A Sudden Wild Magic

Zillah had gone back to her first meeting with Mark, the night when he dropped in to speak with someone in the witchcraft circle in Hendon. She had been so bored with them by then. Then she had looked up and there was Mark, speaking in his serious, confidential way with — what was his name? Never mind. It was as if the sun had come out. In the same dispassionate way she had noted Herrel’s beard just now, she had noted then that Mark seemed very repressed, probably rather a prig, and realized that it made no difference at all to what she wanted. She remembered the artless, almost greedy way she had made sure she was included in the party that went to the pub afterward. The first opportunity she got, she asked Mark back to her bed-sit with her…

“Yes, I think you’re right,” she said, and looked up at the High Head almost judiciously. “There are times when I seem to behave like that — as if I can’t help it. If I could hate myself for it, I would, but I can’t. You’re quite right to call me names.”

He gaped at her. Once more she had contrived to send this interview down the wrong track. It was typical of her. Ridiculously, he had an urge to leap to her defense and assure her she was not a whore at all. Nor a bitch. Oh—women! “Well,” he said, after a pause, “as you seem to have a proper sense of contrition, you had better go away and — er — think about it. But remember: if you do anything like this again, you will be in very great trouble indeed.”

What got into me? he wondered as Zillah passed through the veils of the doorway like a sleepwalker. He shook himself and stalked off to Ritual Horn to supervise Tod’s departure.

2

“I must go,” said High Brother Nathan, mopping his flushed face. “So must you. There’s going to be a ritual.”

Flan watched him attempt to push the streaks of gray hair back over the bald center of his head. “One I can’t see?” she asked, composedly zipping herself back into her trousers. On the whole, she was rather sorry about the interruption. True, Brother Nathan had shamelessly blackmailed her. He had found her near as dammit undressed with Alexander in this very same gallery and swiftly made his bargain. He had not needed to say much. The sight of Alexander’s face when Brother Nathan said the word “punishment” had been enough for Flan. She would have agreed to anything. And she had gone to the assignation with clenched teeth, only to discover that Nathan could be quite sweet after all. And the poor old soul was in a real dither now. I’m getting quite soppy! Flan thought.

“No, you can’t see — you mustn’t be seen!” he said. “Goddess, girl! It was only the merest luck the High Head didn’t have most of you naked in his mirror!”

“All right then,” Flan said equably.

But High Brother Nathan had had second thoughts, evidently not unconnected with the unfinished business between them. “On the other hand,” he said, firmly smoothing gray strands of hair to his scalp, “I don’t see that it would do any harm for you to watch, provided you keep well out of sight behind the wall of the gallery. It wouldn’t do at all for the High Head to see you were here.” He shook his uniform straight and picked up his headdress. “I’ll see you,” he said, hurrying toward the doorway at the side of the gallery. There he paused, artistically. Flan, who knew a studied movement when she saw one, wondered, What’s the old villain up to now? Brother Nathan turned around. “This ritual,” he said, “is to punish a serviceman, as it happens. It’s the same punishment I mentioned to you in connection with Brother Alexander. Though, of course, we both know Brother Alexander to be blameless, don’t we?”

You old bastard! Flan thought. More blackmail! She had no desire at all to see anyone punished, least of all in the way that had brought that look to Alexander’s face. As soon as Nathan’s stout figure had faded through the veiling, Flan dived after him, only to find herself brought up short with such force that she was bounced back into the gallery. “Bastard!” she shouted. “Blackmailer! I’ll give you female harassment!”

She would have shouted a great deal more, but by then, feet were hurriedly and hollowly shuffling in the great rituals room below.

Evidently when the High Head ordered a sudden ritual, people jumped to it. Not knowing whether or not the High Head was there in person, Flan decided not to draw attention to herself. But she was still damned if she was going to watch this ritual. After plunging twice more at the veiling without the slightest effect, she sat down on the raked steps of the gallery with her face obstinately between her fists. Out of sight below her, objects clanged, feet continued to shuffle, two voices called off lists in a low murmur, and she could sense the room filling up. This ritual was big.