A Division of Souls - A Novel of the Mendaihu Universe (18 page)

Nehalé narrowed his eyes at him. “That’s no
answer.”

“Then tell me, friend. Why
do
you
believe I
am here? Certainly not to cause further chaos and kill all these
poor, wretched souls? I feel the stinging pain of loss the same you
do, Nehalé, do not forget that.”

His own voice thundered
within himself.
Why do you come,
Janoss?

Janoss turned and faced him straight on. The
dragon’s dark pearl eyes stared into his, and for a moment Nehalé
shuddered. For that brief second, he felt the Shenaihu coldness. In
that moment he understood, however briefly. A glimmer of compassion
came over him, only to be chased away by his own vengeance, and it
sickened him.

“I come to level the
playing field, sehnadha,” Janoss said, to his surprise. The
honorific had emotion behind it. “We, the Shenaihu, were not the
ones to abandon The One of All Sacred.
We
were the ones abandoned.
”

“…the shimshiya?” Nehalé asked. “This isn’t
the Gathering you’re talking about…”

“Gathering? Pfaah!” Janoss waved a
dismissive clawed hand at him. “That will never work. The only way
we can live peacefully together is by polarity. Mendaihu and
Shenaihu, separately, working for the same goal.”

“I don't believe you,” Nehalé growled.

“What, you think a…a
forced
cho-nyhndah
is going to work? There are hardly any left on this damn
planet!”

He paused, shrugged. “I still don’t believe
you,” he said.

“Disbelieve all you want,”
he sneered, showing a long canine fang. “We are coming back,
Mendaihu
. The Shenaihu
are returning to the fold. And it is all thanks to
you
—”

“Not by force, Janoss. Not even by using the
nuhm’ndah. It only leads to death.” Nehalé's hands balled into
fists. “It is forbidden, Janoss —”

“
Nothing is forbidden in chaos, Nehalé! Do you still not
understand?
” Janoss roared at Nehalé, and
dove at him.

Nehalé didn’t expect the attack and
sidestepped too late, and Janoss slammed into his left shoulder,
sending them sprawling onto the rubble-laden floor, the jagged
edges of stone and glass ripping painfully into his back. They were
no longer within the Light, Nehalé realized with horror — he’d been
forced out of the protective otherwhere by Janoss, forcibly pulled
back into cold reality. The stinging pain of his injuries roared
back to his senses and he let out a pathetic howl. There were few
who could have done that to him, and only one who would have been
able to so as easily as he did. Only one person, the
cho-nyhndah…Nehalé’s twin spirit, the one whose essence was the
mirror image of his. To find out now, of all times, that it was
Janoss…

One of All…!

“That’s right,” Janoss giggled. “Pray to the
One. She’ll help you. We know where she is.”

Nehalé shut off his mind
to him immediately. “You won’t have her!” he growled. He had to
leave here,
now
,
before this escalated any further. To stay and fight Janoss would
only cause more damage, to himself and to those around him. He
couldn’t have this fight now, not here. Summoning up what remained
of his energy, he lifted up his hands, exhaled, and pushed. Light
burst out of his hands, hitting Janoss square in the chest and
sending him skyward. That gave him enough time to gather himself
and prepare for a last step into Light. Janoss was now at least
twenty or so feet up in the air, having forced himself from
slamming against the stone wall, a shaky hand held against it. He
hovered there, gasping and coughing up blood, but his glaring eyes
never left Nehalé’s…they were now full and dark, and filled with
hatred.

Behind him, Nehalé heard the crashing of
doors again, and the thunderous clamor of running men entering the
church. Janoss had called for reinforcements.

We
are
returning, Nehalé!
His inner spiritual voice tore the air and sent a
shockwave through the church, shattering glass and upturning the
pews. He pushed off the wall and aimed directly for him,
accelerating as he closed in.
WE
ARE
RETURNING!
Janoss Miradesi's words seethed within Nehalé's
mind. This time he couldn’t avoid the hit, couldn’t turn away…he
had to stand his ground and prepare for the impact. Janoss crashed
hard, his shoulder digging into his upper chest, knocking wind out
of him. Both flew backwards into the pews, crashing through them,
towards the southwestern tower. Nehalé braced for each successive
hit, until he noticed they were not decelerating but
accelerating
towards the
back corner. Each of the shattering pews tore into his back,
splinters driven deep into his flesh…

Nehalé.
Reverend Miriam! The man was alive? Where was
he?
Call them
, he
said to him.
Call them all.

“Do you dare?” Janoss mocked him, lifting
him up until they were once again hovering above the benches. He’d
heard the priest’s voice as well. “Do you dare go that far,
Nehalé?”

Undaunted, he laughed, his wild and dark
eyes burning into Nehalé's. “Do you dare turn this into a war?”

Nehalé shuddered as he struggled in Janoss'
grip. This was already a war, long before he involved himself in
it. He’d already accepted that his actions could start another
season of Embodiment; he was only this cycle’s leader of the
resistance. But he knew this cycle was different…this one could be
the last, if he never wavered from his plans. Though he’d only just
realized that Janoss was his brother in spirit, he would not waver.
Even with all the deaths and the lost souls that would be in his
name, he would not waver. This was too important. He was to bring
about the True One of All Sacred, the Last One in Spirit, who would
retain the balance of everything.

It was worth the sacrifice, to make things
whole again.

“I dare,” he said, never looking away.

He felt the Rain of Light
surging through the church, and took hold of it.
Awaken, Mendaihu Gharra,
Nehalé called out, as emphatically as he could, as far as he
could reach.
Awaken, Protectors of Earth!
Come forth and fight for your faith.

Janoss twitched and
wavered. “That’s…
not
going to work,” he grunted, and began shoving him backwards
again, accelerating as he did so.
But the
few remaining and unscathed Mendaihu had begun to pick themselves
up and face the charging Shenaihu. The Shenaihu stopped in their
places, momentarily surprised and a little bit afraid. Clearly
Janoss had not expected their defenses to last so long. They
appeared everywhere, suddenly surrounding everyone, including
Janoss and Nehalé, and moving in. In a collective voice, in a
collective spirit, they spoke within him.

dehndarra Né hra nyhndah.

Flashes of brilliant
light. The newly Awakened surged forth as one great wall of
strength, forcing the charging Shenaihu down in a matter of
seconds. They would not yield. Nehalé knew that it indeed had just
begun. He had not told them to fight for dominance, nor had
Reverend Miriam ordered them. They were, as he had promised,
fighting to protect the One of All Sacred. The newly awakened had
understood the inevitable battle of Dark and Light. The Shimshiya,
the joining of the Mendaihu and the Shenaihu, would happen. The
Great Ascension, far greater than the Awakening or even the
Cleansing,
would
happen.

Nehalé smiled, and closed his eyes
again...

Peace, Love and Light to
you all
, he said.

...stepped into midair, and into Light,
leaving Janoss' still accelerating body crashing alone into a stone
pillar and cracking it nearly in half. Janoss bounced limply off it
and landed on the floor with a sickening crunch, all the energy
gone out of him. He lay there, bruised and out of breath, for a
long time, while chaos erupted all around him in the church,
beginning to spill outside.

“Y…you will
never
ascend…” he
coughed.

Then he too, broken but still full of venom,
stepped into midair. This time, into Darkness.

*

The shuddering reptilian Shenaihuza
spiritform of Janoss Miradesi stepped out of the air and onto the
cold pavement of the waterfront district warehouse. He walked with
a pronounced limp to the right, an unfortunate injury acquired
during his struggle with Nehalé Usarai. Though the battle itself
had been glorious, his injury was an undignified one. It wasn't so
much his pride that had been hurt, but his frustration that the
catch had eluded him.

He’d decided not to dwell on this failure.
Somewhere Nehalé nursed injuries worse than his own. They would
both heal before the end of the day — he could sense Nehalé’s
regenerative powers as strongly as his own — but both would now
carry scars of the battle. Whether he or Nehalé would keep those
scars was up to question. He chose, at least for now, to carry them
as a matter of Shenaihu pride.

He trudged heavily across the dust-laden
floor towards the rear of the building, not really paying attention
to where he was going and following instinct instead. Somewhere
behind the disused equipment and partially collapsed racking there
was a short hallway leading to the back offices. Behind the last
office was a door, rusted shut to everyone except those who could
walk through. It led to the maintenance tunnels, and beyond those
to Bridgetown’s forgotten underground railways. He lifted a scaly,
bony hand and laid it flat against the door. Closing his eyes, his
spirit sensed the breeze of both the air currents and the
multitudes of spirit winds flowing by. The heavy breath echoed off
the brick walls ahead, as if pleading for his presence. The corners
of his mouth lifted in an attempted smile at the selfish
thought.

Fingers curling, his claws
scraped against the dust and paint of the door, flecks chipping off
and falling to the floor. The door itself was cold; colder it than
it should have been, it seemed. Janoss was reminded of the third
reality of Trisanda, the wastelands of his youth, of the constant
bitter-tasting air and stinging cold winds of the land to which the
useless
nuhm’ndah
were corralled and forgotten.

Forgotten so
quickly,
he thought bitterly.
Cast aside. Abandoned on a bleak
world.

He breathed deeply, twice, then stepped
through, spirit pulling along the physical.

The Rain of
Light
, he said within himself. He was now
on the other side of the door, standing in a dimly lit hallway
covered in dust and debris. The spirit winds shifted, temporarily
stopping, swirling around his reptilian body as if picking up his
scent, and then moving on, westward in the direction of the Mirades
Tower. Inhaling, he tasted these ethereal energies, unimaginably
sweet on his tongue and euphoric on his nerves. They welcomed
Janoss blindly, unconscious of body but exacting in spirit. Their
unseen presence gently pushed him northward, towards the Mirades
Tower.

I awaken you,
children
, he said within.

The spirits shivered around him, vibrating
the air, and shimmering into life. Displaced air clicked loud and
echoed down the dusty tunnel, energy blasting tiny sparks which
illuminated the chipped masonry around him. The closest spirits
danced off his skin excitedly, and Janoss opened his mouth in a
giddy laugh. The taste of these spirits! The boundless energy they
held! He could not get enough. Nehalé Usarai must have felt the
same dizzying thrill.

I awaken
you
, he sang out gleefully.
Come and join me in this dance of
life!

He exhaled long and even, his warm breath
condensing in the cold air and dissipating as the spirits shot
through it hungrily. Each spirit in turn seemed to glow and shimmer
with each pass through the air, pulsating like stars.

Awaken —

A rumbling piercing storm of dust suddenly
shot past him, tasting like burning garbage and also strangely of
cinnamon, pushing him backwards. He skidded, arms suddenly flailing
at the tunnel walls just out of his reach. Something had pushed him
away…something stronger than himself. Not to be beaten, he angrily
pushed himself forward again until he regained his footing. The
spirit wind began to dissipate around him, lost to another reality
now, and caught the next wind, disappearing behind him. He squinted
and lifted a hand to block the dust, and tried to see ahead, but
there was nothing but dry, dusty darkness. He coughed and spat as
he attempted to breathe, and eventually turned his back to the wind
and lowered his head to his chest.

What...what is happening?

“Janoss Miradesi.”

Who –

“Come now, you know who I am. It’s me. You
knew I’d be here.”

Gasping for air, Janoss opened his eyes. He
was staring at his feet, his eyes watering from the dust storm that
was no longer there. He coughed and spat out the dryness in his
throat, brushing the dirt and grime and soot from his clothes. He
looked at his hands — they were no longer the true Shenaihuza…they
were flesh and bone of Gharné. Human hands. Reality had returned
again, though not by his command. He heard the shuffling of steps
and spun around. In the dim light he could see the dark eyes, the
close-cropped auburn hair, the hard face and frowning mouth of
Natianos Lehanna.