profile and narrow, slanted eyes, Amy had removed her dun-colored monk’s robe, revealing long, jet black hair secured in a pony tail by a golden clasp. As befitted her high position she wore a gold dress with the green-and-orange design of the UWW on her lapel—a design that merged the traditional Christian cross with a sword.
“As all of you know,” Amy said, “Dixie Lou and I will be away for several days on separate trips.”
“A prayer for your safety,” said Kaiulani Maheha, a large Hawaiian woman.
The councilwomen bowed their heads in silence for several moments and made cradling motions with their arms, as if holding babies. Then, in unison, they looked up.
On a high pedestal behind the council loomed the white marble statue of She-God, representing all the heroines of history, or “herstory,” as Amy preferred to call it. On the statue’s upturned palms rested the Sword of She-God, a magnificently tooled blade with a jeweled Christian cross for its hilt. Of unknown origin, it was the subject of legend in the UWW, and the organization’s most important religious artifact. It was a design repeated on banners draped around the inside of the ancient building, partially covering streaky gray-and-black walls. Dixie Lou smelled the musk odor of burning incense.
Some of the councilwomen still wore their robes—even with blouses and slacks beneath—because the dun robes, while lacking style, compensated for this inadequacy by offering warmth.
Dixie Lou blew on her hands and rubbed them together. The church’s heating system had not been working well, and was scheduled to be inspected the following day. She put the coldness out of her mind, an ability she had that enabled her to set aside pain and personal discomfort.
Glancing around, Dixie Lou noted that most of the councilwomen had lowered their eyes in deference to their Chairwoman, as if Amy were the She-God incarnate. Dixie Lou did not do that. As always she gazed with intelligent, dark brown eyes at the tiny Asian woman, looking steadily at her as if she were no more than any another female. Amy didn’t seem to mind, and had supported the promotion of Dixie Lou to number two in command.
Their all-important project was centered across the cobblestone plaza in the ancient Scriptorium Building, once occupied by monks for the copying of manuscripts. In that place the council had set up computers, recording equipment and the most accredited biblical scholars and linguists in the world, female and male, who toiled to compile an extraordinary, earthshaking new work.
At the moment, however, Dixie Lou had something else on her mind, a vivid, recurring image. Upon the internal screen of her memory appeared the face of a black man she had shot to death five years ago in Seattle, on a cold, rainy night. It was one of several justified killings she had committed in her lifetime. Now she recounted all of the violent episodes in her mind, as she sometimes did for enjoyment.
She caught her breath, because this time a strong new image dominated the others. She envisioned a shadow enshrouded room where people slept. In her right hand she held a knife, and she brought it down over and over, stabbing the sleepers. She smelled the metallic odor of their blood.
Suddenly her mind roiled and whirled in confusion—for she had never killed anyone in that manner.
Chapter 2
It is said that Jesus Christ showed his feminine and masculine sides equally, by simultaneously wearing long hair and a beard.
— The Alternative History of Jesus , UWW Press
“You’d better be in school when I call, young lady,” Camilla Vale shouted, from the base of the hall stairs.
Leaving her bedroom door closed, the fifteen-year-old didn’t respond. Lori wore red-and-white pajamas, and having been awake for a few minutes, she sat on the edge of the bed. Her microdisk music player was on, but not loudly. Taller than most girls at Seattle High, Lori had long auburn hair, lavender eyes,
“As all of you know,” Amy said, “Dixie Lou and I will be away for several days on separate trips.”
“A prayer for your safety,” said Kaiulani Maheha, a large Hawaiian woman.
The councilwomen bowed their heads in silence for several moments and made cradling motions with their arms, as if holding babies. Then, in unison, they looked up.
On a high pedestal behind the council loomed the white marble statue of She-God, representing all the heroines of history, or “herstory,” as Amy preferred to call it. On the statue’s upturned palms rested the Sword of She-God, a magnificently tooled blade with a jeweled Christian cross for its hilt. Of unknown origin, it was the subject of legend in the UWW, and the organization’s most important religious artifact. It was a design repeated on banners draped around the inside of the ancient building, partially covering streaky gray-and-black walls. Dixie Lou smelled the musk odor of burning incense.
Some of the councilwomen still wore their robes—even with blouses and slacks beneath—because the dun robes, while lacking style, compensated for this inadequacy by offering warmth.
Dixie Lou blew on her hands and rubbed them together. The church’s heating system had not been working well, and was scheduled to be inspected the following day. She put the coldness out of her mind, an ability she had that enabled her to set aside pain and personal discomfort.
Glancing around, Dixie Lou noted that most of the councilwomen had lowered their eyes in deference to their Chairwoman, as if Amy were the She-God incarnate. Dixie Lou did not do that. As always she gazed with intelligent, dark brown eyes at the tiny Asian woman, looking steadily at her as if she were no more than any another female. Amy didn’t seem to mind, and had supported the promotion of Dixie Lou to number two in command.
Their all-important project was centered across the cobblestone plaza in the ancient Scriptorium Building, once occupied by monks for the copying of manuscripts. In that place the council had set up computers, recording equipment and the most accredited biblical scholars and linguists in the world, female and male, who toiled to compile an extraordinary, earthshaking new work.
At the moment, however, Dixie Lou had something else on her mind, a vivid, recurring image. Upon the internal screen of her memory appeared the face of a black man she had shot to death five years ago in Seattle, on a cold, rainy night. It was one of several justified killings she had committed in her lifetime. Now she recounted all of the violent episodes in her mind, as she sometimes did for enjoyment.
She caught her breath, because this time a strong new image dominated the others. She envisioned a shadow enshrouded room where people slept. In her right hand she held a knife, and she brought it down over and over, stabbing the sleepers. She smelled the metallic odor of their blood.
Suddenly her mind roiled and whirled in confusion—for she had never killed anyone in that manner.
Chapter 2
It is said that Jesus Christ showed his feminine and masculine sides equally, by simultaneously wearing long hair and a beard.
— The Alternative History of Jesus , UWW Press
“You’d better be in school when I call, young lady,” Camilla Vale shouted, from the base of the hall stairs.
Leaving her bedroom door closed, the fifteen-year-old didn’t respond. Lori wore red-and-white pajamas, and having been awake for a few minutes, she sat on the edge of the bed. Her microdisk music player was on, but not loudly. Taller than most girls at Seattle High, Lori had long auburn hair, lavender eyes,
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