“You feel it too?”
Jade didn’t start. The voice didn’t come as a surprise. Not in this state of mind.
“A bit, HuanJen,” Jade answered thoughtfully. “It’s going to fade, in awhile. Moments, always moments … like the Ossuary, or when I meditate …”
HuanJen pressed against her. She could tell he was still nude, she could smell his skin. His body seemed to fit next to hers perfectly.
“It takes time, love.” HuanJen extended his hand, pressing Jade’s against the glass. “Fits and starts, moments of lighting insight, days of confusion. You managed to keep up your meditations and studies during the crisis, it helped.”
Jade nodded, and leaned back against her lover. His arms wrapped around her.
“I want it, still. Love, how long until I’m like you?”
“Boring and dull? Hopefully never …”
Jade snorted. “You know what I mean.”
HuanJen snickered playfully, nuzzling Jade’s neck, though his voice quickly turned serious. “I can’t describe where you want to be, just point you towards a place with no boundaries, no self, just the Unity, the Way. I would say, considering, two or three more years before you are in the ‘final stretch.’ I myself may not be the most perfect …”
“Hush.” Jade chided. “You’re the one person who could ever guide me. You’re not just my holy man, you’re giving me an entire new life. I know, it takes time.”
“Yes.”
Silence. Jade started out at the city lights. She could feel the Unity of things, feel the pulse of the world beneath all the recent chaos. She wouldn’t feel it forever, but she knew those magical moments where she did feel it were to be treasured.
“Paldayne won, didn’t he?” Jade asked finally.
HuanJen thoguht for a moment. “I would say his original intention to shake things up was successful. But in the end, he would only become another problem, a new version of Ziggurat Jack.”
“He could have stopped,” Jade stated flatly.
“I know. I saw. I think in the end, his anger at the politics and pretention he saw … made him selfish. Greedy for revenge, for validation. If he lost anything, he lost himself.” HuanJen’s words weren’t some of the more precise or stereotypical phrases he occasionally spouted by accident, they held the weight of life behind them.
“That’s something easy to lose, you can even forget you lost it,” HuanJen continued.
“Yes.” The Vulpine’s green eyes flickered with the flames of recognition. “Yes, you can.”
“You haven’t asked …” HuanJen began carefully.
“You tossed yourself off of a skyscraper and at first I wanted to panic, then I wanted to strangle you, but then I understood. It’s … no different than wind blowing. I … when you went off to the Valley of the Crypts so Kevin could pull his spiritual stuntman routine, I accepted things change, end, and die. Even you. Because … something is behind all of this …”
Jade clenched one white-furred fist. “And when I put it into words it falls apart. But … you were you. That’s all. You die tomorrow or live forever, you’re you and I love you.”
“I love you too,” HuanJen husked.
“I know. Funny, we … sort of said we’d figure the relationship out over time, and we had one before we knew it.”
“We … always had something,” The magician-priest acknowledged. I’m happy.”
“So am I … and I can’t get back to sleep.”
“Same for me. I slept quite deeply.”
Jade smiled. “You did exhaust yourself.”
“Well, let’s go to bed and see … what makes itself apparent.”
“Oh, you truly know how to speak dirty … “
June 12, 2000 AD, Xaian Standard Calendar
The bar and grill known as the Nax was a very organized place.
Of course it didn’t seem that organized, which was part of the plan of its owner, Richard Nax. Part of running a bar was making sure that people didn’t know it was being run. He’d had a few close moments now and then, but in general patrons were able to relax in the comfortable illusion of relaxed, kick-your-feet-up polite fun.
For instance, this evening, Richard had intervened in a potentially disruptive situation by being generous. Some of his patrons were going to have a celebration, and he’d given them a free back room, as he had once before under a more serious situation. It made everyone happy.
Besides, it kept a few people out of a limelight that he knew they didn’t want. Richard Nax, in his slightly overworked heart, cared about his clients. Yes, the Nax attracted the strangest people in Metris, but they were his strangest people. They were family that had a place to meet, eat, and get drunk in.
Some people needed their privacy, he provided that too. Some of his clients had found themselves in the spotlight.
Of course, it was some of his Guild Esoteric clientele …
In one of the back rooms, Rake sat in a chair, propped against a wall, watching his friends enjoy themselves for the first time in a miniature eternity. His dark clerical robes seemed to conceal the squat minister’s bulk, lending him a kind of suggested invisibility from which he observed his friends and coworkers.
Most of them were gathered at the Nax, together, for the first time in ages. They were happy. They were safe.
It was over. The incident with The Historian was over …
Brownmiller and Brandon, a gigantic ball of mystic muscle and the charming, dusky technologist, were swapping jokes. His Vulpine friends, Garnet and Jade, were chatting with Clairice, who had managed to drag herself from Metris General, still in her nurse’s uniform. Riakka Bale stayed near the ladies, managing to get a word in edgewise occasionally. Lorne and Slate were sharing drinks, chatting with the others, but soaking up the calm. Dealer Zero ambled around in his eternally-present trenchcoat. And…
Across the room, HuanJen was watching the group as well. Just watching. Almost unseeable, blending into the room like a single note in a song.
Rake caught the young mystic’s eye. HuanJen nodded for a moment. Rake returned the nod. Both returned to watching.
It was part of what they did, really.
Rake sighed. It was over. Ziggurat Jack gone, The Historian gone, lessons learned. The Scribe in custody, another element from the blackout to make the great and wise Guild Council of the Guilds of Xai think of what was important.
He could enjoy, but … he felt like watching, just like HuanJen.
Slate: ” … well, you know, I expect to her about the contract …”
Lorne: ” … I wasn’t there, I’m glad I wasn’t, we didn’t do as well as we could …”
Rake noticed HuanJen smile slightly, but not totally. Rake knew he was worried about Lorne. Rake made a few mental notes for later.
Dealer Zero: “Hey, yeah, it’s a nice group …”
Riakka: “Yeah, I don’t … I’m still not home at the University, I don’t feel like celebrating.”
The lives of his friends passing in front of him, Rake watched. It was one of those prerogatives of Holy Men, it seemed, that sheer pleasure in taking life as life. Those moments everything was perfect.
Or seemed so.
Jade: “Well, there’s a lot of attention …”
Clairice: “No kidding …”
Garnet: “Well, you made an impression …”
Rake saw HuanJen’s expression. That … was not going to be easy. The news had talked about him and the others, but his activities had gotten attention. Despite all that was going on, with talks about the Powersmiths and the Council and fixing the Communicant situation once and for all …
… HuanJen would probably face less time to just let life be life.
June 17, 2000 AD, Xaian Standard Calendar
Paldayne’s funeral was held privately. The Historians and indeed the University had battled with the Guild, even to the point the Gendarmes came into the argument to express their opinion.
Finally, all had settled
for cremation of the corpse while representatives of the University watched. Eventually, the Historians were given a small container of ashes, and told to conduct the ceremony with an observer.
Quietly.
Thus, Riakka Bale found herself at an unexpected funeral. She wasn’t sure why she was invited, but she went. She and three other Historians, led by now-Dean Challman, stood on the bank of the River Nhal, north of Metris, completing the ceremony.
Observed.
Riakka kept finding her eyes drawn to their guardian: Benli. He was a dark-skinned man, very tall, dressed all in black. A white skull was painted over his face, which gave him a very disturbing air. A grinning-bone smile painted over his own made him seem to have a peculiar four-dimensional quality.
Challman kept reading the Rite of Passing, read whenever a Historian passed away. He didn’t seem particularly comfortable; his round face was contorted by a barely-concealed unpleasant expression. Riakka couldn’t imagine what was going through his mind.
Burying his predecessor. Taking over after a crisis. Watched by Guild Esoteric. Strangely, his unhappiness made her realize that she wasn’t alone.
Her whole life was still upside down. People talked to her differently. Her neighbors acted differently. Even her fellows in the Historians acted differently, but that was understandable. She desperately wished she was living back at the University, but … there were things to do.
” … and to words we commend him. Geroff Paldayne.”
Challman closed the book of Rites and handed it to Benli unceremoniously. Then, he held up the small, nondescript urn that contained Paldaynes ashes, took a handful, and threw them into the river.
The new Dean of Historians passed the urn to the next of his fellows, who did the same. Riakka tried not to wince when it was her turn. Paldayne’s remains were gritty, with tiny chunks in them …
… and when it was over, they each passed around a towel to clean themselves. Benli reached into his jacket, brought out a small bottle, and drank reverntly.
Paldayne’s remains drifted out to the Sapphire Ocean as he became part of History.
Benli stayed behind until everyone else had left. When they were gone, he emptied the bottle’s remaining contents into the river, then slowly walked away.
June 19, 2000 AD, Xaian Standard Calendar
Lorne Thompson returned home to find his kitchen infested with friends.
It wasn’t one of those things he’d expected this evening. He’d expected to come home, put some groceries away, sit in front of the television, and mope. Clairice was out, and there didn’t seem to be much else to do, and he didn’t want to do much.
Apparently Slate, Rake, and HuanJen had other plans. Lorne’s kitchen now stocked one large gray-pelted Vulpine, a squat minister, and an oriental mystic.
“Hey.” Rake waved eratically. “I …uh …”
“Clairice let us in,” Slate said in a voice of walls and mountains.
“We … we,, Rake and I need to apologize.” HuanJen seemed rather sad.
“We all do,” Slate added.
Lorne shook his head, opened the refrigerator, and tossed the grocery bag in quickly. He had to hear this.
“We … know about Xianfu,” HuanJen took the initiative, “Dealer Zero does know Verrigent, and you did tell us some ideas, and … we’re sorry we weren’t there.”
“Well, things were busy …” Lorne began, taking the remaining seat at the table. He could smell the stench of guilt. His friends had finally stopped interfering in his love life, and he’d met Xianfu, the Outrider. Only now, now tha Xianfu was offworld, they hadn’t interfered when, perhaps, they should have.
“For Rake and HuanJen, maybe, but for me?” Slate asked. “No, my friend, I could have made more time.”
Lorne tried to say something, then nodded.
Then realized he was angry.
“I … you know, no offense guys, but … I’d like something to go right. Xianfu is in a fucking other Earth, on assignment for the Mercantile Alliacne, and I don’t know for how long. I mean, we saw each other but … I am close. Damn it, this may be it.”
Lorne scowled. “And Rake you had a wife, and HuanJen you have Jade, and Slate you have Garnet. I … you know, I shouldn’t even be going on. All of you ahd thigns to do. Damn, I hate this. No, look, the city was fucked up and we all had stuff to do, and, hey, his assignment will end, and …”
“You’re worried that he’ll be like Verrigent.” HuanJen stated with all the simplicity of a knife’s point.
“Yes,” Lorne admitted. Xianfu’s partner had quit his job some time ago and left Xai, only to return once or twice to get his bearings.
“And we ignored it,” Slate grumbled. “Lorne, you have become one of my finest friends. I am sorry.”
“We’re all sorry,” Rake began, “I …”
“Wait, wait.” Lorne waved his large hands. “I don’t want a guilt fest. I just … it’s nice to see you notice. I didn’t want to be a burden, we’re all so busy taking care of things …”
“We’re nothing without our friends,” HuanJen stated, eliciting a complicated expression on Rake’s fist of a face.
“That … fits our little group in many ways,” Lorne admitted.
“How are you?” Slate asked.
“Lonely, worried, tired, pissed, and I want Xianfu here. We spent time just going out and doing things and I desperately wish he was here, for those little things. And no, Rake, we haven’t had sex, no lectures on premarital sex.”
Rake looked over at HuanJen, who shrugged. Rake rolled his eyes.
“Bitter?” Rake asked.
“Sorry, sorry my friend. Lonely and horny.”
“We understand that,” Slate commented. No one argued.
“He’ll be back in a few weeks, then … I’m going to see where it’s going.” Lorne’s hands clenched.
Rake pulled out a chair. “Sit, ah, talk. Talk like we,a h did before the chaos, and we’ll, ah, just hang out. The guys.”
Lorne took the chair. “You’re playing therapist.”
“It’s in the job description for two of us,” HuanJen said with a smile.
“Mine too, you have no idea,” Slate corrected.
Lorne smiled halfheartedly. “Well we’ve got beer and Spectral wine, and time.”
A moment of silence.
“I miss him, and … yes, I need to talk …” Lorne sat at the table, staring down. Words fled from him like shadows exposed to light.
“Er, Lorne?” Slate asked.
“Yes?”
“We’re waiting for you to talk,” the hulking Vulpine said softly, almost sheepishly.
“Sorry.” Lorne shook his head. “I … I just …”
“I miss my wife.”
Rake’s words were leaden thunder. Lorne tried to meet the minister’s eyes. He found he couldn’t.
He found he felt petty. Xianfu was coming back to him, at least, hopefully. Rake’s wife was gone and dead and buried.
“Sorry,” the Gendrame finally managed to say.
Rake looked into the distance. “Sorry. I … ah, wanted you to know you’re, ah not alone.”
“We’ve all been alone before,” HuanJen said soberly. “I … did you know that it is one of my greatest fears?”
Lorne raised an eyebrow. “No. No I didn’t. I …”
HuanJen’s eyes bored into him. Lorne avoided grinning. He knew what his friends were up to.
His friends.
“I … then let me … tell you how I feel. It’ll be nice to share …”
June 20, 2000 AD, Xaian Standard Calendar
Solomon Dell had a strange little not-quite secret.
Being head of the Rancelmen, the special enforcers and customs agents of the Travelers’ guild, people expected him to have secrets. They would have been disappointed if he hadn’t actually. Secrets and oddity went with the dark Rancelman armor and the title.
However, one of his secrets really was a terrible letdown. He
had a therapist.
Not quite a therapist, actually, but close enough. An acquaintance of Guild Esoteric who had proven, despite some initial hard feelings, to be quite helpful. Someone to talk to about life in general, every now and then. Someone who, recently, had made news by throwing himself off of Shard Tower.
HuanJen.
Dell stepped onto the balcony, one of the many odd observatories and places on Shard Tower that people went to look over the city. Over the decades, some were remodeled or removed or forgotten - he’d found one that, ideally, was a nice place to have a private chat.
The cleric, or Fang-Shih as Solomon had learned he was properly titled, was waiting, looking at the horizon in a rather quiet manner. HuanJen wore his dark coveralls, the nondescript outfit that was sort of his badge of being a Zone Cleric. He had always made Dell feel self-conscious of the way he looked - his armor, his long blond hair and styled braids - HuanJen made him feel like he was somehow over-primped.
“HuanJen?”
“Yes. Solomon.” The response was unusually quiet, even for the odd Magician-Priest, and a bit pained.
“How are … you don’t sound that well,” Dell mentioned. HuanJen was usually like clockwork - reliable within a certain bounds. He didn’t seem himself at all.
“I did … some drinking last night with a friend and our friends and I overdid it.” The Fang-Shih gave Dell a sickly smile.
“A lot of that in your life lately?” Dell asked.
“It’s been busy, lately. You?”
Dell knew what that meant. HuanJen was ready to listen. Of so many people, he was one that could, without judgment or contrivance or ass-kissing. Dell didn’t understand him, but was grateful for his …
… presence. Friendship was a word he wasn’t sure he’d use. He didn’t use it much anyway.
“We survived the blackout, even if, well, I fear our alliance with the Gendarmes is strained. Smuggling wasn’t good, we actually had idiots trying to bring gravtech through. I think Faith is going to leave behind her little empire and migrate considering … revelations and suspicions. My wife is well. Miriam is doing OK.”
“I see. Your wife, does she …” HuanJen began.
“Is it obvious?” Dell closed his eyes. The mystic had a way of ferreting out information without trying. His moments of naivet�� often led one to believe he was a bit ignorant ��� until you realized, suddenly, he was anything but.
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