by Jon Chaisson
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Moulding Warehouse, Waterfront District
Nehalé Usarai stood on the roof of Moulding Warehouse, looking at the sky over the Mirades Tower. He saw the world with the veil lifted, watching the sea of souls converge with the skyscrapers and BMPD helicopters. There was a strange peacefulness in watching the two realities intermingle like that, the physical and technological with the spiritual. They were never quite aware of one another on a conscious level, yet each moved in symbiotic fashion, one held aloft by the other.
He watched and listened for what seemed like hours. The Sprawl's music — the steady, ominous rush of human spirit waves crashing against the shores of the land — echoed through his own soul; the sound of unguarded tension and unaccepted fear rattled through the city, engulfing everyone and everything. His psychic blast and the hrrah-sehdhyn response had awakened many in the past few days, though still an insignificant number compared to the full body of Shenaihu now amassing in the area. He would need more, thousands more, if his instincts were correct.
This thought disturbed his meditative state, and he was pulled back into the noisy reality of Bridgetown and the Waterfront District. Cars trudged westward down McCleever Street towards the I-91 freeway a few miles distant, escaping Sculler's Crossing and all the shoreline shops and office parks. Those who actually lived in this sector relied on public transit instead. This made the area a little quieter and less congested than usual, and that was one of the reasons he’d chosen this warehouse as a base of operations.
The other was the vibe. The people of West McCleever and the Waterfront were the most spiritual and the least violent in all the Bridgetown districts, despite their history. He knew a great many of them through his charity work, and others through their spirit signature. They talked, word got around, and he was a familiar and welcome face. He loved being a part of this community, helping it spiritually any way he could. Their strong personal faith and sense of extended family amazed him every day, from the shelters to the education centers. Their lives were strengthened by their fierce pride in refusing to give up. These were the souls whose song he'd heard so strongly these past few hours, crying out almost immediately after Nehalé had escaped St. Patrick's Church. His departure had been aimless other than finding shelter, but they had called him here, hearts open wide, letting him heal.
Nehalé, the voice said, coming from somewhere behind him.
He turned to see Anando Shalei, the young university student from the eastern end of the McCleever District, standing behind him, close to the roof access door. He was someone who had grown up in one of the hardest neighborhoods of Bridgetown and emerged an intelligent Meraladian adult. His appearance hid his intellect and made him look at least five years younger than he actually was, with ill-fitting jacker clothes and short, unkempt faded-blonde hair. He must be in his mid-twenties now, and the fashion actually looked a bit silly on him, but he must have had a reason for it. He wasn’t about to judge.
“Somfei, Nehalé,” Anando smiled. “It's been a while.”
“Anando, my friend,” he replied, cutting the distance between them. He opened his arms and embraced him, brother in Light that he was. “It's wonderful to see you. What brings you here? Better question, how did you find me?”
Anando laughed, scratching the back of his neck in self-conscious amusement. “Your essence was the first one I ever memorized, sehnadha. It wasn't particularly hard, once I got into the neighborhood. Just a matter of sneaking into the warehouse unnoticed.”
“You've got better things to do in your life than breaking and entering,” he laughed.
“I certainly do,” Anando said soberly. “I've been listening, Nehalé. To the souls, awakened and otherwise. Everyone's feeling a little tense, ever since the Awakening. Your followers wish for guidance.”
Nehalé's smile faded slowly as he contemplated that. Followers. He had merely opened their eyes, but they were looking upon him as a leader already. Warrior of the One he may be, or even Prophet, but this was far beyond his capabilities, let alone his wishes. He was awakening them, opening their eyes! They needed teachers, but the Mendaihu sehndayen-ne of this city could not handle this many people in a short amount of time. Unless the One of All Sacred awakened...he shivered at that thought. To assume such a task of the One was nothing short of blasphemous! No, he would have to find the teachers of this city. Briefly, he felt the guilt of releasing them into the Gharné world without showing them the way...but there was little he could do now. So many balances to maintain. “They are not my followers, any more than I am their leader, Anando. They need to understand that. I may give them opportunities, but they are rulers of their own fate.”
“True,” the young man said, though not fully convinced. “But that just creates chaos. We must find The One of All Sacred in order to reset the balance between the Mendaihu and the Shenaihu.”
“Then I am at a loss. I did what I could to maintain the balance of power, Anando. But the Shenaihu are responding in a much more dangerous fashion than I’d feared.”
Anando crossed his arms at him. “Do not confess to me, sehnadha. But if we end up with another season of war, you have every right to be worried.” He reached a hand out to him and laid it on his shoulder, grasping it. “Such is fate, my dear friend, but we have faith. I am sure the One is alive and well...”
Nehalé whirled at him, eyes wide. “The One has not fully awakened, Anando! Don't you see? Just as the Elders taught us: Without the One of All Sacred there is no balance, and all is mere chaos. No one knows where the One is or how she is to be awakened!” He turned away and returned to the roof's edge, frustrated. “Anando, I beg you to understand why I must continue to awaken these souls. Do you?”
The silence between them lasted long enough for Nehalé to calm down, his eyes fixed on the intersection down below. The surge of cars had abated somewhat, the nervous energy of drivers dissipating into the air, adding to his relief.
I do understand, Nehalé, Anando said from within. And I believe I do know where she is.
Nehalé turned and stared at him. “What?”
“I’m not exactly sure of the location,” he said quickly, fumbling his words. He was caught between wanting to explain everything and reveal nothing. “I’ve met her sister,” he said quietly. “I’ve known her from elsewhere. Her name is Karinna, and she’s…she used to be someone I knew, a long time ago. Maybe in a previous time, I think. She’s a Protector…an extremely strong one, at that. She has the Shalei spirit within her...as does the One.”
His shoulders dropped in shock. Why hadn’t Anando told him earlier? “You...you talked to the One?”
Anando waved his hands quickly. “No. I talked with Karinna. She remembers me. She remembers me as well, though neither of us quite know the exact time right now.”
He frowned at him. “She’s a Trisandi soul, then?”
Anando nodded. “If she can Lightwalk as easily as she did in her lumisha dea, she must be. I…I looked her up the other day as well, and she’s also an ARU officer. A Mendaihu Gharra, Nehalé! A World Protector! Do you know what this means?”
He certainly did know, and it shook him to his core. It meant that the One of All Sacred was a Trisandi soul. A pure soul from the homeworld, neither a Mannaki nor a Meraladian. Of all the Embodiments of the One on this planet...none had ever been Trisandi.
This was something even Nehalé hadn’t foreseen.
“Do you know her name? The name of the One?”
Denysia, Anando said, inner voice quieter than a whisper. Denysia Shalei si Emmadha si Dhumélis. Pure Trisandi spirit through three clan ascensions, Nehalé.
“Goddess...” Nehalé whispered, awed by the reality and the miracle of it all.
Neither spoke again for quite some time. They stood side by side, leaning over the railing and watching the traffic below. Still stunned by Anando’s news, Nehalé could not hold a thou
ght, except that he knew...tomorrow, or in the next few days, he would meet her for the first time. The One of All Sacred!
Nehalé turned to say something, but Anando had already stepped away, the access door still ajar. The kid was already downstairs making plans for the deserted warehouse for him, taking mental notes and measurements for the near future. He smiled, an unexpected reaction to the situation and the choices he now had to make. Perhaps he was a Prophet after all...the thought of it humored him, to expect an unassuming Meraladian charity worker to be the one to open up Gharné eyes to a Universal Truth.
Anando, he said within himself, unsure if the kid still heard him. Send the sisters here, to the warehouse, if you can.
