The Persistence of Memories - A Novel of the Mendaihu Universe (44 page)

I would not let that one fact lighten the
situation, however. Saisshalé is dangerous and he's unpredictable.
One would think he is catering to the whims of the Dahné Natianos
Lehanna, but he is not. He is merely following his predetermined
steps until his final real Awakening can take place. And I fear
that time is soon.

And as for the kiralla? I do apologize, but
I did listen in on your conversation with Agents Slater and
Gorecki. I understand Slater's determination to find out the link
between all of this and the kiralla, but believe me, he’s going
about it all wrong. For you see, the kiralla are the most
misunderstood spiritual species of all.

Though they are perceived as the Watchers of
the Mendaihu and the Shenaihu, in reality they are much more. They
are heralds, for lack of a better term. They are not Watchers, but
Hosts of the Goddess herself. The kiralla side with neither, and
they follow only what the Goddess says. They've been awake for some
time now, here in Bridgetown, maybe beyond, always ready for the
next Season of Embodiment. They will not partake in any battles,
but they can, and probably will, influence its outcome. They have
already influenced many things over the last few months, from small
to large. Who knows what they will do next?

There are two kiralla among you, Sheila, I
want you to know that. They both hold you in the highest regard, so
you need not fear them. Just the same, I will not tell you who they
are. They will eventually make their True Selves known to you at
some future point. All I ask is that you not be afraid.

And so, dear sehnadha, I tell you this final
item. I bequeath to you my knowledge of these events, as they were
given to me by my father. This information is vast and complicated,
but I promise you that it will not steer you wrong or harm you in
any way. You will retain this information, intact, until it is your
turn to bequeath it to someone else. You will know who to give it
to when the time comes.

That is all for me to say, Sheila Kennedy.
The rest is up to you...

A long, slow breath. He reached out and
touched the tops of her hands.

The moment she started pulling away, she felt
a sharp jab in the back of her neck. She winced and let out a small
cry, trying to form Matthew's name. She got as far as the first
letter when the world dimmed and she fell away into darkness,
whimpering.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Connection

Christine stubbed out the remainder of her
cigarette in the ashtray and looked out over the quiet
neighborhood. “You don’t mind if we wait for Sheila, do you?” she
asked, a slight nervous hitch to her voice. “I'm sure she wants to
hear the rest of our conversation.”

“Not at all. Stay as long as you like,” he
said, taking a last drag before putting out his own. “As a matter
of fact, there are a few more things I want to talk to you about.
We can talk up here, or in the office, whichever you find more
comfortable. I know this building isn't your favorite place to be.
I just figure that staying out here, looking over all of humanity,
keeps a sense of realism for the absurd conversations we're
having.”

“Whatever you say, Nick,” she said, laughing
at him. “I'm not due back to my apartment until early this evening
anyway.”

Relieved, he rearranged the chairs near the
railing with the ashcan in between them.

Christine sat down in the one facing away
from the afternoon sun. “So,” she said, crossing her legs and
resting her clasped hands over her knee. “We've already discussed
the kiralla, and we know about Saisshalé. What more could we
possibly need to talk about? You have another angle you haven’t
brought up yet?”

Nick chuckled as he lit up another cigarette,
his hands trembling slightly. It took him a couple tries to light
it properly. “No, not yet anyway. Actually I was thinking of
something more along the lines of...well...” He exhaled slowly,
looking away. “This is more on a personal level.” Another pause. “I
was wondering if you perform any other rituals besides soulhealing.
You know. For your freelance work.”

The question and the lack of confidence in
its execution surprised her. She slowly eased back into the chair,
crossed her arms and tapped her lips with her thumb for a few
moments, studying him as she thought of how to answer. “I do,” she
said eventually. “Are you asking about something in
particular?”

“Past life regression,” he said. Then, taking
another drag, began to explain. “I mean serious delving into past
personal, spiritual histories, using the sehna lumia and whatever
else is handy. Nothing intensive, just being able to switch to a
spirit mind — no, that didn't sound right — to be able to
link
with my soul and find where it's been over the last,
say, hundred years or so. I'm just wondering if I could access
that. With your help.”

Christine’s expression softened. “Okay, I get
what you mean now. I do have a little bit of experience, as it was
a prerequisite when I got my healer’s license. I can do a low-grade
version of meditative hypnotism. I don’t use suggestive prompts,
the kind psychologists use to make patients stop a bad habit or
what have you. I basically just serve as an anchor as they do their
own search. Not too many people ask about it, really. They’d rather
go to a sehndayen-ne instead.”

“Exactly what I'm talking about,” he said
soberly. “I need you to do that for me.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re serious about
that?”

“Dead serious,” he said. “Everyone around me
has been affected by the Awakening ritual…everyone except me. At
first I thought it was just a freak of nature, you know, mutant
genes that pass a generation. It just feels as though...”

“You think you're a sleeper,” she said.

“It sounds stupid,” he blushed. “But I can't
help but thinking that there's something about me, my True Self,
whatever it is, that I need to know. I can't help feeling that
there's something inside that I can't unlock until I know all the
details. Does any of this make sense?”

Slowly she nodded, and reached for her own
cigarette. Lighting it up, she sighed heavily, looking over his
right shoulder at the rising slopes of Branden Hill Sector behind
him. “It makes perfect sense,” she said. “I can certainly try to
put you under for a brief time. I can't promise you'll find what
you're looking for, though. No one can make that promise. In fact,
I can almost guarantee that you'll find at least one thing that'll
throw you for a loop, something that could easily screw with your
head for a very long time.”

“No promises,” he said. “I just want to do
it.”

“You never say anything about it,” she said.
“At least you never did, back when I was here. You're always the
levelheaded member of the team. You always look as though nothing
bothers you. And if it does, you take the courtesy not to share it
with everyone else.”

“I wouldn't call it courtesy,” he said. “I
call it precaution. Believe me, when something does get under my
skin, you all know it. But this...
this
is something I need
to tap into. I'm an unawakened investigator for the ARU, and I do
the best damn job that I can, but it's hard when I start doubting
myself. It’s too dangerous.”

“Yes, it is,” she said soberly. “But couldn't
it also be a psychological thing? Maybe you're feeling left out? I
don't mean to make it sound like pity, or —”

“Oh, no, not at all,” he said. “And I
appreciate that you understand. Thing is, if we do this, we should
do it soon. I know, what if it goes wrong and I'm laid up when I’m
needed the most? What if my mind becomes unbalanced? Believe me,
I've covered all the roads. I don’t want an easy-in here, Chris. I
just want clarity.”

Christine exhaled slowly. She looked out over
the railing, cigarette close to her lips. She took a few drags in
silence as she tried to come to a decision. Nick knew he was asking
a lot from her, and this was not something she was about to take
lightly. He understood her hesitation, and would understand if she
declined. He could find someone else if need be.

Finally, she took a last drag, pushed herself
up and perched herself on the edge of her chair. “You have to know
that this is
not
something I normally do, Nick,” she said.
“And this may be something I won't do again. I've had far too many
variables in my life explode in my face, work and otherwise. I just
don't want to do something that could possibly scar either one of
us for life. I couldn't handle that.”

“I won't —”

“Don't make any promises, Nick. Anything
could happen.”

“I'll do my best, then,” he offered. “I'll
take full responsibility. Honestly, Christine.
D
ehndarra
dayen lumia.
I know what I'm doing.”

“Okay,” she said, relenting. “Tell you what —
I'll call you tomorrow and we can set up a time, all right?”

Christine could sense his joy without even
trying, but he hid it anyway, out of courtesy. “Thanks, Chris.
Really, it means a lot.”

Sheila had not returned to the smoker’s deck
for a good twenty minutes, and Nick was growing concerned. He
hadn’t had the opportunity to talk with Matthew one on one himself,
but he’d heard enough stories about him. The rest of the team
trusted him, but the former policeman in him didn’t trust him at
all. After another five-minute wait, he’d made up his mind and
headed down, Christine close behind. They stopped at Poe and
Caren’s office first to check in. He found Poe alone at his desk,
completely lost in the report on his hardback vidmat. He absently
tapped out a rhythm with its stylus, the
tak tak tak
echoing
through the office.

Nick rapped on the open door. “Hey, Poe. Have
you seen Sheila around?”

He looked up at him with a frown. “Haven't
seen her lately. Let me do a roster check.” He swiped at the vidmat
and pulled up the roll. “Says she's still in house. Checked into a
Questioning room about fifteen minutes ago, that must be with
Matthew. They should still be in there.”

He paused, frowning at the screen. Then he
quickly stood up and joined them at the door.

“You think Matthew's going to try something?”
Nick asked.

“He'll try anything once,” he grumbled and
hurried past them. “Let's go.”

“Wait a minute,” he called out, jogging to
catch up. “You think he's done something to Sheila?”

Poe glanced over his shoulder as he stormed
down the hall. “If anything, he's helped her with her recent anger
flashes. I've never known him to do something malevolent without
good reason. But that doesn't mean he might not do something
without her permission.”

“You really think he'd pull something like
that?” Christine asked.

“Yes, I would,” he said coldly. “Those
psychic trespass charges on him aren't exactly stretching the
truth, you know.”

Minutes later they reached the third floor
interrogation wing. Sheila had signed into room 350 — the third
Questioning room on the left, just one door down from the room in
which she’d been questioned after the hrrah-sehdhyn attacks. The
door was closed but not locked, its status read as occupied. Poe
was the first to the door. He stopped in front of it, took a deep,
patient breath, and knocked.

The intercom crackled to life. “Come on in,
Poe,” he heard. It was Matthew's voice, and it was calm.

Poe frowned deeply and placed a single hand
on the door. Slowly he pushed the door open, a wave of warm air
spilling out. He walked all the way to the far corner, Nick
following close behind and Christine taking up the rear. Poe's eyes
were on Matthew, but Nick was watching Sheila. And Sheila was
watching him with a wide grin on her face and, if he wasn't
mistaken, excitement burned in her eyes.

“Hey partner,” she sang. “Just like anger
management class in here, eh?”

“Yeah,” he said warily. “You okay?”

“Fine, never better.”

Poe stepped forward and leaned up against the
table, his eyes darting between the two. “All right, Matthew. Did
you plan on letting the rest of us in on any of this little
conversation?”

He cocked an eyebrow at him and clasped his
hands together. “Nothing you don't already know,” he said lightly.
“This was for Sheila, and Sheila only.”

“It's fine,” Sheila said quickly, forcing a
smile. “I'm fine. Nothing happened.”

But something had indeed happened. She'd
always had some sarcastic, wiseass remark to share, regardless of
mood. Right now she was uncharacteristically jovial.

“Might I remind you that you're here thanks
to Farraway and the Governor?” Poe growled. “They can just as
easily throw you back to the dogs, you know.”

“No, they wouldn't, and neither would you,”
he retorted, a devilish glint in his eye. “And you know that. And
if you even try to screw this up otherwise, the consequences won't
be pretty. I have connections you wouldn't appreciate.”

“I wouldn’t doubt that,” Christine said.
“Perhaps you can tell us more.”

“Afraid not,” he shrugged. “If I could, I'd
soon be dead. Besides, there are more important things for me to
do.”

Nick felt a sudden change in the air, sending
shivers down his back. The room temperature had dropped a few
degrees much too quickly, the air grown too electric. Someone was
starting to store up energy —

He yelped and lunged forward, throwing
himself across Matthew's chest and holding on tight. “Damn it, he's
going to run!” He felt the tingling sensation of building energy,
passing between himself and Matthew. He began to feel it draining
from his own body, little by little. It was the weirdest thing he'd
ever felt in his life. Matthew had not meant to pull at his spirit
like that, and the process had shocked and frightened both of them.
Nick resisted the urge to push away, making sure that he remained
in contact. If Matthew displaced himself somewhere, Nick would go
too. “Quick!” he cried. “Someone stop him!”