by Jon Chaisson
He nodded at her. “Better,” he said. “I'll wait for the doc. Go, talk to Poe and Matt, straighten all this out.”
She stood up and, after pausing once at the doorway to sense him one last time, entered the room. He heard the click of the door closing. It would probably be a few more minutes until Christine would come out, so he took the time and maneuvered himself into a more comfortable position on the floor of the hallway.
“You're here, aren't you, Saisshalé?” he called out.
You're a quick study, he heard from within. A low, growling voice that penetrated his head in the most disturbing way. I knew I could get to you if I tried hard enough.
Nick shuddered but remained calm. “Going to show yourself, or just making your presence known?”
I'm here. Look to your left.
He turned slowly, at first seeing a young man with an incredible resemblance to Matthew sitting on the floor twenty feet away, facing forward, never looking at him. Only this wasn't Matthew; Saisshalé still had his long, stringy, somewhat greasy-looking hair, tied back in a tight braid. Otherwise, he was a dead ringer...
...which triggered off another wave of déjà vu. Something about a man sitting on the other end of a long hallway, talking to him. Threatening him, just by being there. Threatening him, just by telling him words that he did not want to hear. Something —
He'd definitely been here before. In this exact situation, only in a different time.
Like fate, he thought.
“Nice trick,” Nick said. “I never knew you could take on someone else's appearance.”
I can't, he said. This is only a projection of what I want you to see. I only kept the hair in case Matthew comes out before emha Gorecki does.
“Right,” he said. “Was this all your doing?”
Surprisingly, no. These events you've just lived through happened of their own accord. Matthew and Sheila have done nothing but trade words — and in the process, the Messenger has passed on his Message. Sheila is now the new Messenger. As for you? Your spirit just happened to be in the right location, in the right situation, at the right time, just to get that little nudge — and the Sleeper is now waking up. All that's left is for the spirit to be made flesh again.
“What do you mean?” he asked, even though he knew the answer.
I am only here as Dennise Johnson was here, before the Awakening. As you were here, before your Awakening. You wake up utterly, irrevocably changed.
“You haven't fully Awakened,” Nick said. “Have you?”
The man cracked a grin.
“And I am the Sleeper...how? What did I do? What do I do now? Am I supposed to wake you up?”
A chuckle escaped the man's lips. Oh, not at all. You've done your part.
“Which is...?”
Watching it all unfold. As a Sleeper, you witnessed the Awakening of the One of All Sacred, the failed Ascension, the Awakening of countless people within the Bridgetown Province and beyond. What made you a Sleeper was that you witnessed it with an untainted spirit and a fair mind. You watched, you learned, you understood, and you did not judge. I can tell right now that you do not judge me.
“Like hell I don't,” he blurted.
Don’t be stupid, Nicholas. Sure, you may have your opinions about me, just like anyone else might. But you don't judge me, because you don't know how! How do you judge a deity you've never truly experienced? Do you judge the Goddess because you don't know what it is to be a deity? Do you judge the One of All Sacred because you don't know what it is to have infinite knowledge? You do not judge me, Nicholas. Because you can't. You're incapable of it.
Nick did not know how to respond to that, so he said nothing. Saisshalé did not continue, however, and it made him uncomfortable. He readjusted his position on the floor and realized he was now sitting exactly like Saisshalé. That made him even more self-conscious, and he moved again, only to move back to his original position, which Saisshalé then copied.
Here lies fate, my friend, Saisshalé said, a wicked smile crawling across his face. Here lies fate.
“Who are you talking to?”
Nick jerked up to a full sitting position and twisted to his right. Christine was standing above him, a female nurse standing next to her. The nurse cut in front of her and knelt down next to him and began to examine him as she waved a short wand past his badge for his medical record. Christine stood above the both of them, waiting quietly as the nurse asked a few questions, examined some more, and subvocalized a few notes, presumably into an internal data recorder. Moments later she deemed him healthy, if a bit overworked, and suggested the rest of the day off just to make sure. The culprit, apparently, had been an overindulgence of spiritual activity added with stress and exhaustion, common among the newly awakened Mendaihu.
“Mind explaining any of this?” Christine said.
He looked down the now-empty hallway, and shook his head. “Is that offer for hypnosis still open?” he asked.
The question caught her off guard. “Sure.”
“Good. I have one hell of an interesting story to tell you.”
“That's enough,” the nurse said. “Let's get you some rest. The medical bay has a few open rooms, if you'd like to use one of them for a while. Otherwise, I'm going to have C.I. Farraway send you home.”
“Room's fine,” Nick said. He turned back to Christine, offering her a smile. “Maybe tomorrow, Chris. Tell Sheila I'm okay.”
“Sure thing,” she smiled. “Take care, kid.”
She returned the Questioning room — briefly stopping to give him a comical wave of disgust as a pocket of warm air hit her in the face — and closed the door. He thought he heard a burst of laughter from the room; something unexpected, given the situation. He nodded, comforted that the situation had calmed down, and let the nurse lead him to the medical bay on the second floor. He glanced back to the other end of the hallway. He sensed the entire length of it and felt nothing but its emptiness.
Here lies fate, my friend, he thought. Here lies fate.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Madin
Denni opened her eyes to the sight of the open-roofed porch of her sehna lumia, content that she was now able to reach this destination quickly and without any trouble. Amna sat across from her at the other windowsill. Amna had just woken up herself, yawning and blinking sleep out of her eyes. She stretched, looked around at her new surroundings, and stopped short when she saw Denni. She probably didn't recognize her as she had taken on her mature form again. Amna had aged as well, still petite but retaining the beautifully sublime Mannaki features she'd inherited from her ancestors, and looking remarkably like her mother. She too wore a loose fitting dress of white, cut just below the knee. She had grown her dark hair quite long, reaching nearly to her hips, tied into an intricate triple tail and gathered at the ends by beads and baubles that made quiet clicking noises as she moved her head.
She wondered why this version of her sehna lumia gave its visitors the appearance of themselves in ten or fifteen years...certainly she was not visiting a future time? At least not a concrete future. This was merely a projection, a mixture of one’s own self-image and a hint of things that may come.
“I made it,” Amna whispered, impressed not only with herself but with Denni’s apparent ease at travel. She pushed herself off the sill, regarding her body for a second as she adjusted to the different reality. She held out her arms, rolling them back and forth, glancing down at her chest, her frame, her legs...and letting out a small laugh. “Look at me. I look just like my mom! And you! You’re beautiful, Den! I’m so jealous!”
“Welcome to my sehna lumia, Amna,” Denni said. “You are welcome here anytime.” She reached out and took Amna's hand. “Check it out, I've got a back yard.” Together they stepped out of the gazebo and onto the lawn. It seemed bigger this time, stretching farther away from her little house and wider on each side. She looked to her right, half expecting to see Kindeiya Shalei there, but saw no one. She didn't hear
any voices this time. Perhaps her subconscious had already readjusted itself and felt even safer than before.
“This is beautiful,” Amna whispered, eyes wide, spinning in amazement at their surroundings. Denni sensed a very brief wave of fear from her, but it quickly changed to excitement. “So this is where you went that first time?” she asked.
Denni nodded. “It’s become one of my lumisha dea.”
Amna side eyed her. “All the way out here?”
“Sure, why not?”
Amna giggled. “It's a bit out of the way, isn't it?”
“Not if you know the route.”
“Which you apparently do,” she said, not without a hint of pride. “That took no time at all. I wish I had your strength.” She glanced around again, taking everything in. “It certainly fits your standards. I definitely see you living here.”
Denni flashed a smile at her. She would live here, if she could.
Or perhaps she had already? She craned her head towards the tree line at the far end of the field. A sensation washed over her...a long ago memory of walking barefoot, grass knee-high and the color of cypress...
She froze. I have lived here before.
...the wisps of thin clouds from the west, trying in a vain attempt to block out the sun...coming to the edge of the field now, a slight incline, grass shoots giving way to shorter scrub giving way to a fine layer of dirt and moss and rusted needle...standing at the edge now, turning to see the gazebo, which stands before a large stone house almost completely covered in ivy...seeing someone in that gazebo, a woman of fair height and build, distracted by her own surroundings and holding herself close as she paces the stone floor...
...the woman who knows identities and secrets...
...through the wood and down a well-worn path with the sound of a burbling stream just ahead...opening now into another line of trees, of weeping willows, their sad and drooping arms sheltering small birds and animals, filtering the sunlight and cooling the breeze to a slight shiver...
...standing in front of herself...looking down on a much younger version of herself, a precious child of five, playing with fern leaves and twisting them into necklaces and bracelets and crowns...watching as she reaches with her own hand and touches this little girl on the head, stroking her fine hair, knowing full well that she is looking at herself and is proud of what she has become in her young life, and knowing where it will all lead...
...this little girl looks up at her older self, and smiles.
Somfei fadin, she says.
...the girl is not her, but a girl she knows...she is a girl she will know some time in the future...she is the future One of All Sacred, the one to come after her...she knows who she is...she is her daughter in some possible future, a beautiful girl of five, with fiery red hair twisting and knotting in the slight breeze...
...she is Annedin Shalei si Oktanis, daughter of Denysia Shalei and....
...and?
No…it can’t be!
Eyes opened, and she was back in the present. Amna stood close, watching, arms held up before her, hesitantly, almost afraid to touch. “Den?” she whispered. “Are you all right?”
“Oh...” she managed, shuddering.
“Denni?”
“Goddess...” Her twitching hand covered her mouth. She was shivering with emotion, unable to let go of this vision. She took another uneven breath and bit her lower lip hard.
Amna... she managed from within. Oh...what I've just seen...
“What...? What did you just see?” She moved ever closer. The hand still hovering in the air, Amna hesitated one last time, glancing at her own twitching fingers. Please… she said within. Tell me what you see. She dropped her hand onto Denni’s shoulder, so weak and light and —
“I...” Denni exhaled. A violent shudder raced through her whole body as she stared into the woods in front of her. Strength drained out of her and she fell to her knees, arms at her sides and palms outward. Multiple emotions washed over her in waves, yet the only one to remain was utter fear. Fear of this future, fear of its inevitability, fear of what could ultimately bring her here, to raise a child so far away from Earth and hand over such a heraldic title as the One of All Sacred like it was just a name...
Fear of the truth.
Oktanis, she whispered. I know who he is, Amna!
Again, the image of a young daughter in the field, standing next to her oblivious to the chaos surrounding her. This was not Denni. This was not her future. A possible one, and one that could be prevented. This field, this sehna lumia of hers was a pacifist's dream, a paradise, an Eden...her Eden...could she possibly turn her back on Earth, on Gharra, for the sake of her own safety? Was there any question that she would eventually give up Earth for Annedin?
It was a question she did not want to answer. The mere possibility! She took a deep breath, then another, until she had calmed down enough to regain her senses. If she was to take responsibility for any of these actions, she certainly did not want to make a hasty, emotional choice that could bring disastrous results.
Annedin... she thought, and hoped that Amna could not hear or sense her right now. Please, madin...know that I would love you as my daughter. But I can't sacrifice my homeworld for your safety.
“D-d…D-deh—”
Denni shuddered and opened her eyes again. Amna stood above her, twitching and wavering. Her eyes were vacant and drifting. She stuttered and coughed out incomprehensible sounds, her breathing shallow. “Amzi?” she said, her own voice barely a whisper. “Amzi…are you— ”
Amna’s head lolled and rolled to the right and down, until her eyes locked onto hers.
They were nearly all black with an intention of fire behind them.
“D-deh…Deh…”
“Amzi!” She could not look away.
Then Amna fell to her knees beside her, arms splayed outwards, her hands facing upwards, barely making fists. Behind each jagged breath was a faint growl now, a primal defensive rumbling from within, so deep Denni felt it within her own soul. Her nostrils flared as she breathed heavily and forcefully. Denni cautiously and fearfully reached out a weak hand and touched her friend on the shoulder, but Amna batted her arm away with a shockingly violent backhand and scrambled backwards, well out of her reach. Still shivering, Amna slowly lifted her head in Denni's direction. Amna’s eyes were wide and completely black, burning into her own with a malice she’d never seen in her life.
“D— Deh—” Amna uttered.
Amna! Denni cried from within. Amna! What's wrong?
“Y—you...” Her voice was unnaturally low, almost a rumble. “D—Dennyssssia.....” she hissed. “Y...you arrre Onnnne....”
I am the One of All Sacred, she admitted. There was no pride to that statement just then.
Amna twitched her head violently, hair whipping everywhere. She let out another long, phlegmy breath. “Y...you sssssavvvvv— ”
Denni tried as hard as she could to stay calm. This was her best friend, her Protector…she could not run away. “Amzi…? Who do I save?”
“You sssav.....sssssavvyr....of....” Amna stopped. Her breath was slow. So incredibly, dangerously slow. Denni shivered again at the intensity of that stare, the ferocity behind it. She could not read it at all. Was she angry? Terrified?
“Savior...of?” Denni said, her voice just above a whisper.
“K-kkk-rssnnnnnndaahhhhhhh....”
Denni stared at her. Krisanda? Who was —
She gasped.
Savior of Trisanda.
“Wh....what?” she managed.
“D-Dennn. S’me,” the girl muttered, her eyes never leaving her. Slowly, she lifted up a hand…not to reach out, but to show her an empty upturned palm. She was letting her know she would not lash out. “Ahm. Ah. M’nah. Puh. Please.”
“A—Amna?” She resisted the temptation to reach out and grasp at her, pull her out of this strange trance that seemed to be sustaining her and killing her at the same time. “Amna, can you hear me?�
� she called out. “I'm going to take your hand. Don't worry, I won't hurt you. I'm going to bring you closer to the center of the field. Do you understand?”
Amna, still shivering and breathing heavily, stared back at her with those intense eyes, nearly lost in her own world. Denni recognized a flash of cognizance, however — an attempt at a smile, a quick lift of the corner of her mouth, dropping away a second later — and nodded. Slowly, she lifted up her own trembling hand and grasped at hers. Amna’s skin was frighteningly cold. The girl winced and cried and shook her hand as if wanting to pull herself loose, but knew better and forced herself to follow. She pushed herself up to a halfway erect position, daring not to stand any higher.
“Come on, Amzi...come on,” she pleaded quietly and started to walk back, one painfully slow step after another. “Almost there...that's right.” She turned to face the gazebo, and nearly stopped again. They had already crossed the entire field of grass and were standing at the tree line, and the distance they had crossed wasn't nearly as far as what she'd seen when they'd arrived here. Out of nowhere a saying that Caren had once uttered came to mind: everything is relative. Space and time here were relative, and she was rapidly losing control of that. She soldiered on towards the gazebo as quickly as she could.
Amna began to cry, first whimpers of sorrow, then wails of pain as she began pulling at Denni's hand again, begging, pleading to let go. The wailing bordered on the howling of a wolf, high and full of agony. Amna's hand was still unnaturally cold in hers, despite Denni's warm hands feeding her heat...
Heat, she thought. Goddess...I must be scalding her.
They had crossed over half the field by the time Denni finally let go of her hand. With a final piercing wail, Amna grabbed at the wrist, holding it close to her and sobbing as she fell again to her knees. Denni's heart sank and she crouched down, watching her but not daring to reach out again. Perhaps just her being there was consolation enough. Amna lifted her chin quickly and stared at Denni as if to say don't worry, I'll be fine, and lowered herself to the ground. She extended her injured hand and placed it palm down on the grass, and closed her eyes. She whispered a word or two in a peculiar form of Anjshé that Denni did not understand, and exhaled once more before slowly lifting her head up again. She looked straight at her, this time in a gesture of reverence.