by Dakota Rusk
There was about a half-hour of small talk, none of it touching on the referendum or what it might mean for the university; and I honestly began to think I might make it through this ordeal and back to the dorm without having betrayed myself, or my friends, or my family.
But then, almost as if on some kind of invisible signal, all the witches turned and went off to the other side of the room—tinkle-tinkle-tinkling as they glided across the floor—leaving me alone with Jocasta Foxglove and three other students. And all it took was one very direct and unambiguous look from Jocasta and those students beat a hasty retreat as well.
We had half the manuscripts room to ourselves. I looked over and saw everyone else jammed together at the opposite end. In spite of myself, I was impressed. I thought how nice it must be to have that kind of authority—the kind where you could literally move people away from you, without saying a word.
“I believe,” Jocasta said to me now—and her tone was so honeyed it made me want to reassure her she was right about whatever she was about to say—“that you are studying to enter the Vestal sisterhood.”
“I’m a postulant, yes; or rather, I was. I don’t suppose I’ll ever go any higher, now that my parallel has been erased.”
She lowered her head and gave me a sly look—a look that said, We both know that’s not true. Then she lifted her chin and said, “I’ve always understood that the Vestals had magical abilities.”
I burbled out a nervous laugh. “Oh, no,” I said. “There were stories about that, in ancient times; a Vestal was supposed to be able to stop a fleeing slave in his tracks, just by looking at him, or something. But it’s just mythology.”
She pursed her lips. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s a matter of none of the modern Vestals believing in it sufficiently strongly.”
I wasn’t willing to enter into this kind of discussion; she was far more prepared than I was. I shrugged my shoulders and said, “Well…it’s academic, anyway. Since the order is no more.”
“There is you,” she said very softly.
I shook my head. “I was only a postulant. I never took the vows.”
“But you had the training, my dear.” She put her hand over mine; her touch was warm and dry. “That provides you, more than most in this institution, with a window into how our own systems and hierarchies are ordered.”
I shook my head again. “I don’t think that’s true. The Vestal orders in my parallel…well, they’re not like the one you’re thinking about—the true sisterhood, back in ancient times. That eventually fell on hard times and died out. A few hundred years later the empire was seized by a Classical Revival and the Vestals were brought back—not just in the capital but in every major city, and even some of the smaller ones. But it’s more of a social movement, stressing personal growth and character building—like the Girl Guides here in this parallel. Only with a religious element.”
She nodded. “That ‘religious element’ being the worship of the goddess herself, in all her manifestations.”
I blushed again; how I wished I could control my emotions! It must be obvious to her, every time she touched a nerve. “Well…it’s more practical than that. It’s about chastity and charity, things like that.”
“And devotion to Vesta,” she said, not allowing me to sidetrack her. “You say your parallel is no longer there”—and here she gave me a let’s-pretend-that’s-true look—“but that doesn’t mean the goddess isn’t. She is larger than any single parallel; Vesta is the fire of all creation. She is mind as well as heart; she is the genius of sentience. She is all these things; and one needs no temple to worship her. One requires only awareness. And by looking at you I can see that you are so possessed.”
She was making me feel awkward, and the heat of her hand on mine was making my forehead prickle with sweat. “Well…I never took it all literally. Not really. Not in a long time, anyway.”
I hoped she would remove her hand; instead she placed her other hand on top of it. I felt the weight so keenly, I almost couldn’t breathe. “Belief is only part of the equation,” she said. “The other is understanding. The Vestal orders have their origins deep in antiquity, and spring directly from goddess-worship that predates the rise of male-dominated nation-states and empires. And goddess-worship is just a half-step from our own religion, child; surely you can see that. Nature is inherently female; and witchcraft is, in essence, no more than the celebration of, and communion with, the natural.”
I shifted in my chair; I was uncomfortable with the way this talk was going. Because—well, yes, I could see it. It was easy to make the connections she was asking me to make.
“But,” I tried to protest, “I don’t know anything about casting spells, or magic—I don’t have experience with anything like that…or want any.” I hoped I wasn’t being too frank; I didn’t want to turn this woman against me, certainly.
But she didn’t appear remotely offended. She said, “This ‘character-building’ you talk about…I suppose that takes the form of rituals? Ceremonial events?”
“Well…sort of.”
She smiled. “That’s exactly what we do. The only difference, I suppose, is that our rituals are based on our interpretations of the natural world—which is also the basis for our social order. What are sigils, after all, but lines on parchment? It’s we who empower them, by channeling our own energies through them. And as for ‘casting spells’—well, child, spells are nothing more than formulae for honing our focus and sharpening our concentration.” She tapped my forehead. “All real magic comes from in here.”
I was starting to feel hemmed in. I tried to imagine what Merri would say in this situation. What I settled on was, “Anyone can say that. Any discipline can make that claim.”
She smiled even more brilliantly. “Exactly so. This is the simple message I’ve been trying to put across ever since I arrived here.” Her hands tightened around my own. “I was right about you, Fabia Terentia. Were we to assume the management of this university, you would be a natural candidate for advancement through our ranks.” Her voice dropped a bit, as though shifting to a more sensitive topic. “I know it’s been difficult for you here. Your fellow students—your closest friends—all have minds which work in ways different from your own. They have seemed to eclipse you, to cast your own abilities in the shade.”
This was, unfortunately, truer than I wanted to admit. I tried not to let my face show it, and pretended to laugh. “Well, maybe so; but on the other hand, I can lift any one of them over my head. Wouldn’t even wind me.”
She seemed to gaze at me more intensely. “You can do much more than that,” she said with disturbing urgency. “So very much more.”
There was an awkward moment where we just stared at each other, until I thought, Uh-oh, what if she’s bewitching me for real? So I cleared my throat and said, “I’m sorry for being forward, but—honestly, I just don’t understand why you want to run the university.”
Her face darkened. “Think of what happened here just recently, child…what you yourself saw, at closer range than anyone else. Consider the brink to which science took this parallel—to which it took the entire multiverse. It brought all of creation to the precipice of annihilation. Science did that. And do you know why?”
I shook my head; it felt wobbly on my shoulders.
“Because science has no sense of proportion, no sense of responsibility or obligation. Science knows only its own propagation. It provides its services to anyone who is willing to fund its reckless forays into the unknown—with the result that more often than not, destruction is the result.”
“I’d argue that,” I said. “Science has been responsible for a lot of amazing benefits and advances—far more than its failures.”
“Perhaps so. But when its failures are lethal to such a magnitude—when a single dereliction of vision and responsibility threatens to wipe out all of its previous advances, and eliminate any possibility of future ones—that tends to tip the scale, wouldn’t you agree?”
/> I couldn’t disagree. My mind was in a sudden ferment; I felt like I was on a bicycle, pumping the pedals very hard but going absolutely nowhere.
She removed her hands from mine and sat back; and when she broke our physical connection it felt like her hold over me broke too. I almost gasped in relief.
“I want to assume control over the curriculum of Parallel University," she said in simple, declarative tones, “because Parallel University, as it is currently ordered, represents a threat not only to itself, but to every parallel in the multiverse, including my own. My colleagues and I would see to it that it never again heads down that path.”
“But…to replace science with magic,” I sputtered, “to just make a clean sweep…without even examining what you’re jettisoning…”
“No one ever said anything about a ‘clean sweep.’ Magic will be added to the curriculum, not set in place of it. If anything, science will be forced to prove its worth against its ancient adversary; how is this a bad thing? Are you fearful that it won’t measure up? Because if it can’t, surely it doesn’t merit being taught.”
I was trapped; she’d tangled me up in a cat’s-cradle of arguments. I didn’t want what she said to make sense to me…but I couldn’t seem to stop it from making sense to me.
She leaned in again. “Also, there’s the simple, charitable reason that I want to help you all get home again.” She smiled. “Poor, frightened children, stranded very far from all they know and love. What woman worth her sex wouldn’t respond to your suffering with every power at her command?”
“But,” I said, “we can get home…as soon as our friend Eddie returns. He has a thing called a Hopper, see, and it—well, I don’t know exactly how it works, but—” I was babbling and I knew it; so did she. She waved a hand to quiet me.
“I’ll trust you that your friend has invented a device that will do what you say it can. But unless I’m mistaken, he’s a child; no more than fifteen, am I correct? And he appears to have abandoned you, as boys his age often will. You’d do well to accept the inevitable, child: none of you will ever get home without us.” She gave me a very pointed look. “And I think perhaps you’ve already seen something that has persuaded you that even you still have a home to return to.”
At that moment Valery reappeared between us; he must have grown concerned by the length and the obvious earnestness of our conversation, and come over to see how I was holding up. “Everything all right, ladies?” he asked. “Can I get you anything? More tea, Ms. Foxglove?”
“That would be lovely, thank you,” she said pleasantly.
I shook my head to signal that I didn’t want anything. When he was gone, I summoned up all my courage and tried to remember that I wasn’t just a second-rate student here, I wasn’t just a postulant for a religious order that wasn’t very religious; I was a champion, an arena warrior in my home parallel, and that people who pitted themselves against me generally ended up regretting it.
I straightened my spine and looked Jocasta Foxglove square in the face. “You make some very potent arguments,” I said. “I suppose I’d feel better about them if I didn’t know you needed me so much. My friends and me, that is. We’re very influential on campus, and our opinion on the referendum matters. I suppose I’d feel more convinced by everything you’ve said to me tonight if I didn’t get a sense that you were in some way desperate to win me over…if I didn’t know that I’m your last chance to reach the students you need to bring around, if you’re going to have any hope of victory in this referendum.”
Her eyes widened in surprise; then she turned away and smiled privately, as though deeply amused by my naiveté. Then she turned back and, seeming to struggle to keep from laughing, she said, “Child, I assure you: I’ve attempted to lead you to see my point of view for your own sake only. As I believe I mentioned, I see potential in you—potential that is at present being wasted. As for you being my last chance to convert the undecided amongst the student population here…well, you’re far from it. You’re not even my best chance, if it comes to that.”
I couldn’t respond for a few seconds; she’d totally taken the wind out of my sails. “What do you mean?” I asked. “What are you talking about? You have someone else? Who?”
She looked at me with a maddening, heavy-lidded serenity. “You’ll see,” she said, drawing her shawl closer around her—metaphorically shutting me out. “In due time, you’ll see indeed.”
8
Of course they were all waiting for me when I got back to the dorm. I’d expected that. I was very tired—exhausted, in fact—so I’d hoped I was wrong; but when I swung open the door to the room, there they were, not even pretending to just be hanging out. They were all seated, facing the door, obviously eager for my return.
“How’d it go?” asked Merri, without any pretense at small talk. There was a funny kind of flicker in her eyes; almost like fear. I realized she was afraid that I might’ve been turned to the dark side by the witches.
And then I realized, she might be right.
“It was very interesting,” I said, slipping off my sandals—which had hurt my feet; they weren’t sturdy enough to have any practical use. I wished I’d just worn boots.
“ ‘Interesting,’ ” Darius repeated, mimicking my tone in a way that clearly implied he was annoyed by it. For an android, he was getting pretty good at irony. “Suppose you try to be a little more forthcoming than that.”
“Give me a moment to catch my breath,” I said as I doffed the bracelets and tossed them onto my desk, where they clattered against the laminate surface.
“Since when do you need to catch your breath?” said Gerrid. “You could move Koyabashi Hall three inches to the left without even breaking a sweat.”
I dropped into the chair opposite them and let my legs sprawl out before me. “There are different kinds of exertion,” I said. “I’m mentally tired. That woman had me jumping through hoops.”
“Jocasta Foxglove?” Merri asked, looking even more alarmed. “You spoke to her, then?”
“At length.”
They all gazed at me with naked apprehension. I realized they were all expecting the worst. Even though I’d barely got away from Jocasta with my integrity intact, it stung me. It was okay for me not to believe in myself; but damn it, my friends should have had faith in me.
“I asked her, point blank,” I said, as I reached over to the mini-fridge and pulled out a ginger beer. “I said, ‘Why do you even want to take over the university?’ ”
“And what did she say?”
I pulled the tab on the can and took a sip. Let them wait for my answer. When I’d swallowed and given a little burp, I said, “She told me she wants to save the multiverse from another Terminus Engine.”
“What?” Darius said. “There was only one! And we shut it down!”
I shook my head. “She means another scientific abomination like the Terminus Engine. Something that puts the whole time-space continuum at risk.”
“But,” Gerrid said, scowling, “how would the witches taking over Parallel U. accomplish that?”
“By tempering science with magic,” I explained. Then I hastily added, “In her opinion.”
“But…science isn’t to blame for the Terminus Engine!” Merri said, and I knew she was upset because her voice went up almost a whole octave. There was a hectoring, almost whining quality to it that I didn’t like. “It was greed that did that—the greed of the Terminus Institute. Their Board of Directors wouldn’t care if it was science or magic, as long as they could use it to serve their own ends.”
“You told her that, right?” Darius said, looking at me almost pleadingly. “You explained that to her?”
I blushed—again. I’d never had a night where my face betrayed me more. “No; sorry. That didn’t actually occur to me.”
Gerrid threw his hands in the air—a gesture of extreme exasperation. “I knew it. I knew we should have briefed her.”
“We should have been there with her,” Mer
ri corrected him.
“We weren’t invited,” said Darius. “Only she was.”
“Since when has that ever stopped us?” Gerrid said.
I felt my face burn again, but this time with irritation. It was insulting that suddenly they were all talking about me like I wasn’t in the room. Even worse, what they were saying made it clear they’d been talking about me behind my back. Probably a lot.
“Hello,” I said, with a little dagger in my voice. “I’m still sitting right here, you know.”
Darius seemed almost surprised to hear my voice; but instead of apologizing, he whirled on me and said, “So where did you leave it with her?”
I blinked. “I’m sorry—what?”
He jutted his chin out and shut his eyes, like he was vexed that I didn’t understand. By now I was really feeling alienated from my so-called friends. “How,” he said very slowly, as if talking to a child, “did your conversation end?”
I gave him my steeliest stare. “I told her I wouldn’t help her.”
All three of them emitted sighs of relief. “Well, thank the heavens for that,” said Merri, who apparently hadn’t trusted me to make the right choice. And never mind how hard I’d had to fight to resist not making it, that offended me. For one fleeting—but very damaging—second, I reminded myself: That is not my Merri. My Merri would have known me better.
“And what did she say when you told her that?” asked Gerrid.
I frowned. “It’s funny,” I said, remembering it now. “She seemed almost…amused.”
Darius frowned. “ ‘Amused?”
I nodded. “She said she didn’t care whether I supported her. She said she didn’t need my support. Or yours,” I added, gesturing at them. “She said she had someone better.”
