object have to have an instantiation in the world before one could conjure one up? Did one have to know the chemical makeup of a food before creating it? He’d noticed that the wizard carried his food along, rather than creating whatever he liked, but perhaps that was for ease rather than possibility.

“Eh, what’s up, Doc?” Rhea said, in a passable imitation of Bugs Bunny.

“What? Oh, nothing, just thinking really. I’m not used to standing watch by remote control. It’s a strange feeling, almost like a waking dream, or like having two heads, one of which is outside watching a bush out in the dry fields outside the temple, and the other in here with you.”

“I thought most guys had two heads, one of which did most of the thinking for them….” She started tickling him, then reached a little lower.

“Rhea! Hang on…!” he sputtered.

“I thought that was exactly what I was doing,” she said in perfect innocence, while demonstrating her grasp of the essentials with a firm assurance. “Think of this as a scientific experiment, seeing exactly how many heads you can juggle at once.”

“But… but….”

“But, Honey, I need it. I’m a little crampy, and there’s nothing better at relieving my symptoms.” She smiled slyly. “Unless you have a secret stash of Midol somewhere in your wizardry toolkit.”

“Well, no, but….”

“Then shut up and do your duty, soldier.”

As it turned out, one head was about his limit in this particular situation, so he missed almost the entirety of Na-Noc’s movements until he was actually slithering through the main gate. “Oh! Shit!” he said, trying to extricate himself from his current situation as quickly as possible. “It’s Na-Noc! He’s already through the gate! I’ve got to get to the throne room!”

“You were just barely through the gate yourself, sweetie,” she said sourly. “Remind me to kill that little twerp slowly.”

“I will,” he said in haste, trying to put on his kilt and shirt at the same time, frantic to beat said twerp to the throne room in time for his prearranged rôle in their little passion play.

“And you owe me, Mister.”

“I do! I promise! Get ready for your part in this, although I sincerely hope you won’t have any part to play….” He gave Akcuanrut a mental shout as he ran out the door of their chamber and sat himself on the throne itself, trying to control his breathing and appear calm whilst waiting for the ‘little twerp’ to show up.

Na-Noc was trying to keep to the shadows as he crept quietly down the corridor, but he wasn’t terribly disappointed to find the Apprentice sitting on his throne as if he belonged there. There was no sign of the centaur who’d been helping him before, and he knew that the Wizard had left, since he’d seen him with his own eyes, so he was looking forward to the first portion of his vengeance with great pleasure. He could almost hear his screams in his mind as he anticipated the first touch of his hand on the arrogant upstart’s heart, knowing from long experience how it would shudder, and then stop, as he squeezed it dry. “Your Master is gone,” he said with silky menace.

The Apprentice shrugged. “Of course he is, but the threatening tone would be much more impressive if you weren’t so tiny and your voice sounded less like Cyndi Lauper. Do you want to try a chorus from ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun?’ just to set the mood?”

“Laugh all you want, Boy, but I’ll be much larger very soon, when I absorb your flesh even as I rape your mind.”

“Golly, you who used to be Na-Noc, I’m terribly sorry but I don’t date outside my species, so I’m afraid you’re just going to have to wank off instead. If you do, I wish you’d leave my throne room, as I’m sure the sight would be distasteful, even if there wouldn’t be much of mess on my floor.”

“Your floor? Upstart! Usurper! This is my throne room, and you’re sitting on my throne!”

“Sorry, but you’ve been outlawed by the Emperor, and all your putative possessions were forfeit to the Crown. Considering the inconvenient location, and the generally run-down condition, the Emperor has kindly allowed me to purchase the premises, including all furnishings and appurtenances, for one gold coin. It wasn’t even a very big coin,” he said, almost apologetically. “You’ve really let the place go, I’m afraid, and property vales aren’t really what they used to be. Of course, part of that was having you as a neighbor, so I’m hoping they’ll experience a resurgence once you’re gone.”

“I’ll show you gone,” the little creature sneered as he approached the throne slowly, the better to evoke terror in his prey.

Unfortunately, the prey showed no sign of the slightest discomfort as he said, “I notice that you’re carrying that strange creature, the Heart of Virtue, part of the furnishings which are mine, so I thought that I’d tell you formally that I consecrate that creature as hekdesh Mizbe’aah. Of course, we’ll have to wait for approval of its kosher status, but I’m sure we’ll have a Rabbi or two showing up in the near future, now that we have a growing Jewish community here.”

“What sort of gibberish are you mouthing, fool? Your ramblings mean nothing to me.”

“Oh, sorry. I reckon you may not be familiar with Hebrew jurisprudence. The Heart is consecrated to the Altar of the Lord, Supreme Ruler of the Universe, and I’ll thank you to hand it over for safekeeping.”

Na-Noc, alas, wasn’t listening to the last portion of this little speech, because he was screaming, crying out in incoherent anguish, which was the signal for Selene and Rhea to run out from their chamber by the side of the room, bows in hand, arrows nocked in readiness, while Thundercloud and Wildflower trotted out from the main door opening on the interior, followed closely by the rest of the herd, as well as Akcuanrut and two of his best apprentices, the last two individuals struggling with an iron casket measuring about four feet by three by three, while the wizard himself carried a smaller casket, less than a foot in all directions. “Well done, young Apprentice! Very well done indeed, although I’m not terribly sure exactly what it is that you’ve done.” He opened the smaller casket, took long blacksmith’s tongs already prepared for this task, reached deep into Na-Noc’s seething body with the tongs and extracted the Heart of Virtue, immediately plunged it into the casket and slammed down the lid, then worked at two clasps on the side opposite the hinge to lock it fast.

That done, he told the apprentices to set down the larger casket and go run and get the crucible of molten lead while the centaurs harried what was left of Na-Noc into the other casket as the only escape from their hooves, which were burning off pieces of him with every kick, filling the air with a nauseating stench. At last, Na-Noc had crept inside, the wizard slammed down the larger lid and locked it.

The apprentices had by now returned with a crucible carried between them, heated to a very dull red and sloshing heavily with molten lead, suspended in a four-handed crucible yoke and carrier that allowed them to handle it safely from a distance. In addition, each of them had a bucket of what looked like white mud suspended from one of the handles on their side of the yoke.

The wizard said to the apprentices, “Set down the crucible carefully, then mold a tinker’s dam around the seams between the lids and the caskets, and be sharp about it!”

They’d evidently practiced this task before, because they were sure and certain in their actions, molding a sort of thick clay gutter around the top of each casket, then whispered a charm to dry the clay instantly. “Ready, Sir,” they said in unison.

“Pour out then, the big one first, I think, so we can keep him safe during transport. I still have some small hope that we might rescue him, although the example of D’lon-Ra was disheartening.”

With surprising economy of movement, the two of them picked up opposite ends of the yoke, carefully brought the crucible to one edge of the gutter, and started the pour. The lead flowed like heavy silver water into and around the gutter until it lay shimmering like a silvery ring around the lid, sealing it hermetically, gradually filming over with a hazy film of cooling metal which wrinkled slightly as it shrank within the gutter, leaving behind a sunken valley which extended all around the center of the frozen narrow metal pool. That done, they shuffled over to the other casket and did the same, until the air was filled with the curiously hot smell of molten lead, combined with the earthy odor of whatever substance was mixed with the clay to help it hold its shape. Without a word, the apprentices then took wooden mallets and a chisel from some secret place within their robes, knocked off the clay dam from the larger chest, by now well-hardened, and then commenced to trim the excess lead from around the edge with economical blows of the mallet on the iron chisels. The smaller chest received the same treatment before the two said, once more in unison, “It is finished, Master.”

“Well done,” was all he said, then he turned toward Phil and the two centaurs who were Lanyon père and mère. “Shall we see what can be done with the sufferers downstairs?”

“We can try, at very least, Phil said.” He turned to Selene an Rhea, adding, “You’re welcome to come, of course, but don’t have to. I’m not sure there’s much that we can do for most of them.”

“We must come, Darling,” said Selene, “But couldn’t you do something like what you and Acky did when you made all the mares pregnant? They all changed their bodies as well, didn’t they? Or had them changed on their behalf, anyway. Why couldn’t you help them all? Surely being a centaur would be better than being dead, wouldn’t it?”

Phil looked over at Akcuanrut and raised one eyebrow. “Well, Master Wizard?”

“Not quite the same, I’m afraid. the spell I used is powered by the Fire of Creation, that is to say fertile sexual congress. Since both Wildflower and Windflyer are already pregnant, along with the rest of the larger herd, we couldn’t make any centaurs at all.” He paused to study the two barbarian women carefully. “On the other hand, Rhea here has just ovulated, and Selene is not at all far behind in her cycle. Either, or both, would be sufficient.”

“But I’m premenstrual!” Rhea said, eyes wide.

“I’m afraid your count may be slightly off, Rhea, an easy mistake in desperate times. Did you recently experience a ‘twinge’ or cramping?”

“Well, yes.”

“Breasts a little tender?”

She nodded.

“Not least, have you experienced any increase in sexual desire?”

Again, she nodded, and Phil blushed.

“You might get into the habit of checking your private parts, my dear woman, because you’ll probably notice a distinct change in the ‘slipperiness’ down there as well. We can go into the details later, if you wish, but rest assured that you’re extremely fertile now, and your sister is just now becoming so as well. If either of you, and my good apprentice, of course, would care to, I believe we could do as you suggest. This would, of course, be one route to the restoration of Selene’s parents to human form, although of course there would be one substantial alteration in Mister Utterson.”

Rhea cleared her throat. “I, unh… may have jumped the gun a little. We were… unh… in the middle of something just before Na-Noc arrived. I think my husband may have… unh, arrived just a little before that. I don’t know if that would spoil the spell, but I may be well on my way to being knocked up in any case.” She paused, then blurted out, “Not that I mind, of course! I want to have Phil’s baby, but I just wish I’d had a bit more fun doing it….” Her voice trailed off.

Selene laughed uproariously, then went over to Rhea and gave her a warm embrace, and an even warmer kiss. “Don’t worry, baby, we’ll make it up to you! We’re all of us in this for the long haul, so who’s counting individual kisses? Not me, that’s for sure. You know I love you both.” She looked over at Phil, then said to the wizard, “I reckon it’s down to me then, but that seems fair, since my parents will benefit if it works.”

“Then let’s go collect the Uttersons and ask them if they have any objection,” said the wizard, all business now that he had a plan.

Down in the terrible cavern, a somber but eclectic group was gathered, the Uttersons, Thundercloud, Windflyer and Wildflower, several others from the herd, as well as Phil and his two barbarian wives.

“You do understand, Mom and Dad, that you’ll both wind up looking a lot like Rhea and I do, once this is done, and will both be pregnant with Phil’s child, at least in spirit, so there’s no going back once the process is started.”

“Son… Daughter,” Mr. Utterson squeaked, “it doesn’t matter what we are, as long as it’s human again. After being trapped inside the body of that horrible creature, whose every thought stank of hatred, and of death and decay, I can think of no better way to get back in touch with the heart of life than to take part in its creation. We’d both be proud to bear Phil’s children, since it’s the two of you who’ll bring us back to full human life. I’m fairly sure the silent others watching us now would agree, and if not, they’re fools.”

“You understand, of course,” Phil added, “that you’ll both have a new lease on life as well, since you’ll both be exactly the age of your daughter, physiologically at least.”

“Yes, we do, ” Mrs. Utterson said, in an even higher squeak. “Selene is beautiful, and I may be able to help both her and her father through their own pregnancies, since I’ve been down this road before, so it would be my great privilege and honor to share in her husband’s heritage and gift of life, even by proxy, and to renew our own marriage vows under new names and bodies. If the cursed legacy of Dr. Jekyll has taught us anything, it’s that all things are possible if our hearts are pure, and that love abides, and is all that really matters. That tortured soul, whether Jekyll or Hyde, never did find happiness, because he was looking in all the wrong places, the same places that creature Na-Noc frequented, from which all roads lead to ruin and death.”

Selene was weeping openly by now, and Rhea in sympathy, “I do love you so, Mom!” she said, “no matter what you look like. I know it’s your kind heart and mind inside!” She knelt to pick her up and kiss her protean form.

She patted her daughter’s cheek with one tiny hand. “I know you do, dear, and thank you again for your gift to both of us.” She grinned and added, “It’s about time we were grandparents anyway, but now we know that we’ll have many more years to enjoy our grandchildren.” She beamed. “I do try always to look on the sunny side of life.”

“We know, Mom,” said Selene and Rhea in chorus.

“Well, then,” said the wizard. “While it didn’t matter with the centaurs, nudity being their natural state, ‘sky clad’ is the appropriate attire for sex magic, so if the principals will please disrobe?”

“Of course,” Phil said, and began stripping off his clothes.

Both Rhea and Selene doffed their own garments as well, and Selene said, “You never know, Phil, you may have a little left over for my sister here, just in case she didn’t catch the first time. If I’m going through morning sickness, she’s going to be going through it with me!”

“One for all, and all for one!” said Rhea, the third Musketeer in their ménage à trois.

“Centaurs!” said the wizard, “please stand ready to assist any whose position seems perilous when the change occurs. Human women are much less vulnerable than centaurs to a fall, but your height will help to ease the transition back to solid ground after being pinned to the walls like this, especially for those who had four legs before. I think Bluebell will be alright, as long as she doesn’t struggle during the transition, so one of you please keep an eye on her as well.” He paused to gather his strength, then said, Apprentice! Commence your part.

“I consecrate this temple,” he said, “and all contained in it or around it, both seen and unseen, overt and concealed, to hekdesh, for the purpose of healing and the alleviation of suffering wherever found, for the saving of lives, that is to say, of worlds, for it is said that whoever saves a life saves an entire world, for each experience of the world is unique and precious, more precious than gems and gold.”

After a short pause, the wizard raised his arms, aided by Phil, who stood sky-clad beside him, not cringing in the least, nor did his wives, who stood proudly by their man. “Dalaga! Dalaga Babae!” he cried, and it was the beginning.

This time the light started deep inside Selene somehow, centered in her womb, and gradually spread to fill the cavern, a greenish glow that seemed rooted in life, that filled the darkness with a green brilliance that exceeded that night in the field with Windflyer and the assembled herds by half again or more, penetrating every dark place and scouring it clean and bright again, green rainbows of glory in every shade of green, from deepest phthalocyanine green, almost black, through chartreuse, to the palest pastel tints of lime, all the horrors on the walls and ceiling of the cavern drowned deep in a sea of pure green, the deep green sea of women, sparkling like emeralds, as soft and all-encompassing as love, as strong as a mother’s faithful devotion.

“Ale!” the Wizard said, “Palitan Ale!” and spread his hands as Selene looped her arms around her husband’s neck and spread her legs, arching her body to capture his maleness in one swift jump and movement, as if this were the first movement in a dance as old as life itself, drawing upon the deep well of life, of love, that underlies reality, the endless explosion of life that radiates out into the void, all captured in one perfect pas de deux, the entrée of which had just commenced, proceeding promptly to the adagio, which lasted much longer, melding seamlessly into the first variation when Selene cried out, and her movements paused for an instant, then entered the second variation as her husband picked up the pace of their dance with an astonishing display of strength and power, bending her backward, still standing on one leg in an arabesque while she was cradled in his arms, then shifting one hand to grasp her thigh behind the knee and lift it higher, until she was poised in a reverse arabesque penchée, a vertical split, her body horizontal, facing up, perfectly receptive, yet dominant as well, because it was her need that he was serving, his body bowed low before her, almost to the coda now, his movements building to a slow explosion of brilliant color that overwhelmed the senses, left them all gasping for breath as he filled her womb with life and healed the world, or at least their part of it, and bodies started raining gently from the walls and ceiling, only dimly perceived in the blinding radiance of the light that centered in her breasts and womb, yet spread to flood the cavern with love and healing.

“Sukli! Gumamot!” the Wizard cried aloud, and the dance began again, this time with Rhea as the other partner in a new pas de deux. This time the light began in a deep blue green and shaded into blue, as healing energy filled the cavern and the minds within it with serenity and love, then fell back into the deep green sea of love that supports the world, floating on a brilliant swelling tide of dark passion that cradled the light, nourished it, focused the elemental power of it even as a rising bubble is made possible and visible by the liquid which surrounds it. This bubble world was filled with caring and benevolence, the selfless sacrifice of countless individuals to future generations, the yearning for completion which outlives the lover, spreading out like ripples on a pond, buoying up every floating speck in the deep blue-green sea and propelling it outward, onward, toward the future, bound for whatever destiny awaits us all.

The healing lasted longer than the generation, because it was more necessary, because both bodies and minds needed careful tending and surcease from pain, even oblivion where needed, to start from a past cleansed of everything horrifying or cruel.

When the explosion came, and the coda, it was gentle, fading quickly into warm peace and love, the perfect ending to a perfect day of love.

Phil straightened up and kissed both his wives, who kissed each other, then all strolled hand in hand, in no particular hurry, to where they’d dropped their clothes.

Around them, eyes slowly opening in wonderment, hundreds of women were waking up, their bodies free of pain and perfect, all of them strawberry blonde with green eyes, and wonderfully tall and lithesome. The Republic of Ireland would be very pleased to have any one of them on a tourism poster, because young men in droves — and quite a few women — would be on the next flight if any one of them were waiting at the landing gate.

“Ladies!” Selene called out above the general hubbub of voices, some of them alarmed, some simply gasping in wonderment, and said, “As you can see, you’re all alive and healthy, having been rescued from captivity and torment by the two wizards you see before you, and by we two, Rhea here, the blonde by my side, and me, Selene. Some of you may have noticed that you look a lot like me, because I supplied the spark that gave you new life, so we all look like sisters. Rhea supplied the final healing that made you whole again, so you might think of us as your two mothers as well as your sisters.” She smiled and said, “It’s a little complicated to explain, so I’m going to ask my husband to speak to you now. Please pay attention, because he’ll answer many questions.”

Phil held Selene’s hand for a moment before he began speaking, love shining in his eyes. “Ladies, I don’t know how long any of you have been held captive here, but I suspect it’s been a very long time, because your captors used magic to slow time passing, extending your torment for many, many years, perhaps centuries, so many of you will have no homes to return to, or may find your grandchildren occupying your former homes, or even strangers.” He paused to let a new murmur of conversation rise and fall before he continued, “Some of you — and please feel no pressure to reveal to any of us who you are — may not have been women before this new rising, but all of you can rest assured that we will supply dowries for all of you that will allow you to live in comfort, if not extravagance, for the rest of your lives, so you need neither fear poverty nor suffer any slightest constraint that might pressure you to trade your favors for sustenance or shelter.”

There was a new hubbub of comments and questions, too many to answer all at once, so he merely continued, “Ladies! I’ll answer individual questions later, but can tell you that we have absolutely no way of knowing what your individual situations were or are. The former owners of this citadel kept no records, and there are none left alive to tell us, so this day is the first day of your new lives, no matter what they were before, where you lived, who you were, or what you had in the way of family. If you choose to return to your family home, you may or may not be able to persuade the current residents — or any of your relatives or descendants — that you are in fact who you say you are, and how you came to be entirely different people, although we will supply a letter to those of you who want one, but it won’t really say anything other than what I’ve said just now, although it will bear the signature and seal of the Akcuanrut, Dean of the Imperial College of Wizards, which may, or may not, be helpful.”

He paused again, and then continued, “I’ve already explained that these bodies have been restored to you through magic, but an integral portion of that magic, the magic that gave you new life, was an act of love between a man and a woman, just as it is for every human child. As part of the process, you were impregnated as well, not for any prurient or dishonorable reason, but because it was only through an act of procreation that we were able to overcome your own deaths. Please believe me when I say that you were, for all intents and purposes, either quite or almost dead, and would be dead right now were it not for the fact that you carry a new life within you, as well as the life you were given. Please consider this a sort of trade we made on your behalf with Death, because you weren’t available for consultation, only your dying souls having been left behind. You have this life on loan, and may make of it what you will, but Death’s price had to be paid, and the price was the new life you hold within you. As I said, you’ll each of you have an ample dowry, so there should be no particular impediment to forming a new marriage, if you wish to do so, to live with any of the women here who share your experience, or to live on your own with your baby, whatever suits your inclination and temperament. It’s entirely up to you. We won’t force you to do anything, because you’re free women, all of you, ransomed out from the dominion of death and bondage into freedom and life. You’re free. Looking around you to your sisters, you can also see that you’re all very beautiful, strikingly so, if I may say so. If you’re minded to make a marriage, there are undoubtedly hundreds of men who would vie for your attentions and favor, some of whom may wish to lay kingdoms at your feet, or baronies at least. You inherit too a courageous spirit from your spiritual mothers here beside me, which will allow your hearts to soar to whatever heights you will, as well as an uncommon skill with every sort of weapon, which may help you out of any scrapes you happen to fall into. To be blunt, you’re the sort of women who won’t be buffeted about by fate without landing a few good blows of your own, the sort of women your own mothers hoped — or would have hoped — you’d be, and perhaps your fathers feared.”

There was an uproar of women’s laughter, and more than a few cheers, “Maybe you should be afraid of us, Magician!” one called out, still laughing.

“I’ll tell you this,” he said, laughing right along with them, “I have considerable magical skill and power, although not nearly at the level of my Master here, and am more than a match physically for almost any ordinary man, but even I wouldn’t mess with either of my wives!”

There were more hoots and women’s laughter, the general mood having been lightened considerably, as well as raucous comments from the audience. “You tell’im, Sister!” “Show’em who’s boss!” “Ride that bull!” and many more jibes like them, some not truly suitable for printing in a family chronicle.

Copyright © 2000, 2001, 2002 Jeffrey M. Mahr — All Rights Reserved

Copyright © 2012 Levanah Greene — All Rights Reserved