A Division of Souls - A Novel of the Mendaihu Universe (17 page)

Faith.

Caren gasped, eyes wide.
“
Shit!
” she
blurted a little too loudly, sending Poe back a few steps. Her legs
felt weak, threatening to fall out from under her. Things were
flooding back to her…too many memories, too much information she
didn’t want. Too many things she’d tried hard to forget over the
years. It all came back… She made it to her desk, dropping hard
into the chair. The spinning in her head was unceasing. She felt
drunk; she felt weak and sick. Yet despite the numbing of her
senses, she knew she was wide awake, and completely aware of
everything.

All is Light.

“One of All Sacred help them,” she
whispered.

Poe knelt down before her, grasping her
shaking hands. “Caren?”

She managed to look him in
the eyes again. “Poe...” Closed her eyes, cursed herself.
One of All Sacred help
us… “I think your theory might be right.”

CHAPTER NINE

Nehalé – Janoss

...One of All Sacred...

Nehalé crouched as low as he could between
the benches in the southern choir loft, attempting to catch his
breath. He had a bleeding cut over his left eye and several bruises
all over his body, but they were the least of his worries. His
Mendaihu senses were buzzing madly from the adrenalin rush of the
battle, but mostly from the pain he felt from all those deaths
within the last ten or so minutes…he wiped hot tears and sweat away
from his stinging eyes, cursing himself. How had he let this
situation grow so out of control so quickly? The dozen Shenaihu had
been joined by two dozen more, and they weren’t showing any sign of
wearing down, while he was up here, out of energy and ideas! What
the hell were these people made of…? Were they even people at
all?

They were the
nuhm’ndah
, he realized
with a chilling certainty. Spiritually they were Shenaihu, but they
were bred so purely that very little humanity remained. Nehalé had
hoped the Shenaihu would not sink to this level of violence so
soon, but it seemed his recent fears were correct. The Shenaihu had
just answered in kind to his Awakening ritual, and this was the
outcome. But who had resurrected them? Who among the Shenaihu was
behind this? Janoss Miradesi? Or someone higher?

Reverend Miriam had been able to get many of
the recently Awakened to safety within minutes, but even he hadn’t
been able to save everyone. Over twenty lay dead now, each one of
their departed souls having left their searing marks within him.
Nehalé refused to curse this gift of empathy. The pain served as a
reminder of whom he was meant to protect. Fifteen of the more
seriously injured lay hidden in various parts of the cathedral,
praying to the One to protect their lives. He had also sustained a
broken rib, multiple lacerations, and a very deep drain in his
Mendaihu energy. The physical injuries he could live with, but the
loss of strength was enough to scare him.

He could not find nor sense Reverend Miriam
anywhere within the church.

He found himself praying to the One of All
Sacred again, wishing for any hope this would end soon. His fear,
distracting as it was, could not be focused on, not now. He had to
reach his senses out farther and nail down these
nuhm’ndah
,
if indeed they were still there. All had gone silent after those
ten minutes, shortly after his last aggressor had pinned him up
against a Baronas fresco, twenty feet off the floor. The levitation
had been the other man's doing; Nehalé was just doing all he could
to stay alive.

“
Where is she?
” the man had roared,
his the hatred in his eyes searing into him. “
WHERE IS
SHE?
”

He knew exactly who he’d been looking for.
And that was as far as his aggressor had gotten before Nehalé
pushed himself off the wall, physical and Mendaihu energy combined.
The man hadn’t expected the move and screamed angrily, flailing
backwards to the floor. With the added momentum, Nehalé sent
himself sideways towards the choir loft. He heard the sickening
crash of the nuhm’ndah body hitting the ground just as he landed
haphazardly, crashing into an upper pew and sprawling to the floor.
There had been no rebound, no regaining of stance and pursuit. His
opponent had inexplicably taken the fatal blow.

He did not feel the death that time.

He exhaled, understanding what he would need
to do now. His plan to Awaken of the One of All Sacred had not
included such a violent backlash by the renegade Shenaihu. At most,
he had been ready for some opposition — part of the reason for the
shimshiya
of Mendaihu at the Waterfront warehouse. He would
have to change plans drastically. The shimshiya would have to
become something more…

Crouched now on his haunches, his eyesight
narrowed to the shards of painted glass in front of him from the
windows above. His breathing slowed but still strained from his
injuries, he focused inwards to regain some energy.

One of All Sacred…I am doing this for
you.
The image of the girl in his mind was clear as ever. Yet
that was all it was, an image and nothing more. A mental view of
her essence, the one he'd felt after all the chaos of the Awakening
ritual. Throughout it all, it was her energy, its constant flow
that guided him that night.
You are here.
She was the One of
All Sacred, come again.
They will not have you.

He was startled out of his thoughts by a
frustrated grunt and the loud cracking of stone, followed by the
crash and rumble of a toppled statue falling to the floor. The
shattered remains rolled away, crashing into the wooden pews and
marble floor. The sounds echoed through the cathedral, nearly
masking the approaching footsteps beneath. Nehalé listened in
complete stillness.

“Final shot yet to be taken,” the man called
from the aisles below, sounding very sure of himself. “Well met,
edha Nehalé Usarai.”

Nehalé shivered.
He’s back.

“Nehalé,” Janoss Miradesi called out. “I am
quite sure you are here and still among the living. I can sense you
as well as you can sense me. You’re weakened and in not the best of
shape, but you’re most definitely here. I wish to speak with you as
equal, Mendaihu to Shenaihu.” When Nehalé did not answer, he
cleared his throat and spoke louder. “I recognize you as Mendaihu,
as Nehalé Usarai. Your essence precedes you, tell you the truth.
Especially after that little show the other day. You may call me
Janoss Miradesi.”

“I know who you are,” Nehalé said under his
breath. He looked up, but dared not lift his head yet. Inner senses
told him the man was standing dead center of the nave and the
transept, looking directly up at him. Why had he returned?

“Not bad for newborns, Nehalé,” Janoss
called up to him. “But you can do better than that. I know you can.
You were chosen for it.”

“You won't trick me!” Nehalé called out in
anger, before he could stop himself.

Janoss laughed quietly.
“Oh, I don't plan to trick you, my
sehnadha
. We are both luminous
beings, are we not? We do not need to resort to trickery to get
what we want. Come down, friend, I only wish to speak with you,
nothing more.”

Nehalé bit his lower lip. He did not move
from his place in the loft. Grasping both hands together, he
exhaled, and redirected what was left of his energy towards the
Light source within, toward the center of his being. Slowly at
first, then with an excited rush, he felt the inward sweep draw his
heart towards that Infinite Light, towards the One. Instinct took
over the physical realm as he entered the spiritual. All was
Light…

One of All Sacred...I wish your guidance. I
am facing one who may be my greatest enemy. This man wishes to take
the young girl who will yet align to the Awakening and become the
One's Ninth Embodiment. I admit, dearest Light, that I still do not
know their plans. Why would they take you, when You as the One of
All Sacred cannot be taken by anyone! Do they wish to corrupt you?
Kill you? Keep you from becoming?

My only wish, Dearest One, is to protect you
with Love, Peace and Light, as I do the Gharné of this world.

If it means I must Awaken the world of the
Gharné in the process, so be it. I shall always bear the guilt of
those taken away in Your Name…but I understand now that your
Awakening was predestined.

Nehalé peered over the bench and saw Janoss.
He stood patiently down below, hands in pockets, absently kicking
shards of fallen statue as if they were pebbles on the ground. For
a man who had just commandeered a violent attack upon a cathedral,
he seemed quite patient, even demure, in waiting for Nehalé's
answer.

Dearest One, I shall meet with him under the
Eyes of Truth.

Nehalé closed his eyes tight, and stepped
into Light.

A second later he stood twenty feet away
from the physical appearance of Janoss Miradesi, who appeared only
as a blurred reflection in this reality. The form shook terribly,
like a pirated vidmat image, obscuring a separate solid shape
underneath. The True Self under Janoss' image was a dark and heavy
mass, its shape hard to detect in the dim light of the cathedral.
He was smart to hide and protect himself so well; this chaotic
boundary kept him from being found by all but the strongest
spiritsensers. No wonder Nehalé had trouble getting a bead on
him!

He floated closer to him,
stopping mere feet away.
Step into the
Light, Janoss,
Nehalé growled from
within.
Show your True Self.

The blur that was Janoss shook with
laughter. “If you so wish,” he said. The blur congealed, warping
and bending into the physical shape of the man that every human and
Meraladian knew him to be. It was obviously not his true spirit
form, however, as it had only held for a few brief seconds before
it began to ripple and mutate again. Splashes of color came and
went all over his body, flashing from the tanned Meraladian skin to
a vivid deep black and back again, finally settling on a blue-black
as scale began to appear all over his body. His face began to
elongate, pulling into a snout, and he dropped down to a squat as
his limbs grew and took on more muscle, taking on a quadrupedal
form. Long and lethal talons grew from the ends of his fingers and
toes, scraping up against the marble floor as he shifted
position.

Finally he settled into a
large, sleek, dragonlike shape. His deep earth-toned scale-skin
glistened underneath the dusty sunshine pouring through the broken
windows above. He rotated his neck up then around as if stretching
into his new shape, hands reaching down to the floor, palms open.
He inhaled deeply through his nostrils, drank in the sunlight and
devoured the remains of the displaced spirits around him, and
exhaled hot, sticky breath out through his wide mouth. A grotesque
smile crossed his face, revealing tips of fangs. He was
alive.

Nehalé shivered at the
image before him.
This cannot be…!
There was only one kind of spirit who could
become a dragon spirit, and that was a
cho-nyhndah
…a true twin spirit. A
kiralla.

Janoss had both pure Mendaihu and Shenaihu
spirit within him! How could he have done this much damage to the
Mendaihu being the way he was? Goddess…the man must have lost his
faith years ago! Nehalé regained his composure quickly, before
Janoss could see him.

“So here I am, oh Mendaihu,” Janoss said
mockingly, waving a clawed hand in the air. “Show yourself, then,
and let's be done with it.”

Nehalé accepted the dare. Letting the final
veils drop away, he felt the physical embodiment of his Spirit
taking shape. Completely revealing one’s true soul was to stand
naked to the spiritual, to become vulnerable to those within the
realm. His tattered clothes fell away and disappeared into his
memory, replaced by a shimmering white robe flowing down over the
floor. Its edges brushed silently up and over the shards of the
statue scattered across the floor, reducing each piece of broken
marble to fine sand. Just as Reverend Miriam had turned the glass
to dust to protect the parishioners, Nehalé had turned the stone
back to its original basic elements. With each renewal, he felt the
strength within him building ever higher. He was healing, both
himself and the spirits surrounding him.

A near silent rush of wings cut through the
air behind him.

“Turn around, Janoss.”

Janoss turned slowly, first neck then body,
in one fluid movement. The smile widened.

“An angel, eh?” he hummed. “Very apt
imagery, my friend, considering.”

Nehalé had to grin. “Not in the conventional
Gharné myth sense, Janoss. I am but a Warrior Mendaihu for the
One.”

Janoss lifted his snout in a quick movement
that must have been the equivalent of a sneer, and barked out a
quick laugh. “They’re the same thing on this world, Nehalé. Just an
inspired watchdog.”

Nehalé refused to counter his remark. “It is
a noble position, Janoss. Why do you come?”

Janoss' scaled and clawed hands clenched
immediately. A long, nasal sigh emanated out of him as a low and
hissing growl. Nehalé consciously moved back half a step, hands
loose at his sides. Janoss watched him out of the corner of his
eyes, but said nothing. His now-sloped shoulders sagged with what
seemed like a mixture of defeat and fatigue.

“We are chained, both you and I,” Janoss
said. His tone, quiet and introspective, chilled Nehalé. “We are
constricted. Do you understand? I am chaos. You are order. And
neither of us can ever completely understand what the other does.
For if we did, neither of us would then have a reason to live.”