“Daughter of the Forest,” He said gently, using her spirit name. “Your heart is troubled. What can I do to ease your pain?”
Sekaya had heard that spirit guides often practiced a form of “tough love.” But Stag had always been so gentle and tender with her. Responding immediately to that tenderness, Sekaya felt tears welling in her eyes.
“I am torn between keeping a secret of my people and sharing it with my brother,” she whispered. The tears flowed down her cheeks now. Gently, Stag licked them away with His warm tongue.
“Is not your brother of your people?” He asked.
“Yes,” she admitted, “but he turned away from our teachings a long time ago. He only returned to them out of pain and duty.”
He looked at her lovingly. “Would it comfort you to know that We are aware of Chakotay? That We have been with him often?”
“Yes,” Sekaya replied. “It would surprise me, but it would comfort me.”
“Then, Daughter, be both surprised and comforted,” Stag said, amused. “Chakotay is more like you than you would think.”
“Then…you think I should tell him?”
“I will say to you exactly what you knew I would say,” Stag replied maddeningly. “You need to weigh the need to keep the secret with Chakotay’s need to know. Until he understands what your people went through at the hands of the Cardassians, he can never truly belong to you.”
She sank down onto the forest floor. He knelt beside her and placed His mighty head in her lap, like a unicorn out of the old tales. He was careful to avoid harming her with His sharp tines.
“I want him to belong with us,” Sekaya said. She stroked His neck, touched His long, velvety soft ears and ran their length through her fingers. “But I do not wish to relive that pain.”
“You must decide,” said Stag. “But I can tell you this: He is being groomed for a great destiny, and one who has a great destiny needs a great heart full of compassion.”
“Like yours,” Sekaya whispered fondly.
“Like yours,” came another voice. And before she realized what was happening, Sekaya realized that she no longer cradled Stag’s mighty head in her lap, but that of a boy about seven years old. A boy who was familiar to her.
Commingled pain and delight rose in her heart. When they had been reunited six months ago, Chakotay had told his sister he had spirit-walked with their father when he was attuned with the akoonah. Sekaya herself had never seen her father when she was deep in meditation in the spirit world. She suspected that it was because she and her father had had no rift in life. She grieved Kolopak’s passing as any daughter would, especially coming the way it had, but felt no need to embark on a spirit walk with him.
But this boy…
His face was tranquil as he smiled up at her, as calm and untroubled as the surface of a lake on a clear day. That was why he had been given his name: Blue Water Boy. A lake needed to be calm before it could hold the reflection of the sky, he had told her once; before it could rightly be said to be “blue water.”
She did not want to see him. Sekaya felt fear, panic, and guilt rise inside her. She scooted backward and scrambled to her feet, aware that suddenly she, too, was only six years old. She looked up from where Blue Water Boy sat, brushing pine needles out of his long, thick hair, and into the dark eyes of her brother.
The two boys, friends almost since birth, had never seemed a logical pair. Whereas Blue Water Boy was almost unnaturally calm, Chakotay always seemed to Sekaya to be like a caged beast. He never wanted to be where he was at any given time; he always wanted to do something different. But she loved both of these boys so much, and they loved one another. If Blue Water Boy had been of her own tribe, Sekaya thought that her parents would have made him an honorary son-brother. But Blue Water Boy was Oglala Lakota, and friendship was the closest bond they would be allowed to share.
Both the young Chakotay and the Lakota boy were looking directly at her now, Chakotay with his almost quivering brand of intensity and Blue Water Boy with his still, deep, unnerving regard. Blue Water Boy got to his feet and opened his hands. Nestled in each palm was a small, round stone, polished to a glassy smoothness by centuries of immersion in water.
“These are for you,” he said. “I dove deep and found them. Chakotay, this one is from the river. I thought it would suit you. The river is rushing and wild and fast. Always in a hurry to get somewhere.”
The young Chakotay grinned a little sheepishly and took the stone.
“Thank you,” he said. “I will put it in my medicine bundle when I am older.”
Blue Water Boy now turned to Sekaya. “This one,” he said, “is also a gift from the water, but it’s from the lake.” His eyes bore into hers with a solemnity far beyond his years, and inside, where she was an adult, Sekaya shivered.
Her heart ached for him, but she thought she knew why he had appeared to her today. He had given her and Chakotay a gift. Now, it was time for her to give something to Chakotay. She made her decision. Sekaya took a deep breath and opened her eyes.
She saw again the attractive but neutral décor of her quarters, and gazed once more at the contents of her medicine bundle. Her right hand still tingled from the contact with the akoonah, but not unpleasantly.
Her left hand clutched the lake stone Blue Water Boy had given her over thirty years ago.
Her eyes were wet. She wiped at her face. She re-folded the bundle, gently returning the stone and the akoonah to it, said a little prayer of thanks for the vision it had granted her, and returned it to safekeeping in the drawer.
“Computer,” she said, realizing how thick her voice sounded, “are Captain Chakotay and Commander Ellis still in Holodeck One?”
“Affirmative.”
She sighed. Well, she thought, better to interrupt him at his play than at his work. They would shortly arrive at the colony, and then he would have other things to think about.
Sekaya took a deep breath and headed for the turbolift.
Chapter
14
ON ASTALL’S ADVICE, Kaz returned to his quarters for a shower. Deliberately preparing for something often eases one into a certain accepting state of mind, she had told him. He finished the shower and changed into a fresh uniform, his thoughts racing. Kaz thought he would much rather have simply started right in on whatever it was the counselor had in mind. Having time to think about it served only to increase his apprehension.
Still, the Huanni was the expert here, and he wouldn’t have liked her telling him how to go about treating a broken leg, so he obliged. He returned to her quarters about a half-hour later.
She smiled at him as he entered. “Perfect timing. I’ve just finished getting ready.”
Kaz noticed the lights were dimmer than they were earlier, and there was a pleasant smell in the air. He sniffed, trying to identify it.
“It’s lavender,” Astall explained. “It’s an herb traditionally used on Earth for its calming effect. I can eliminate it if it’s unpleasant.”
“No, no, it’s fine. I like it,” Kaz said. The scent was clean and slightly sweet. He didn’t know about its calming him, though. He sat and looked up at her expectantly.
Astall handed him a cup of a steaming beverage. “Chamomile tea,” she said. “Also known for its calming effect. And it’s pretty tasty as well. Have a few sips and I’ll explain what we’ll be doing.”
She glanced at the chronometer. “I checked with Lieutenant Kim. It’s going to be another several days before we arrive at Loran II at this speed, and that should be plenty of time for us to complete the process and for you to reflect on it and integrate it.”
Kaz tried not to look as nervous as he felt, but he suspected the rattling of the delicate china cup in its saucer gave him away.
“I’ve studied nearly every therapy technique practiced by humanoids within the Federation,” Astall continued. “What we’re going to do now is a combination of guided meditation, hypnotherapy, and a greatly simplified version of the
zhian’tara. I won’t be using any medication at all. We want your mind clear.”
“All right.” Kaz nodded and sipped the tea. Astall was right: it was good.
“We’re going to address the memories of Gradak that are contained in the Kaz symbiont. We’re going to ask him to step into your body—in a purely symbolic way, of course—and let him tell us exactly what it is that’s bothering him so badly. Once he has told us this, we’ll ask him to return to the symbiont and take his place with the memories of all the other hosts that have gone before.”
Kaz stared into the depths of his cup. “What if he doesn’t want to leave?”
Astall smiled gently. “As I said, this is symbolic, not literal. He will never really be present, so that’s not an issue. This is all about accessing memory, Jarem, not channeling a dead spirit. That sort of thing is more Sekaya’s job.”
Kaz’s eyebrows shot upward. “Sekaya can do that?”
“I’m not sure, but certainly she’d be better equipped to handle anything like that than I would!” Astall said. “Let’s see if I can put it another way. You understand about the workings of the humanoid brain. It varies from species to species, of course—heck, it varies from person to person and even brain hemisphere to hemisphere—but there are more similarities than differences. Memories, both long- and short-term, are stored in the medial temporal lobe, specifically, in the hippocampus. And correct me if I’ve got this wrong, but the Trill neural transmitter isoboromine is what connects the memories contained in the symbiont to the brain of the current host.”
“That’s more or less right,” Jarem said, smiling.
“As long as I’ve got the gist of it. We’re simply turning things around a bit. Right now, you have access to the memories of all the symbiont’s previous hosts along with Jarem’s. At the present moment, Jarem’s memories are in the forefront. Which is as it should be as you are the current, living host.”
She held out her left hand, relaxed and open, to try to illustrate the point.
“Gradak’s are more deeply embedded, less immediate.” Astall closed her right hand into a loose fist and held it close to her heart. “We’re going to bring Gradak’s memories into that center-stage position while Jarem’s step back a little. That’s all.”
As she spoke, she shifted position with her hands, bringing the left hand to her heart and extending and opening the right. It was a graceful and fluid gesture, and Jarem grasped exactly what she planned to do. He nodded his understanding. He felt much better now that she had explained it in a somewhat more dispassionate, scientific way.
“Got it.”
“Then, when we’re done, we’ll shift things back to their proper places. You won’t lose any memories; you’ll just feel Gradak’s as more immediate for a while.”
“Any side effects?” he joked.
“I think it likely that you might feel a bit unsettled afterward,” she said. “It will take some time for you to readjust to being Jarem Kaz and not Gradak Kaz. Fortunately, we’re not due to arrive at Loran II for another few days, so we do have that time. And we both expect that some of his memories that will surface could be traumatic, and you’ll have to deal with that. But that’s about it.”
A thought struck Kaz. “Have you done this before?”
“Not with a Trill,” she said. “I’ve done this sort of guided meditation quite often, though.”
She leaned forward and looked at him intently. “Jarem, we don’t have to do this. We can wait until we return from this mission, and then you can take some leave and visit Trill. I’m sure they’d be better equipped to handle this than I would. If you have any reservations about the process I’ve outlined, I’ll certainly understand. This has to be your decision—Jarem’s decision.”
Kaz thought about it. He appreciated Astall’s frankness, but what she was proposing didn’t sound dangerous. He was familiar with the techniques she mentioned. While their efficacy could not be proved conclusively in a lab, he knew that sometimes it was very helpful and had never heard of any ill effects.
He thought of the recurring nightmare, of the screams and the blood and the fire, of Gradak’s pain and rage, and couldn’t suppress a shudder. If this helped quash the nightmares, it was more than worth the minimal risk.
“Let’s do it.”
At her gesture, he moved to the sofa and stretched out. She put a blanket over him and he smiled wryly. “Do you provide teddy bears too?”
Her eyes danced. “Indeed I do, would you like one?”
He chuckled. “I’m not taking a nap.”
“No, but body temperature often drops during times of deep relaxation,” Astall said. “I just want to make sure you are completely comfortable. Now, close your eyes.”
Feeling a little self-conscious, Kaz did so.
“Comfy?”
“Very.”
“Good. Now, take a long, slow, deep breath through your nose and let it out through your mouth.”
He inhaled the fresh scent of lavender with each breath and felt himself relaxing.
“Again.” Kaz repeated the breathing exercise several more times. After a while, he noticed that he felt very calm, but not sleepy.
Astall’s voice drifted to him. “Jarem, I want you to imagine yourself in a place that makes you feel very peaceful. Take your time and make all the details vivid. When you can see it in your mind’s eye, let me know.”
It was easier than he expected to visualize himself back on his homeworld, walking by the ocean and gazing out into its purple depths. The rhythm of the waves was soothing.
“I’m there,” he said. It was hard to move his lips to speak.
“Good. Now, I want you to imagine Gradak standing right beside you. And I want you to visualize him being calm and at peace as well.”
Jarem felt himself tense a little. In the deep place of imagination, he turned his head and saw Gradak.
He was not calm and at peace.
He wore torn, burned, bloodstained clothing, and the wounds that would eventually bring his death cried out to Jarem as silently and as forcefully as Gradak’s unheard words.
Sitting in the captain’s chair where he had spent so many night shifts during the past seven years, Kim gazed absently at the viewscreen. The stars streaked past as Voyager continued its uneventful journey.
He checked the chronometer to discover that Chakotay had exceeded his time in the holodeck with Ellis by about two minutes. Kim debated notifying his commanding officer, as it was time to drop down to warp two for the rest of the journey. Sekaya had suggested that they extend the trip, as she wanted to have more time to talk with the colonists. Traveling at warp two would take them about three more days to reach Loran II; if they continued at the present speed, they’d arrive in a few hours.
He decided to execute the order himself. It wasn’t as if it was a particularly demanding one, and if Chakotay was actually having a good time with his prickly first officer, Kim didn’t want to interrupt.
“Lieutenant Tare,” Kim said, “drop to warp two.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Lieutenant Campbell, engage long-range scanners. Report anything unusual.”
Campbell, standing at his old station, frowned. “Sir, I’m picking up signs of debris on the long-range scanners.”
“Lieutenant Tare, drop out of warp,” Kim ordered, instantly alert.
“Aye, sir.” The new pilot executed the order every bit as smoothly as Tom Paris could have done. Kim stared now at open space.
“The debris is approximately eighteen million kilometers ahead,” Campbell said.
“Magnify,” Kim said.
His eyes widened, ever so slightly, at what he saw.
Ka-thok. Chakotay grunted as he returned the shot, doing his utmost to put spin on the ball. Ellis dove for it easily and sent it back over the net. Damn him, the man wasn’t even breaking a sweat!
Chakotay ran for the ball, bringing his racket across his body for a good solid backhand.
&nb
sp; “Captain Chakotay, please report to the bridge.”
Chakotay stumbled in midstride and missed the ball. Gasping for breath, he drew a hand over his forehead, grateful for the sweatbands on his wrists. He tapped his combadge.
“What’s going on, Harry?”
“Captain, there’s something here you should see.”
“We’re on our way.” Chakotay and his first officer exchanged glances as they left the holodeck.
Still clad in their tennis whites, they emerged on the bridge. The instant he glanced up at the viewscreen, Chakotay realized exactly why Harry had wanted him to see this.
On the long-range sensors was the wreckage of dozens of vessels.
Gradak was older than Jarem, but still in the prime of life. Slender, gray-haired, hollow-cheeked, he was talking rapidly; his mouth was moving, but Jarem heard nothing. The other Trill’s eyes were wild and blood-shot, and he punctuated his unheard speech with agitated gestures.
“Describe him to me,” asked Astall.
“He’s very upset,” Kaz said aloud. “Very angry. He’s wounded and bloody, and he’s shouting things at me, but I can’t hear him.”
“Jarem, this is your body,” Astall said. Her voice was calm, soothing. “You are in control of it at all times. I want you to imagine your memories as something physical, something you can hold in your hand.”
In his mind, Jarem looked down at his left hand. Cradled in his palm was a stone. It seemed to radiate and pulse, as if something was contained within it, and it changed colors as Jarem watched. Intellectually, he wondered at the image. He had certainly never thought of his memories as looking quite like that.
“I see them,” he said, amending at once, “It. The—the memory stone.”
“Now, look at Gradak. Does he have his memories in his hand too?”
Kaz didn’t want to look at Gradak, but he forced himself to do so. The blood-covered Trill seemed slightly less frantic. He, too, had a beautiful, radiant “stone” in his left hand. He held it out to Jarem, his weathered face imploring.
Spirit Walk, Book One Page 13