A Division of Souls - A Novel of the Mendaihu Universe

by Jon Chaisson

  *

  — and stepped back out of the nothingness into midair with an almost inaudible snap of air, landing midstride onto the sidewalk of Ormand Street in the McCleever District, still west of the highway. Not that much of a distance from where he’d been, perhaps a few miles at most. He found the pace of the sidewalk crowds and wove himself through at a decent clip, sensing and listening to the spiritsong within each person he passed by. The mood was jovial here, expectant…these people knew what he’d done, even if they hadn’t yet figured out he was now among them, and they were eagerly awaiting the next phase.

  Many had chosen to congregate in this neighborhood, at the Sacred Church of Saint Patrick just down the street. Once a disused house of worship nearly a century ago, Followers of the One had resurrected it as a communal church for the polytheistic believers of the Sprawl. As the Followers knew and sensed their kind, and their practices were not restricted to houses of worship, they had no spiritual claim on the building, other than to retain its intended use. Those ostracized from their own congregations, the spiritually curious, or those simply wishing their own religious freedom were all welcome. Those who came lately, however, were those deeply entrenched within the realm of the One: the Warriors, the Prophets, the Elders, the Protectors, and the Listeners, Nehalé included.

  The awakened presence was strong here. The church loomed before him, placed tightly in between two modern office buildings. It was by no means grand architecture and had been renovated and rebuilt many times over its history. But as one of the few original churches left in the Provinces to survive nearly seven hundred years of weather and human events, and thus outlasting even recent Meraladian history, it was a rare vision of the past and retained its simple beauty. The artistry in its arches, the gentle reach of the spires, the dozen statues of saints lining the walkway leading up to the front stairs, the ornately colored glasswork depicting scenes of religious fervor…all of it negated the sleek design of the utilitarian offices and tenements surrounding it. It was beauty out of place.

  He strolled up the walkway, climbed the short stairs and stopped under the front portico to take in the view. It was no more than thirty yards long and about twenty wide, paved with concrete and lined with cobblestone accents. He calculated by sight how many people could comfortably fit on the front walkway, and came up with the absurdly low number of a few hundred. He shook his head…no, this would be too small for what he had in mind.

  He opened up the heavy doors and stepped into the narthex of the church, a dark yet warm presence enveloping him in the wide and dimly lit front hall. Instantly he felt the dizzying swirl of energies of the spiritsongs flooding the air, and the sounds of the city outside fading to a muted hum. He took in a deep breath of warm air and incense, and smiled. Trisanda... He closed his eyes. For a brief moment, he felt homesick for the planet he had never set foot on. Trisanda, a paradise where all souls were equal in the eyes of the One of All Sacred. The homeworld where the Mendaihu and the Shenaihu were in perfect balance with each other. He knew of no one who had actually been there in his lifetime, and yet the ancient spiritual memories of the Meraladhza were strong in each and every person here on this planet. Trisanda, the ancestral homeworld of all here on Gharra. They would understand that, soon enough.

  A hand dropped onto his shoulder, startling him out of his reverie. The man’s spiritual energy felt like a stinging burst of heat through his upper torso and he flinched, gasping. He opened his eyes and turned swiftly to see a priest smiling at him.

  “Forgive me for startling you,” the man said.

  “Oh — uh, quite alright, fadayin,” Nehalé said, nervously returning the smile and hiding his still shaking nerves. He felt the warm, protective embrace, not from a person but from a presence, the same that he felt when he’d first entered. He felt it most strongly within the priest, a deep understanding of what it was like to be truly spiritual, truly Meraladhza. The priest projected his aura everywhere around him and Nehalé drowned in it. This man was Mendaihu, like him…only much, much stronger than he could ever hope to be. He shivered with excitement and reverence. Nehalé stood, wiping his eyes and forcing himself not to stare at the aged man. There was no mistaking the essence he felt around the man. An old Mendaihu in soul; possibly once part of the Council of Elders on Trisanda...

  “I am Reverend Edward Miriam,” the priest said, waving his hand behind him. “I am a Protector of the One of All Sacred. Come, join us in mass.”

  The priest opened the heavy inner doors and led him down the central aisle of the church. It was wide enough to fit ten men across shoulder to shoulder, or just enough space for a small ritual cleansing ceremony. Sunlight shone from the clerestory windows above, illuminating not only the pews below but also the centuries of dust kicked up in this old church. Nehalé walked dazedly behind the man, humbled by all he saw and felt. No, there was no way he would use this for his own congregation…it would be heresy to do so. The Reverend led him to an empty pew, then made his own way to the transept crossing, where he turned around and faced his followers. Nehalé’s eyes now accustomed to the darker, musty tones brought on by candle and ambient lighting; there were far more people here than he'd noticed walking in, almost all bent over in prayer or meditation. There must have been at least a hundred or so here; a small number for such a large church, but nonetheless a surprisingly high number for a midday service.

  Again, he felt the essences of those around him, a Song of Faith whispering to the One. This song, quite different from the everyday melody he heard outside, came with such closeness it nearly smothered his own being. These souls...the Faithsong they cried, spoke of an unseen hope, that the One looked gently down upon them and guided them towards the path of Eternal Light.

  They were Mendaihu, like him. They were awaiting the One.

  Nehalé bent down, and began praying.

  All is Light, Dearest One. We await your presence in this time of need.

  Awaken, dearest One of All Sacred. Come to us.

  “Let us look back at the days before,” Reverend Miriam said, his voice echoing throughout the cathedral. He had climbed to a raised pulpit to the left of the transept altar, leaning slightly forward, dwarfed by the architecture around him. His voice was surprisingly strong and deep for his age, and with the help of the natural acoustics in the church he was able to reach the farthest pews. He spoke simply and clearly, his words punctuated within by an unexpectedly powerful spiritual energy he utilized to gather in his parishioners. He had everyone’s full attention from his first words.

  “Not in the sense of wishing we were still technologically feeble and floating aimlessly, of course,” he continued, waving and smiling. “No, those days have long passed. Instead, let us remember our youth. Let us remember who we were, deeply, spiritually…plainly, before the strain of everyday stress and habit made us forget who we are.

  “And who are we, you ask? I tell you, we are luminous, mystical beings, all of us. Every one of us here, in this city, on this planet, in this universe. Inside, we have the power to create; we have the power to utilize the Light and Love the One of All Sacred has given us. When we were young, we knew this, instinctively. It may have left our field of vision, or fallen into our subconscious mind, but it has never left us, only showing up at the most miraculous of times.

  “Each of us has had a point in our lives, some of us many, where we created; shown love to others as well as ourselves, acted on kindness, instead of reacting to a hostile situation with equal hostility. These positive energies are what feed us; it nourishes our soul, makes it grow in Peace, Love, and Light. And in return, we give these precious gifts to others.

  “This, my brothers and sisters, eicho d’eichi, is the key.

  “We are not here to simply live out our term in life. For what would be the point? As the One of All Sacred has said, 'as there is love in our song, there is a truth to our dance.' There is a reason
for our souls to be here on this plane, on this planet.

  “Our goal, first, is to create that Love, that Light that shines within us. It may take many forms; one of us could simply create wonderful art that brings joy to others, and some of us could become teachers of life, bringing knowledge and understanding to all around us. Or it could be the simple joy of creating a new life to bring into the world, one we could teach, love, and nurture.

  “The second part of that goal, and the most important, is to keep our reason for being alive. It will not grow, nor will it live, if we just acknowledge its existence. We need to feed our souls with our creations, lest they will elude us again, and we will spend our lifetime in circles, forever lost in our own pain and misery. This path is not an easy one; you will encounter many hardships. You will encounter those who wish you not to achieve your goal, through greed, jealousy, or ignorance.

  “The negative aspects of life are harsh...and even more, they can be tempting. Who here has taken the easier, less problematic route, and in the end did not achieve their goal, for one reason or another? Because they were sick of fighting for a worthless cause? Or because no one believed in them? Or, at worst, because they themselves didn't care anymore?

  “I admit, I too have been in that situation many times, and I too have given up on more than one occasion. But that never means once the situation is over, poof! It's gone, never to be attained again. Your goals never leave you. You only get blindsided.

  “All I ask of you, dear parishioners, is that you open your eyes. Open your heart. Open your mind. Believe in your destination. Believe in your reason for living. And overall, believe in yourself.

  “With belief, you can move mountains.”

  You will move mountains.

  Reverend Miriam’s final words, spoken within and directed at every person within this church, rippled through Nehalé’s soul and sent shivers through his body. He’d given words to precisely the same thoughts and emotions he’d been having himself and questioning. This was the proof, the evidence he’d needed to confirm he’d done the right thing. Yes, he thought, this is the right thing to do! He closed his eyes, his head spinning with senses and images filtering in from the souls surrounding him. The pure emotion behind the priest's sermon had taken him completely. He opened his eyes to the sound of the priest's voice again within him —

  However.

  — and whirled around to see Reverend Miriam standing, eyes closed, swaying drunkenly in the center of the aisle, stepping towards one parishioner then to the next, wordlessly —

  We are here, in this cathedral, waiting for fate. We are here to awaken others of our kind, dear ones. For outside, beyond these holy walls, lay the greatest enemy we have known.

  — and touching those nearest him with the slightest brush of the fingers, sending those he touched into their own deep state of bliss.

  They are the Shenaihu.

  Nehalé caught his breath, and reached out to the priest —

  They are enemies because they are our brothers and sisters in spirit, but they wish to claim what they believe is theirs. I plead with you now: the will of the human soul was never theirs, and it never shall be. They believe humans to be of their own, which is not true. They are of the Gharné...the ancestors of the Meraladhza...of the Trisandi...

  ...of both the Shenaihu and the Mendaihu.

  They are our Light, our Love, and our Hope.

  — and finally connected with Miriam's shoulder as he passed by…Nehalé grabbed on and heard the doors behind him…

  They have come, the Shenaihu. They are here.

  The doors behind him…a thunderous vibration began, low and rumbling at first, then growing in force and speed until a constant wave of unbridled rage hammered at those locked doors, its only aim to destroy everyone and everything within. Nehalé stood half in and half out of the pew, terrified by this violent spiritual force. He felt it climbing the outside walls, surging and spiking upwards in destructive waves, dislodging loose stone and brick, until it reached the heavy stained glass windows high above. With one final push that hit him with a blow to his chest, it surged inwards, shattering the glass and raining it down on those below.

  With one gentle movement of the arm and quiet snap of the air, Reverend Miriam became a blur in front of Nehalé. The priest was now yards away, reaching out to the shards of glass as if trying to catch them. He lifted his hands and swept them through the air —

  Peace, Love and Light be with you all, dear ones, he said calmly.

  Nehalé watched the shards glittering in the sunlight — no, the shards were the sunlight, ground to harmless dust in the air…

  Go now, Nehalé, the priest beckoned him. Protect them! Protect the Gharné! Protect the One!

  I shall, he responded. Nehalé pushed himself out of the pew and ran for the entrance, pushing aside anyone in his way. These poor newcomers wouldn’t stand a chance at the front lines…he had to be there himself, to fight off the bulk of the Shenaihu that would be breaking through those doors at any moment. He reached the shrine within seconds, where he was stopped short. He’d hit an unexpected protective barrier head-on and staggered sideways, nearly crashing to the floor. Father Miriam must have set the barrier when he brought Nehalé inside…which made him realize that the priest must have known this attack would unfold. Was he kiralla…a reality seer? The thought surprised him, having found it unexpected and elementary at the same time. Now wasn’t the time to think about this any further, though…he had a flock to protect. He shook off the dizziness, shifting into a defensive position, ready to move or retreat. The spiritual energy up here was made of ice, pricking uncomfortably at his skin.

  That was when he finally saw Janoss Miradesi. The man stood quietly and patiently at the cathedral doors, arms held behind his back, as if about to attend mass himself. He peered through the doors, never actually entering the church proper. He glanced around curiously, watching the outcome of his actions with a small, amused grin on his face. Parishioners were scrambling in all directions, running for any exit out of the cathedral, but avoiding the main doors. He caught sight of Nehalé and bowed slightly.

  Somfei, edha Usarai, he said within.

  Nehalé shifted his feet, waiting for the man to make a move.

  Janoss lifted a hand and waved two fingers in his direction, over Nehalé’s right side. He felt a searing hot energy like a knife shooting past him, grazing his shoulder and twisting him backwards. Behind him, he heard another shattering of glass, this time high up in the clerestories, imploding inwards toward the central aisle from both sides. He smiled as he watched.

  What was he doing here? He was Shenaihu, an acolyte of the great Dahné Shenaihu leader, but it made no sense. For someone so high up to respond to his ritual, and with such violence…!

  Janoss! Nehalé leered at him. Leave them alone! It’s me you want!

  “Yes,” he said, and twitch a hand in his direction. Nehalé felt the air around him suddenly turn to ice, and instinctively whipped his arm up in front of his chest for protection. Janoss was cutting away his skin to reveal the bare spirit within, so much like a Watcher of souls…and stopped just shy of crushing him. Nehalé twitched and cried out, but stood his ground the best he could. Janoss held him there for a brief agonizing second, toying with him, and let go.

  Not yet, he said. We’re not even yet. Janoss smiled, bowed again, and started to leave.

  “Janoss!” Nehalé screamed, and moved forward despite the pain.

  Instantly a dozen Shenaihu, all pale and clad in black, tore through the doors and whipped them aside with such force they cracked nearly in half. A second later they were lost in the semidarkness of the cathedral before Nehalé could resume his defensive stance.

  Then he heard the screams.

  Felt the knife-twist of pain and the loss of Spirit being torn from Body.

  They were killing parishioners.