by Dante King
Eventually, Nigel managed to get Rick up the right way—a feat in itself, as Rick was about as agile as a grand piano—and moving about the sky with something that approached average control.
When he wasn’t in imminent danger of plummeting to his death and leaving an asteroid crater in the countryside below, I looked around.
“Shit!” I said. The word came quite of its own accord. Sheer beauty was spread out below me like a patchwork quilt. “If you’d asked me what I was going to be doing mid-afternoon today, I doubt I would have thought I’d be up here!”
Bradley shook his head and beamed out at the world that was visible below us. “You know what, I don’t think I would either.”
We were directly over the Mazirian Academy, the great sprawling mass of buildings and grounds spreading from the top of the hill on which the Academy’s main edifice sat. The outer buildings, swimming pool, obstacle courses, shimmering glasshouses, and combat arena dispersed down the sides of the hill like the run-off from a cracked egg.
With a slight craning of the head, I could see the quaint snaking streets and toybox buildings of Nevermoor, the village that hugged the hill. It looked like a Playmobil town, with the carts and horseless carriages moving like bugs along the winding roads and the steeply pitched roofs pointing up at us. I could easily make out the forms of individual people as they hurried or dawdled along on their own individual daily missions. The little river that ran through the heart of the town, and over which I had to cross a few footbridges on my way to the Academy each day, glittered like a strand of spilled mercury.
“Man, the frat looks pretty freakin’ cool from up here, don’t you think?” Damien asked me, pointing over to where our fraternity house—my parents’ old pad and my family home—sat tall and thin on the low cliff that overlooked Nevermoor from the west.
I smiled down at it. I’d obviously never seen it from this drone’s-eye point of view before, and I had to admit it did look good.
“Yeah, buddy,” I said, “it’s certainly got character, doesn’t it?”
“It has style,” Bradley said.
“All right, chaps,” Nigel said, floating down with Rick in tow, “I think the big man here has the confidence he needs now. It just takes a little coordination of body and mind. Tricky sometimes.”
I gave Rick a thumbs-up. “Come on, big fella, the best way to shake those jitters is to practice.”
Rick nodded. “You’re right, friend.” He sat up a little straighter on his broomstick and only flinched a little when his ride wobbled underneath him.
We stayed in the air for a few minutes and soaked in the aesthetically pleasing vista. Emerald green hills rolling away from the town like ripples in a giant’s tablecloth. Little ponds shining like silver dollars in the light of the early evening sun. Swathes of dark forest swaying like shadow made solid. Purple mountains marching along the edge of sight on the far horizon.
I squinted toward the edge of Nevermoor. I was looking for something specific.
“I know where to take our maiden voyage, boys,” I said, grinning to myself.
“Where?” Rick asked, clearly trying to take his mind off his capricious broomstick.
“The nunnery,” I said, and pointed off to the far edge of town where a tall, long stone building sat in the middle of an orchard.
“The nunnery?” Nigel asked. “Can I ask why we’d want to go there? Have you found religion?”
“Oh yeah, Nigel,” I said, “I found religion. Found it tucked at the bottom of my bed along with the empty booze bottles, half-smoked joints, and plethora of lady’s underpants.” I rolled my eyes. “No. The reason I want to check this place out is because of a story I heard about our illustrious Rune Mystic, Igor.”
“What did he do?” Bradley asked.
“Apparently, he got hammered and ended up flying his broomstick through a nunnery window. Then, while he was bumbling about and trying to make good his escape, he managed to turn all the doorknobs into dildos.”
“That sounds…” Rick rumbled.
“Unsurprising,” Nigel finished.
I pointed to the nunnery, its many windows already glowing with a warm and inviting light, even in the brightness of the late afternoon sun.
”Last one there,” I said, “has to get the first round when we stop off at The Little Giant Tavern on the way home. On my mark.”
“Oh, you’re on,” Damien said.
Bradley lowered himself closer to his broomstick handle.
Nigel narrowed his eyes in concentration.
Rick swallowed. “Good thing I brought my wallet, I guess.”
“And... go!” I said.
Chapter Thirteen
The rest of the boys shot forward, toward the nunnery. I, on the other hand, dropped into an instant dive. I allowed gravity to pull me toward the deck as I tucked myself close in to my broomstick and made myself as streamlined as possible. At the height that we’d been hovering, there was no way that I was going to hit terminal velocity. But I might hit at least ninety miles per hour before I was forced to pull out of my dive. I squinted against the blasting wind as I allowed myself to freefall. When I was about fifty feet from the ground, I drew mana through my vector, wrenched my broomstick level, and planted my metaphorical foot into the carpet.
With the added speed gravity had given me, I shot like a bullet. My eyes were screwed into slits, through which I could just make out the tops of trees and barns and hills as I blitzed over the countryside. I punched through a gap between two tall pines, dodging under a hanging branch as I went and sending a pair of extremely perturbed starlings, twittering madly, into the air.
I kept as low as I dared, hugging the landscape like a falcon after a rabbit.
This is joy! This is freedom! This is pure, addictive adrenaline! I whooped internally as I rocketed toward a large field of sheep with a typical barn standing behind them. I was fucking booking it now.
I passed over the tops of the sheep with a rushing fwooooosh of disturbed air that must have sent half the flock to shitting themselves on the spot. I didn’t even hear their disgruntled baaing, I was past them so quickly.
I gave the broomstick a tweak, changed my trajectory, and shot into the interior of the barn. I ripped through the hayloft and out of the open rear door of the barn, a stream of hay following me as it was whipped up by the wind of my passing.
“Where are you, fellas?” I growled into the air as it battered against my face. I could see the nunnery ahead, one of its towers looming out of the orchard. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a figure drop down out of the heavens. It was Nigel, the Wind Mage, as I should have guessed. If there was any guy who was going to win this little race, I would have put money on the halfling.
I pressed myself closer to the handle of my Solarphine Stick, being careful not to nudge it downward and end up using my face as a plow blade. I picked up a bit more speed as I entered the orchard. I weaved my way through the trees with the skill and precision that Will Smith exhibited in Independence Day when he was trying to lose those aliens in the gorge.
The nunnery loomed into plain view as my toes skimmed through the tall grass. A shadow passed over me, and Nigel Windmaker dropped in behind me. I caught his eye extremely briefly, and he grinned. The two of us were side by side now, rocketing along and leaving a wake of whisked up pollen behind us.
“First hand on the building!” I yelled over the rushing wind.
“Agreed!” Nigel yelled back in his high, piercing falsetto.
This meant that we would have to dismount to touch the nunnery and secure the prestigious place of race winner. At the same time, though we gave no sign to each other, Nigel and I pulled our broomsticks up to a jarring halt and dismounted. My halfling mate was quicker on the dismount, but those shorter legs of his were at a disadvantage in the unkempt, long grass of the orchard. Whatever else the nuns were here, it was clear that they weren’t much into the gardening side of life. That wasn’t to say that it was
an unpleasant little spot, but there was no order. Everything was allowed to grow in wild and unchecked profusion. It was gardening as Gaia might have intended it.
I was ahead by about two paces, and already mentally celebrating my victory, when Nigel hit me with an ankle-tap. In typical Nigel style, it was perfectly weighted. The desired effect was sending me tumbling ass over tit. I rolled onto the springy turf, but kept my wits about me enough to stick out my own hand and catch the Wind Mage’s trailing leg and seize it.
“Oomph!” Nigel exclaimed as he joined me in the grass.
Then we were wrestling and thrashing, each of us trying to get the better of the other. I was far bigger and heavier than Nigel, but the little halfling was as slippery as an eel and seemed to be made entirely of elbows and knees.
“What in the name of all that is holy and sacrosanct do you think you two are doing, you young heathens!” a shrill voice cried from just over our heads.
The two of us froze in our grappling. Slowly, we looked up. I spat a strand of grass out of my mouth, and I felt Nigel relax his forearm from where he was gripping me around the neck.
“Well?” the nun demanded, staring down at us through a formidable pair of pince nez.
“Well, look,” I started to say, “the thing is we…”
The nun, an older woman with black hair that was shot with liberal amounts of gray, glared down at us. Her eyes were green as old dollar bills. Her face was creased in the corners of her mouth and eyes. She must have been in her late forties. She looked pissed, but I also noticed signs of concealed and cloaked amusement in her countenance.
“Th-this is a—a—” Nigel stuttered.
“This is a pilgrimage, of sorts,” I said, drawing a bit of divine inspiration from our surroundings.
There was a trio of dull thuds, and the nun looked over mine and Nigel’s head.
“We can explain,” I heard Bradley say, though it sounded very much like he was about to draw a big fat blank if the nun asked him how.
“Yes,” she said acidly, “your friend here just told me that this is a pilgrimage.”
Damien, Rick, Nigel, and Bradley all looked at me.
“Well, it is, in a way,” I said.
Disentangling myself from Nigel, I got to my feet and brushed myself down. Then I looked up and addressed the nun, trying to charm her with a one-hundred watt smile.
“We’re here,” I said, “because of a story that I was told by a friend of mine at the Academy.”
“And what story would this be, pray tell?” the nun asked.
“Uh…” now that I came to it, what might be considered funny to us might not be so hilarious when considered from this nun’s point of view. Would she recall the Rune Mystic who’d turned all the door handles in the place into rubber dongs?
You’ll never know unless you ask, I thought.
I regaled the nun with the tale of Igor and his inebriated flying.
Afterward, the five of us waited with bated breath for the potential explosion. I eyed my broomstick, which was only five yards away, and reckoned that I could probably get to it and be in the air before the nun produced a switch or whip or whatever it was that nuns carried to punish naughty nuns.
To our immense surprise, the nun actually snorted and shook her head. When she looked up, a warm smile was spread across her features. It had the effect of totally changing her appearance. She was no longer austere, but pretty in a mature way. She reminded me of the headmistress that every school kid wished they had; outwardly maybe a bit spiky, but secretly had a heart of gold.
“Oh, yes,” the nun said, shaking her head once more and helping Nigel to his feet. “Yes. That story. Igor had visited many times before that particular incident, of course, but it’s always his more spectacular landing and following mental episode that produces the most gossip.”
“Wait, what?” I said. “He used to come here a lot? Why? He doesn’t strike me as religious. If anything, he seems to be the sort of guy that would hedge his bets and worship all the gods, just to increase his chances of getting into an afterlife with an open bar when he eventually snuffs it.”
The nun laughed. “Not that Igor will probably ever die. I rather think that his internal organs are completely pickled and he’ll live forever.” She adjusted her pince-nez and looked at the five of us over the top of them. “Who did you say you were?” she asked.
I introduced myself and the boys did likewise.
“I am Sister Moll,” the nun said. “And may I welcome you pilgrims to the Nunnery of Pulchra Vanitati.”
“Thanks for letting us drop in,” Rick rumbled, and the rest of us groaned at the pun. The Earth Elemental seemed to be a lot happier now that he was back on solid ground.
“You just said that Igor had visited many times,” I said again, not being able to get my head around it. “Why would he visit a place of religious worship like this?”
The nun gave me a thoughtful look. “You know nothing about this place?”
“Nothing, Sister Moll,” Bradley said respectfully.
“Igor has divulged none of our secrets?” Sister Moll asked.
“Nope, no secrets,” Nigel assured her.
“I didn’t actually hear it from him,” I said. Madame Xel had been the one to tell me the story of Igor and the nunnery.
The nun gave each of us a searching look, as if she were weighing us. “And only chance and idle curiosity brought you hither?” she asked.
“Idle curiosity is to blame for a lot in our lives,” Damien said.
The nun straightened herself and looked around the orchard, as if making sure that we were truly alone. She looked up at the sky, which was fading to the dusky light blue of evening.
“Well, then perhaps it is the gods—though which one in particular I couldn’t say—that have brought you here on this auspicious day,” she said. “Would you care to follow me inside? I will offer you some refreshments and introduce you to some of the novices of the Nunnery of Pulchra Vanitati.”
I was a little taken aback at the offer, but I’d never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially when that gift horse mentioned refreshments. I’d had little do with religion in my life, but the one thing that I had learned, through the twin mediums of television and literature, was that monks and nuns always seemed to have first-class wine.
“Sure,” I said, signaling for Rick, Damien, and Bradley to dismount. “We’d be honored to come in and take a tour.”
“Splendid,” Sister Moll said. “You may leave your broomsticks inside the porch here.”
I stepped onto the first step of the stone staircase that led up to the nunnery proper and grinned at my buddies. “I guess I’m the first one to the nunnery? You didn’t forget our race, did you?”
Everyone clambered to plant their feet on the first step, but Damien was last.
“Well, fuck,” he said. “Guess I’m buying the first round.”
“Maybe you won’t need to,” I said before I put a hand over my mouth. “I bet these nuns have a cellar positively filled to bursting with good grog.”
Damien grinned back at me.
The nun led us through a heavy oak door and into the cool dimness of the nunnery. From far off, through the echoing stone passages, came the sound of relaxing and ethereal chamber music. Candles and lamps that flickered in niches every ten yards or so.
Sister Moll led us through a few passages, but we didn’t see another soul. Then, she led the way up a tightly furled stone spiral staircase and out through a door that opened up into a massive, airy room with large windows running all the way down one side.
“Great beautiful buttholes,” I heard Damien breath softly to himself. “Have we died and gone to Heaven?”
Chapter Fourteen
It seemed that we had found out exactly the reason for Igor’s numerous visits.
The large space was filled with beautiful young women dressed in nun’s attire.
They’re nuns, I mentally corrected myse
lf. They’re not just chicks dressed as nuns. They are, in fact, nuns.
No matter how many times I told myself though, in those opening five seconds of walking through that door, I couldn’t seem to shake the notion that I had wandered into the most elaborate porno set in history.
Suddenly, like rocks caught in a sudden flood, I and my fraternity brothers were completely surrounded in a river of habit-clad females. There must have been representatives of every major magical race in that room; high elves, wood elves, dark elves, Elementals of one sort or another, dwarves, selkies, nymphs, nagas, and gorgons. They were all a blur though, as the host of lovely ladies—all wearing their scapulars and cowls—fussed around us, as if they had not seen a male in years.
“H-h-how do y-you do? H-how do you d-d-do?” I could hear Nigel saying from next to me, over and over again as he shook hands with all the nuns.
Craning my head over the press of swirling black and white uniforms, I managed to catch the eye of Sister Moll.
“Does everyone who comes to visit get such an enthusiastic reception?” I asked her, struggling to make myself heard over the chatter of the nuns as they introduced themselves and chatted animatedly to my frat bros.
The older woman, who did look to be about ten years older than the majority of her fellow nuns, smiled at me.
“No. Not as such, Justin,” she said. “No, as I said downstairs in the orchard, you have arrived on quite an auspicious day.”
“Auspicious?” Rick muttered to Nigel.
“It means a favorable or opportune day, big fella,” I said over my shoulder. “Though why today would be such a promise-filled day is something that Sister Moll will have to tell us.”
Sister Moll gestured over the heads of the milling nuns. “These are our youngest nuns—our novices. They have, for eight weeks now, been observing the strictest codes of dedication; fasting, days spent in silence, and the punctilious adherence to celibacy of all kinds.”
