Read Online Kalifornia by Marc Laidlaw - Free Book Online

noise foreign
to these sacred precincts, since police never enforced profane laws within the
boundaries of the Holy City.
    She glanced over her shoulder to make sure the jolting ride hadn’t
thrown the child from its nest. The babe appeared safe, but it made her
uncomfortable to leave such things to fate, especially after the trouble she’d
endured to catch the little dear.
    Before long, she was forced to slow the wagon. The street had
narrowed until it was no better than a track for feral dogs. It was wide enough
for the wagon in most places, but there had been some slippage during the day
(or perhaps the Valis sect had slyly rearranged it), and rubble thicker than
usual posed a hazard. She shut off the motor, dismounted, and peered into the
back of the wagon, after first checking to make sure that no one was lurking
about, waiting to fire pink light beams in her direction.
    Ah, the healthy wailing of a baby girl. The Official Crone’s old
nipples ached and itched a little. Dry memories. She hadn’t heard the sound in
many years. The Daughters bore no children, having no contact with men—Goddess
forbid!
    The baby had worked her way down among the sacks, but after some
exertion the crone retrieved her. She screamed vigorously, waving her tiny
fists more fiercely than any tot in the old woman’s memory. Cooing, she pressed
the child to her breast, wishing her eyes were better, wishing (for once) that
the night were not so dark. The buildings were so tall and congested that light
rarely carried from brighter parts of the Frange. She couldn’t make out more
than the plainest fact of eyes, nose, and mouth. The High Priestess had
promised that the girl would have orange eyes, but there was no evidence of
that in this darkness. Still, this had to be the babe they sought.
    The swaddling was loose; the child now kicked free of it. The
crone set her down on a sack of cereal, bent painfully to retrieve the cloth,
and, when she stood up, screamed.
    Somewhere nearby, fireworks had exploded. Their light danced over
the ruined towers, bits of it bouncing down to these drear depths. In the
fitful flashes, unmistakably, the Official Crone beheld a child’s dangling pee . . . pee . . . penis?
    Penis?
    It was a male. . . .
    Her heart nearly stopped beating, but her thoughts moved so
quickly that they tugged her blood along out of necessity.
    The child’s masculinity was a disaster. It meant she had somehow
stolen the wrong child. A changeling. She would suffer the cosmic wrath of
Mother Kali, not to mention the more painful and immediate anger of Kali’s High
Priestess.
    But worse than this to the Official Crone was the knowledge that
she had touched the . . . the male. Her fingers had very
nearly brushed that, that, that, that thing, that
terrible item of sickening masculine flesh! All this was forbidden. More than
forbidden, it was disgusting, it revolted her. She had lain with men once, long
before Kali called her. She’d had a husband and even male children, but that
was long ages behind her now. To think that somehow a male member had risen out
of nowhere and practically fallen into her lap—it filled her with horror. The
Official Crone didn’t know where to turn.
    First, half out of her senses, she threw the soiled swaddlings
over the child to spare herself the sight of his tiny pizzle in case of another
fireworks flare. She didn’t know whether to scrape the boy into the street and
leave him there, or simply shove him back deeper into the wagon and pretend she’d
never looked, leaving all hard decisions to the High Priestess. True, that
would mean desecrating the temple, but at least she could hold to her story.
She had fulfilled her mission to the best of her ability. How was she supposed
to know that the wrong child would fall from the fire escape?
    But if she ditched the child and came back empty-handed, she would
have no excuse. The High Priestess would think her a doddering, blind old fool,
and say her