About Sisterland (22 page)

Modesty nodded towards it. “They sprayed the wrong scent on those flowers: it smells of the seaside.”

As Constance inhaled the salt-spray tang, there came a sound like cymbals shaking, and an attendant opened the door to the left of the floral arrangement. Nine women in ankle-length white robes filed in: Sisterland’s ruling elite.

They were an eclectic assortment, with flesh colour from vanilla through to liquorice. Three features they shared in common, however. Each sister had her eyebrows shaved off. Each wore a curved headdress in looped semi-circles – first rose-gold, then copper, and finally bronze, from which was suspended a diaphanous veil that floated onto the floor. And each had a glow about her, a strangely youthful radiance. It was as if a nimbus surrounded every one of the Nine.

“Nine sisters working in unison. Three times three: a potent combination,” murmured Modesty to Constance.

The Shaper Mother took two paces forward, and bowed from the waist. In unison, they inclined their heads. Constance noticed that all of them wore their skins, although no-one else did.

An attendant indicated to Modesty that she should leave.

“The mother’s banking on one of those fancy metal crowns,” whispered Modesty again. “Biding her time.”

The attendant beckoned more insistently. Modesty backed away.

The Nine formed a horseshoe round the Shaper Mother and Constance. Attendants darted forward with marbled white stools, their legs ending in birds’ feet, and each of the Nine sat, arranging their gossamer veils with care. Lower stools without the ornamental legs were also provided for the Shaper Mother and Constance. When everyone was settled, one of the Nine stood up, an arresting sister with multiple plaits. Constance supposed they must be a wig, remembering the Mating Mother. Despite Beloved’s advice on short crops, wig use showed how some women remained drawn to long hair.

“The universal sisterhood welcomes you,” said the Plaits Sister. She unleashed a smile entirely lacking in friendliness. “First, let us pay tribute to our sister, Honour 19, and celebrate the riches of her long life.”

She crossed her hands over her breast, one on each shoulder, and bent her head, causing the metal discs of her headdress to clink. Everyone stood and followed suit, giving themselves over to meditation. When she dropped her hands, everyone sat while she remained standing, and waited for the rustling to stop.

“Next, we must consider her legacy,” she continued. “We have studied the interchange of Honour’s final memory. It bewilders us. And causes us pain. This is an undisciplined memory – utterly contrary to the Sisterland ethos.” She looked left and right along the semi-circle, and everybody assented. “The memory-keeper suggests there was a time when the two sexes co-existed compatibly. Yet this is untrue: the man-made world was always hostile to women. Men could not evolve sufficiently to value the female contribution, and so we were obliged to impose a woman-made world on them. Shaper Mother, introduce the young sister to us.”

“Greetings, sisters. May I present Constance 500? She’s a promising recruit to our new co-keeper programme. Honour asked for her specifically. But the interchange poses challenges.”  

The Nine focused the searchlight of its gaze on Constance.

“We’d like to hear from you, Constance,” said the Plaits Sister. “Was Honour in her right mind, in your view? Could she have had some score to settle? As life ebbs away, queer obsessions can seize sisters.”

Constance straightened her posture. Her heart was thundering, but she tried to appear composed.

“Greetings to the Nine. I don’t believe Honour had a grievance – only a desire to put her talents at her sisters’ disposal. It was a privilege to meet her. Her discontinuation fills me with a sense of loss.”

“That goes without saying,” said the Plaits Sister. Her tone smacked of reprimand. “But we need to analyse her message, and what lies behind it. You did the interchange. Honour made many preposterous claims. But perhaps the most regrettable was that Sisterland is a failed experiment. That
wounded all of us here when we heard it. It’s
incomprehensible. But we want to give her the benefit of the doubt. Did she truly believe it? And if so, why?”

“I’m afraid she did believe it,” began Constance.

Tumult erupted.

“Sisterland is a society on the highest plane of human existence!” protested one sister.

“Imagined and brought into being by an inspirational woman – our dear Beloved,” cried another.

“Agreed,” said the Plaits Sister. “But we said all that already, after listening to the interchange. Now let’s hear from Constance. She may be able to throw further light on this disruptive missive from Honour.”

Constance groped for words. “I think Honour was ill at ease about that last memory. That’s why she kept it to herself for so long. She was afraid of what it meant. But more afraid of discontinuing without passing it on.” She broke off, her mouth dry.

Intent, the Nine waited. Constance found it disconcerting to be the convergence point for those eyes.

She tried again. “Honour realised the interchange would cause upset. But she was one of the last people who remembered a time when women and men lived together with their children. Her memory told her it had worked. She said it was a mistake not to have fathers play a part in child-rearing – that we’d forgotten how fathers had skills to teach their children.”

“Nonsense! Their tricks are no match for a woman’s talents,” exclaimed a sister with cropped platinum hair tipped with black, her veil fluttering under the force of her protest. “Men knew it, and from the dawn of time they kept us subjugated.”  

Agreement whirred from one end of the horseshoe to the other.

“Honour’s final memory is a rogue memory,” said another sister. The diamond stud in the crease of her nose flickered an icicle sparkle. “It’s damaging, disruptive and dangerous.”

“My young sister meant no offence,” intervened the
mother. “This was her first interchange. No doubt
inexperience has led her to misinterpret it.”

“Is that possible, Constance?” asked the Plaits Sister.

Constance was quailing before the Nine’s annoyance. She had known there would be fallout from the interchange but hadn’t expected to be present for it – to witness this clamorous vexation. She closed her eyes, and saw Honour’s hand curled on top of quilt squares embroidered with messages from Beloved. Messages could be misconstrued. Was she jumbling Honour’s? All she really knew for certain was that Honour had loved her father.

She opened her eyes and looked at the Nine. “Honour believed Sisterland to be a failure. Her PS memories of her father were used in evidence.”

A hissing sound ensued – a group intake of breath. The Shaper Mother swooped a warning flash of the eye. But what was said couldn’t be unsaid.

One of the Nine raised a hand to head height. “We must be willing to give Constance a hearing. Even if we dislike her message.” She was among the more mature sisters, her golden hair curling soft as a baby’s under the diadem.

Even as Constance mentally positioned her among the oldest present, she realised it was an incongruous word to use about any of the Nine. Once again, she was struck by the youthful flush which created a halo effect round each of them.

The Baby-Hair Sister continued, “Understanding 
Honour’s  memory interchange is crucial. Our repugnance at the contents shouldn’t blind us to that. Remember, she met our dearest Beloved, and laboured in the early years as Sisterland was built. But the Honour I knew saw sharing government with men as an unworkable idea. It’s always been too risky. Inevitably, they’d try to snatch power.”

A shudder quivered from sister to sister.

A sister with long, curling fingernails spoke up. “Men have a primitive animal drive which can be useful, but it must be controlled and directed. We can’t leave them to their own devices. It’s not safe.” 

“Honour’s father may well have been a sympathetic person,” said the Baby-Hair Sister. “We don’t dispute that certain individuals had potential as human beings. But men abused their powers. Their bestial sides got the better of them. It’s unfortunate
that Honour should have set aside this essential truth.”

An approving buzz followed, broken by the Baby-Hair Sister.

“She made one point that interests me. About forgiving men. I wonder if we shouldn’t consider it.”

Mouths were puckered round the semi-circle.

“They’re cunning enough to try to profit from any softening on our part, Gracious,” said a sister.

Constance looked at the Baby-Hair Sister with renewed interest. Gracious was the senior sister among the Nine, with a casting vote in split decisions. Only the Nine had names without numbers after them.

“Poor, dear Honour must have slipped into dotage,” put in another sister.

“Why do you suppose she wanted us to forgive them, Constance?” asked Gracious.

“She didn’t say.”

“But what was your impression? Didn’t you sense anything from the interchange? Go on, I see you did pick up on something. Speak freely.”

Constance took a deep breath. “Her mindmap held some residues: a suggestion that failure to forgive stunted our development. That Sisterland was the loser by it. As you heard on the interchange, she believed it was unfair to write off all men. She thought we could have tried to phase out destructive male characteristics to improve the gender, over time. If aggressive males were forbidden from Himtime, eventually the problem would vanish.” 

This provoked merriment.

When it died down, the Nose-Stud Sister spoke. “Too simplistic. Hyper-male tendencies can skip generations, and crop up again. Isn’t that so, Temperance?”

The Platinum Sister answered. “Indeed. Of course, castration has been proven to have a pacifying effect. But we are not that cruel.”

“Not that stupid,” the Nose-Stud Sister corrected her. “Castration limits the mating pool.”

“And the most hostile males are often the most effective meets,” put in Gracious.

The Fingernails Sister spoke up. “When Sisterland was established, we realised we were dealing with inbuilt male limitations. We came to the conclusion it would be impossible to change them. You’re correct, Constance – or Honour is correct, I should say. Once, the two sexes must have co-existed and cooperated. But men went horribly wrong – wedded to selfishness, greed, and above all war, endless war.”

Now the Plaits Sister spoke. “As soon as men were set aside, a visible improvement in the world took place. There was no alternative. Was there, sisters?”

“None, Innocence,” rippled back.             

“But look at the world we’ve created,” said Innocence. “It’s safe, nurturing, and fair. Every girl is encouraged to achieve her full potential. We’ve eradicated poverty and crime. Sisterland knows only peace. Armies have been disbanded. The only war we waged was against social evils, which are eliminated. Sisterland is a utopia!”

A round of applause greeted her pronouncement. And Constance understood that Honour’s message had made no more impact on the Nine than on the tightrope-walker statue outside.

Innocence continued, “The rules were man-made, now they’re woman-made. And the result? Collective serenity and well-being. Universal sisterhood.”

Nine hands reached out to their neighbours. “A universal sisterhood!” they chorused. The Shaper Mother and Sistercentral attendants joined in the
chant.

After the echo died away, Gracious leaned forward, her gaze intent. “Constance, did you intuit anything about the Nine from Honour? She said nothing outright, but I sensed something.”

Constance’s forehead furrowed.

“Go on,” urged Gracious.

Surfacing in Constance’s mind were Honour’s whispered words when the connection between their sigs had been paused. But they couldn’t be spoken aloud. Shouldn’t be spoken aloud.

“The co-keeper must speak,” commanded Innocence. “She shirks her duty.”

“Don’t be nervous. Tell us,” said Gracious. Her smile was beguiling, but her willpower was the persuader, and it began to lap against Constance’s reservations.

Constance felt its heat melt her resistance. The memory-keeper’s words about the Nine had scared her then, and frightened her even more in their presence. She did not dare to repeat them. Still, Gracious’s willpower stroked hers.

“It wasn’t in the interchange,” she gasped. “It was just something she said. Right at the end.”

The air changed, and grew dense. Nine sets of willpower merged and advanced on hers. Her breathing grew ragged, dizziness took hold. She wasn’t being mindmapped – she was being suffocated.

The words were torn from her. Panting, she said, “It’s not consent but command the Nine wants. The Nine is a failed experiment, too. That’s what Honour said.”

The release was a blessing. But its grace was temporary.

From all sides, a series of shocked looks crashed down on her. The words were met with a stillness that was absolute. Trembling, Constance covered her face with her hands.

Slowly, Innocence rose, and adjusted her veil. Constance parted her fingers and watched her through them. Innocence went from sister to sister, bending over their ears. Constance strained to hear but could pick up nothing, until Innocence had navigated the end of the half-circle and spoke aloud to the group.