A Division of Souls - A Novel of the Mendaihu Universe

by Jon Chaisson

CHAPTER NINE

  Nehalé – Janoss

  ...One of All Sacred...

  Nehalé crouched as low as he could between the benches in the southern choir loft, attempting to catch his breath. He had a bleeding cut over his left eye and several bruises all over his body, but they were the least of his worries. His Mendaihu senses were buzzing madly from the adrenalin rush of the battle, but mostly from the pain he felt from all those deaths within the last ten or so minutes…he wiped hot tears and sweat away from his stinging eyes, cursing himself. How had he let this situation grow so out of control so quickly? The dozen Shenaihu had been joined by two dozen more, and they weren’t showing any sign of wearing down, while he was up here, out of energy and ideas! What the hell were these people made of…? Were they even people at all?

  They were the nuhm’ndah, he realized with a chilling certainty. Spiritually they were Shenaihu, but they were bred so purely that very little humanity remained. Nehalé had hoped the Shenaihu would not sink to this level of violence so soon, but it seemed his recent fears were correct. The Shenaihu had just answered in kind to his Awakening ritual, and this was the outcome. But who had resurrected them? Who among the Shenaihu was behind this? Janoss Miradesi? Or someone higher?

  Reverend Miriam had been able to get many of the recently Awakened to safety within minutes, but even he hadn’t been able to save everyone. Over twenty lay dead now, each one of their departed souls having left their searing marks within him. Nehalé refused to curse this gift of empathy. The pain served as a reminder of whom he was meant to protect. Fifteen of the more seriously injured lay hidden in various parts of the cathedral, praying to the One to protect their lives. He had also sustained a broken rib, multiple lacerations, and a very deep drain in his Mendaihu energy. The physical injuries he could live with, but the loss of strength was enough to scare him.

  He could not find nor sense Reverend Miriam anywhere within the church.

  He found himself praying to the One of All Sacred again, wishing for any hope this would end soon. His fear, distracting as it was, could not be focused on, not now. He had to reach his senses out farther and nail down these nuhm’ndah, if indeed they were still there. All had gone silent after those ten minutes, shortly after his last aggressor had pinned him up against a Baronas fresco, twenty feet off the floor. The levitation had been the other man's doing; Nehalé was just doing all he could to stay alive.

  “Where is she?” the man had roared, his the hatred in his eyes searing into him. “WHERE IS SHE?”

  He knew exactly who he’d been looking for. And that was as far as his aggressor had gotten before Nehalé pushed himself off the wall, physical and Mendaihu energy combined. The man hadn’t expected the move and screamed angrily, flailing backwards to the floor. With the added momentum, Nehalé sent himself sideways towards the choir loft. He heard the sickening crash of the nuhm’ndah body hitting the ground just as he landed haphazardly, crashing into an upper pew and sprawling to the floor. There had been no rebound, no regaining of stance and pursuit. His opponent had inexplicably taken the fatal blow.

  He did not feel the death that time.

  He exhaled, understanding what he would need to do now. His plan to Awaken of the One of All Sacred had not included such a violent backlash by the renegade Shenaihu. At most, he had been ready for some opposition — part of the reason for the shimshiya of Mendaihu at the Waterfront warehouse. He would have to change plans drastically. The shimshiya would have to become something more…

  Crouched now on his haunches, his eyesight narrowed to the shards of painted glass in front of him from the windows above. His breathing slowed but still strained from his injuries, he focused inwards to regain some energy.

  One of All Sacred…I am doing this for you. The image of the girl in his mind was clear as ever. Yet that was all it was, an image and nothing more. A mental view of her essence, the one he'd felt after all the chaos of the Awakening ritual. Throughout it all, it was her energy, its constant flow that guided him that night. You are here. She was the One of All Sacred, come again. They will not have you.

  He was startled out of his thoughts by a frustrated grunt and the loud cracking of stone, followed by the crash and rumble of a toppled statue falling to the floor. The shattered remains rolled away, crashing into the wooden pews and marble floor. The sounds echoed through the cathedral, nearly masking the approaching footsteps beneath. Nehalé listened in complete stillness.

  “Final shot yet to be taken,” the man called from the aisles below, sounding very sure of himself. “Well met, edha Nehalé Usarai.”

  Nehalé shivered. He’s back.

  “Nehalé,” Janoss Miradesi called out. “I am quite sure you are here and still among the living. I can sense you as well as you can sense me. You’re weakened and in not the best of shape, but you’re most definitely here. I wish to speak with you as equal, Mendaihu to Shenaihu.” When Nehalé did not answer, he cleared his throat and spoke louder. “I recognize you as Mendaihu, as Nehalé Usarai. Your essence precedes you, tell you the truth. Especially after that little show the other day. You may call me Janoss Miradesi.”

  “I know who you are,” Nehalé said under his breath. He looked up, but dared not lift his head yet. Inner senses told him the man was standing dead center of the nave and the transept, looking directly up at him. Why had he returned?

  “Not bad for newborns, Nehalé,” Janoss called up to him. “But you can do better than that. I know you can. You were chosen for it.”

  “You won't trick me!” Nehalé called out in anger, before he could stop himself.

  Janoss laughed quietly. “Oh, I don't plan to trick you, my sehnadha. We are both luminous beings, are we not? We do not need to resort to trickery to get what we want. Come down, friend, I only wish to speak with you, nothing more.”

  Nehalé bit his lower lip. He did not move from his place in the loft. Grasping both hands together, he exhaled, and redirected what was left of his energy towards the Light source within, toward the center of his being. Slowly at first, then with an excited rush, he felt the inward sweep draw his heart towards that Infinite Light, towards the One. Instinct took over the physical realm as he entered the spiritual. All was Light…

  One of All Sacred...I wish your guidance. I am facing one who may be my greatest enemy. This man wishes to take the young girl who will yet align to the Awakening and become the One's Ninth Embodiment. I admit, dearest Light, that I still do not know their plans. Why would they take you, when You as the One of All Sacred cannot be taken by anyone! Do they wish to corrupt you? Kill you? Keep you from becoming?

  My only wish, Dearest One, is to protect you with Love, Peace and Light, as I do the Gharné of this world.

  If it means I must Awaken the world of the Gharné in the process, so be it. I shall always bear the guilt of those taken away in Your Name…but I understand now that your Awakening was predestined.

  Nehalé peered over the bench and saw Janoss. He stood patiently down below, hands in pockets, absently kicking shards of fallen statue as if they were pebbles on the ground. For a man who had just commandeered a violent attack upon a cathedral, he seemed quite patient, even demure, in waiting for Nehalé's answer.

  Dearest One, I shall meet with him under the Eyes of Truth.

  Nehalé closed his eyes tight, and stepped into Light.

  A second later he stood twenty feet away from the physical appearance of Janoss Miradesi, who appeared only as a blurred reflection in this reality. The form shook terribly, like a pirated vidmat image, obscuring a separate solid shape underneath. The True Self under Janoss' image was a dark and heavy mass, its shape hard to detect in the dim light of the cathedral. He was smart to hide and protect himself so well; this chaotic boundary kept him from being found by all but the strongest spiritsensers. No wonder Nehalé had trouble getting a bead on him!

  He floated closer to him, stopping m
ere feet away. Step into the Light, Janoss, Nehalé growled from within. Show your True Self.

  The blur that was Janoss shook with laughter. “If you so wish,” he said. The blur congealed, warping and bending into the physical shape of the man that every human and Meraladian knew him to be. It was obviously not his true spirit form, however, as it had only held for a few brief seconds before it began to ripple and mutate again. Splashes of color came and went all over his body, flashing from the tanned Meraladian skin to a vivid deep black and back again, finally settling on a blue-black as scale began to appear all over his body. His face began to elongate, pulling into a snout, and he dropped down to a squat as his limbs grew and took on more muscle, taking on a quadrupedal form. Long and lethal talons grew from the ends of his fingers and toes, scraping up against the marble floor as he shifted position.

  Finally he settled into a large, sleek, dragonlike shape. His deep earth-toned scale-skin glistened underneath the dusty sunshine pouring through the broken windows above. He rotated his neck up then around as if stretching into his new shape, hands reaching down to the floor, palms open. He inhaled deeply through his nostrils, drank in the sunlight and devoured the remains of the displaced spirits around him, and exhaled hot, sticky breath out through his wide mouth. A grotesque smile crossed his face, revealing tips of fangs. He was alive.

  Nehalé shivered at the image before him. This cannot be…! There was only one kind of spirit who could become a dragon spirit, and that was a cho-nyhndah…a true twin spirit. A kiralla.

  Janoss had both pure Mendaihu and Shenaihu spirit within him! How could he have done this much damage to the Mendaihu being the way he was? Goddess…the man must have lost his faith years ago! Nehalé regained his composure quickly, before Janoss could see him.

  “So here I am, oh Mendaihu,” Janoss said mockingly, waving a clawed hand in the air. “Show yourself, then, and let's be done with it.”

  Nehalé accepted the dare. Letting the final veils drop away, he felt the physical embodiment of his Spirit taking shape. Completely revealing one’s true soul was to stand naked to the spiritual, to become vulnerable to those within the realm. His tattered clothes fell away and disappeared into his memory, replaced by a shimmering white robe flowing down over the floor. Its edges brushed silently up and over the shards of the statue scattered across the floor, reducing each piece of broken marble to fine sand. Just as Reverend Miriam had turned the glass to dust to protect the parishioners, Nehalé had turned the stone back to its original basic elements. With each renewal, he felt the strength within him building ever higher. He was healing, both himself and the spirits surrounding him.

  A near silent rush of wings cut through the air behind him.

  “Turn around, Janoss.”

  Janoss turned slowly, first neck then body, in one fluid movement. The smile widened.

  “An angel, eh?” he hummed. “Very apt imagery, my friend, considering.”

  Nehalé had to grin. “Not in the conventional Gharné myth sense, Janoss. I am but a Warrior Mendaihu for the One.”

  Janoss lifted his snout in a quick movement that must have been the equivalent of a sneer, and barked out a quick laugh. “They’re the same thing on this world, Nehalé. Just an inspired watchdog.”

  Nehalé refused to counter his remark. “It is a noble position, Janoss. Why do you come?”

  Janoss' scaled and clawed hands clenched immediately. A long, nasal sigh emanated out of him as a low and hissing growl. Nehalé consciously moved back half a step, hands loose at his sides. Janoss watched him out of the corner of his eyes, but said nothing. His now-sloped shoulders sagged with what seemed like a mixture of defeat and fatigue.

  “We are chained, both you and I,” Janoss said. His tone, quiet and introspective, chilled Nehalé. “We are constricted. Do you understand? I am chaos. You are order. And neither of us can ever completely understand what the other does. For if we did, neither of us would then have a reason to live.”

  Nehalé narrowed his eyes at him. “That’s no answer.”

  “Then tell me, friend. Why do you believe I am here? Certainly not to cause further chaos and kill all these poor, wretched souls? I feel the stinging pain of loss the same you do, Nehalé, do not forget that.”

  His own voice thundered within himself. Why do you come, Janoss?

  Janoss turned and faced him straight on. The dragon’s dark pearl eyes stared into his, and for a moment Nehalé shuddered. For that brief second, he felt the Shenaihu coldness. In that moment he understood, however briefly. A glimmer of compassion came over him, only to be chased away by his own vengeance, and it sickened him.

  “I come to level the playing field, sehnadha,” Janoss said, to his surprise. The honorific had emotion behind it. “We, the Shenaihu, were not the ones to abandon The One of All Sacred. We were the ones abandoned.”

  “…the shimshiya?” Nehalé asked. “This isn’t the Gathering you’re talking about…”

  “Gathering? Pfaah!” Janoss waved a dismissive clawed hand at him. “That will never work. The only way we can live peacefully together is by polarity. Mendaihu and Shenaihu, separately, working for the same goal.”

  “I don't believe you,” Nehalé growled.

  “What, you think a…a forced cho-nyhndah is going to work? There are hardly any left on this damn planet!”

  He paused, shrugged. “I still don’t believe you,” he said.

  “Disbelieve all you want,” he sneered, showing a long canine fang. “We are coming back, Mendaihu. The Shenaihu are returning to the fold. And it is all thanks to you—”

  “Not by force, Janoss. Not even by using the nuhm’ndah. It only leads to death.” Nehalé's hands balled into fists. “It is forbidden, Janoss —”

  “Nothing is forbidden in chaos, Nehalé! Do you still not understand?” Janoss roared at Nehalé, and dove at him.

  Nehalé didn’t expect the attack and sidestepped too late, and Janoss slammed into his left shoulder, sending them sprawling onto the rubble-laden floor, the jagged edges of stone and glass ripping painfully into his back. They were no longer within the Light, Nehalé realized with horror — he’d been forced out of the protective otherwhere by Janoss, forcibly pulled back into cold reality. The stinging pain of his injuries roared back to his senses and he let out a pathetic howl. There were few who could have done that to him, and only one who would have been able to so as easily as he did. Only one person, the cho-nyhndah…Nehalé’s twin spirit, the one whose essence was the mirror image of his. To find out now, of all times, that it was Janoss…

  One of All…!

  “That’s right,” Janoss giggled. “Pray to the One. She’ll help you. We know where she is.”

  Nehalé shut off his mind to him immediately. “You won’t have her!” he growled. He had to leave here, now, before this escalated any further. To stay and fight Janoss would only cause more damage, to himself and to those around him. He couldn’t have this fight now, not here. Summoning up what remained of his energy, he lifted up his hands, exhaled, and pushed. Light burst out of his hands, hitting Janoss square in the chest and sending him skyward. That gave him enough time to gather himself and prepare for a last step into Light. Janoss was now at least twenty or so feet up in the air, having forced himself from slamming against the stone wall, a shaky hand held against it. He hovered there, gasping and coughing up blood, but his glaring eyes never left Nehalé’s…they were now full and dark, and filled with hatred.

  Behind him, Nehalé heard the crashing of doors again, and the thunderous clamor of running men entering the church. Janoss had called for reinforcements.

  We are returning, Nehalé! His inner spiritual voice tore the air and sent a shockwave through the church, shattering glass and upturning the pews. He pushed off the wall and aimed directly for him, accelerating as he closed in. WE ARE RETURNING! Janoss Miradesi's words seethed within Nehalé's mind.
This time he couldn’t avoid the hit, couldn’t turn away…he had to stand his ground and prepare for the impact. Janoss crashed hard, his shoulder digging into his upper chest, knocking wind out of him. Both flew backwards into the pews, crashing through them, towards the southwestern tower. Nehalé braced for each successive hit, until he noticed they were not decelerating but accelerating towards the back corner. Each of the shattering pews tore into his back, splinters driven deep into his flesh…

  Nehalé. Reverend Miriam! The man was alive? Where was he? Call them, he said to him. Call them all.

  “Do you dare?” Janoss mocked him, lifting him up until they were once again hovering above the benches. He’d heard the priest’s voice as well. “Do you dare go that far, Nehalé?”

  Undaunted, he laughed, his wild and dark eyes burning into Nehalé's. “Do you dare turn this into a war?”

  Nehalé shuddered as he struggled in Janoss' grip. This was already a war, long before he involved himself in it. He’d already accepted that his actions could start another season of Embodiment; he was only this cycle’s leader of the resistance. But he knew this cycle was different…this one could be the last, if he never wavered from his plans. Though he’d only just realized that Janoss was his brother in spirit, he would not waver. Even with all the deaths and the lost souls that would be in his name, he would not waver. This was too important. He was to bring about the True One of All Sacred, the Last One in Spirit, who would retain the balance of everything.

  It was worth the sacrifice, to make things whole again.

  “I dare,” he said, never looking away.

  He felt the Rain of Light surging through the church, and took hold of it. Awaken, Mendaihu Gharra, Nehalé called out, as emphatically as he could, as far as he could reach. Awaken, Protectors of Earth! Come forth and fight for your faith.

  Janoss twitched and wavered. “That’s…not going to work,” he grunted, and began shoving him backwards again, accelerating as he did so. But the few remaining and unscathed Mendaihu had begun to pick themselves up and face the charging Shenaihu. The Shenaihu stopped in their places, momentarily surprised and a little bit afraid. Clearly Janoss had not expected their defenses to last so long. They appeared everywhere, suddenly surrounding everyone, including Janoss and Nehalé, and moving in. In a collective voice, in a collective spirit, they spoke within him.

  dehndarra Né hra nyhndah.

  Flashes of brilliant light. The newly Awakened surged forth as one great wall of strength, forcing the charging Shenaihu down in a matter of seconds. They would not yield. Nehalé knew that it indeed had just begun. He had not told them to fight for dominance, nor had Reverend Miriam ordered them. They were, as he had promised, fighting to protect the One of All Sacred. The newly awakened had understood the inevitable battle of Dark and Light. The Shimshiya, the joining of the Mendaihu and the Shenaihu, would happen. The Great Ascension, far greater than the Awakening or even the Cleansing, would happen.

  Nehalé smiled, and closed his eyes again...

  Peace, Love and Light to you all, he said.

  ...stepped into midair, and into Light, leaving Janoss' still accelerating body crashing alone into a stone pillar and cracking it nearly in half. Janoss bounced limply off it and landed on the floor with a sickening crunch, all the energy gone out of him. He lay there, bruised and out of breath, for a long time, while chaos erupted all around him in the church, beginning to spill outside.

  “Y…you will never ascend…” he coughed.

  Then he too, broken but still full of venom, stepped into midair. This time, into Darkness.