The Persistence of Memories - A Novel of the Mendaihu Universe

by Jon Chaisson

  “Nothing to worry about,” Amna said aloud and shrugged, waving a hand at her. “Just felt something off.” She looked away in frustration. “I felt something, but I’m not sure what. It felt like déjà vu, but not. I’m not going to worry about it.”

  Denni shook her head. “Everyone gets that when they’re still adjusting to their own awakening Amzi. There was something else, wasn’t there?”

  Amna's head sunk between her shoulders. “I guess so.” Her voice was barely audible.

  “What was it?” she pushed. “If there's something wrong nearby that I should know about, then —”

  “That's not it, okay?” Amna spat out, a little louder than she'd wanted. She lowered her eyes, stuffing her hands under the table. “Sorry. I can't explain it. Not here. Can we drop it for now? Please?”

  Denni relented. She did not want to argue, anyway. She felt close and uncomfortable, and she wanted to discharge some of this energy that had been welling up inside her for too long. She wanted to get out the apartment, out of the business of being the One of All Sacred and just be Denni Johnson instead. Arguing with her best friend was the last thing she should be doing.

  “I'm sorry,” she said after a moment. She frowned, thinking it sounded a lot less sincere than she'd meant it. “I was just concerned...” She stopped again, knowing that wasn't any better. Amna gave her a wilting look that didn't help.

  “You're doing your job, girl. You're a Johnson and a Shalei, Den, face it.” She took Denni’s hand and squeezed it softly, flashing her a weak smile. “Look. I know what you mean, and I appreciate it. You just need to separate the two sometimes, is all.”

  Denni nodded. “Thanks. I know.”

  The two exited the restaurant after fending off dessert offerings from the owner and headed back towards Denni's apartment. It was nearing two in the afternoon, and Denni had planned on doing some errands of her own, of a spiritual nature. She'd debated whether or not to include Amna in this, and still had not decided by the time they'd reached the apartment. She’d just unlocked the door and let Amna in when she heard a rushed flipping of bolts next door.

  “Denni, is that you?” an older woman's voice called from the open door. Madeleine Jakes, a short, stocky woman in her late sixties stepped out with a slight limp and stopped at the frame. Instantly the woman’s eyes brightened. “I thought it was you, sweetie! You’re looking quite happy today, I could sense you from next door!”

  Denni beamed and stepped over to give Madeleine a hug. “Somfei, Madeleine! I've been seeing a lot of you lately! How are you today?”

  Madeleine was a family friend who'd taken care of both Denni and Caren in their youth, and had been their next door neighbor for a good number of years. She’d become a surrogate parent to them both over the last few years, gladly watching over them every day. She leaned over and gave her a peck on each cheek. “I'm surviving, sweetie,” she said. “War injury is acting up again, but otherwise I’m just fine.” She pointed down at her right knee, the source of her limp. A prosthetic limb grafted just under the knee gave a faint whirr as she lifted it up slightly to show her. She'd received the injury during the last Season of Embodiment, but had never revealed how she'd gotten it. “Always seems to get twitchy during uprisings, you know?” She gave Denni a wink and a smile. Denni returned the look; she knew a pointed reference when she heard one.

  “Just call if you need help,” she offered. “You know Caren and I are more than willing.”

  “Bless you, honey,” she said, cupping her hand on Denni’s chin. She let it stay there for a few moments, a soft and loving touch. “Take care of yourself, Denysia,” she said quietly. “Keep looking for the answers, child, and never hesitate to ask for help, you hear? That goes for your friend there as well.”

  She faltered, staring at her. “I…I will. Taftika, sehnadha.”

  Madeleine beamed at her. “Allei aiya, dear. Thank you.” And with that, she retreated back to her own apartment, and shut the door, throwing all the bolts. Denni stood there for a moment longer, confused and a little fearful, and quickly did the same.

  She found Amna in the living room, staring passively at the vidmat tacked up between the media shelves across the room, oblivious to the conversation that had just gone on. “Nothing's on,” Amna sighed, tapping the remote and shutting the vidmat off. “How's Madeleine?”

  “I...uh...” Denni started. “She’s fine. Leg’s bothering her but she’s fine.”

  She said something, didn't she? Amna asked

  Denni twitched at her words. She swiftly headed to the kitchen.

  “Something to drink?” she called out.

  Don't ignore this, Amna continued.

  “I'm not. Something to drink?”

  A second or two passed before she answered. “Water, please.”

  Denni came back into the living room with two bottles and handed one to her. “She just offered her help if I needed it, that's all,” she said. “Called me Denysia, too.”

  “So?”

  “She's always called me Denni. She believes in True Self, just like we all do, but doesn't believe in flaunting it to the worlds. Each spirit's unique, and we should revel in that. So she never addresses someone by their True Name unless it’s offered or warranted.”

  “Slip of the tongue?”

  “Definitely not.”

  Amna leaned back in her seat, head back and gazing at the ceiling. “I don't know what to tell you, Den. Could be she's a reality seer.”

  Madeleine? The woman was definitely Mendaihu, and had claimed to be so before Denni even knew what it meant. She’d been a part of the uprising during the last Season, but she had never outright said she’d been a Warrior or a Protector of the One. Just another Bridgetowner who chose to join in the fight. “Stranger things have happened,” she managed.

  “Like a teenage deity,” Amna retorted.

  Denni gave her a sour look.

  “She's suggesting you do some research,” she continued.

  “Obviously,” she said, and joined her on the couch. “She knows who and what I am, and still treats me as always. Just unsettling, hearing it come from her.”

  Amna pushed herself back up and faced her. “So what do you think?”

  “I’ll be honest, I was planning on just that before you came,” she said, and lightly tapped her on the arm. “She included you as well.”

  Amna frowned at her. “Huh. What kind of research are we talking about? I’m nowhere near the level of a Mendaihu Gharra, I hope you know that.”

  “Hmm, no. I was thinking more of visiting a library.”

  Amna met her eyes. “A sehna lumia? Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  She took her friend’s hand. “It’s something I need to do, Amzi. I understand the rules — I may be the One of All Sacred, but even I can't look at someone else's memories, only my own. I wouldn’t dare try invading someone else’s privacy.” She paused, attempting a comforting smile. “But I can look up the records of the One.”

  Amna frowned at her. “That’s some serious rule bending there, Den.”

  “We'd be connecting with the previous Embodiments, Amna, not the separate spirits that harbored them,” Denni she explained. “I need to know what they know.”

  “And you’re sure you can get away with it?”

  “Of course,” she said softly, squeezing her hand. She briefly described the week that had passed in that nonspace she called a sanctuary. Ampryss hadn’t suggested it, but it was certainly implied: you have all of time to fall back on, she’d said. You do not always need to stay here, in the Now, processing everything as it comes to you. Even if visiting the sehna lumia was not Ampryss’ intent, it was hard not to ignore her own interpretation. She couldn’t deny herself this offering, not now.

  Amna was still unconvinced, however. “How would you understand eight different consciences sharing one spirit? How would that work?”

  “I’m going to assume it’s not as intense as being in contact with over f
ive thousand spirits at once,” she said. “If I can handle that, I can handle this.”

  She squeezed her friend’s hand tightly. Amnaia, she said within. Are you willing to help me?

  Amna did not waver. Anytime, Den. She took her other hand and held it tight, as everything around them began to fade away into Light. I’m with you.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Imbalance

  Goddess, why was it getting so hard to hold it back? Caren roamed the hallways without direction, avoiding other agents as much as she could. She'd used Mendaihu-level power for the first time on a Shenaihu nuhm’ndah yesterday, and that primal sensation of disgust and hatred had not gone away. Perhaps it was the drain of energy after the fight, the dread she'd felt after going through the arduous Questioning process, then finally getting reamed out by Chief Inspector Farraway, all in the span of three hours. She'd decided to skip Poe's dinner invitation by hinting that she’d rather be with Denni. She just had no more energy to spare. Just enough clock in, do her hours, then get home and sleep. She hated hiding this from him, but she couldn’t, not when he was going through his own issues.

  She hadn’t expected her Mendaihu energy to drain so quickly. She’d only used it twice. First to propel that man, Saisshalé, into that wall. Then once more to keep him there until he’d gotten that lucky kick in. After that, all the fight had gone out of her. It scared her just as much as it had pissed her off.

  “Caren! Hold up!”

  Agent Nick Slater jogged up from a far corridor and caught up with her, and by the look in his eyes, he wasn’t in the best of moods either. Before she could respond however, he gestured for her to keep quiet and hailed an elevator. Once they were on and he tapped the lift to rise to the seventh floor, he finally let out a long breath. Only then did she notice that he was fidgeting like someone who’d just been spooked by some seriously bad news. Goddess, what had he uncovered? She went to reach out and steady him, but he waved the offer away, nodding quickly.

  “I was poking around the reports from yesterday,” he said, measuring his words. “Something about the area bothered me. Not just the situation, but where it took place. I couldn’t quite figure it out, not until just the last hour or so.”

  “It wasn’t an unstable neighborhood, if that’s what you mean,” she said. “Poe and I cast out multiple threads just before everything happened.”

  “Not that,” he said, and glanced at the elevator. “Does the phrase 'here lies fate' sound familiar?”

  Caren stopped cold. She’d completely forgotten about the graffiti. She hadn’t even mentioned it during the Questioning sessions. “Go on,” she said slowly.

  “It's been popping up everywhere lately, smartpainted, and always in a high foot traffic area. It's a spray-based enamel, quick drying, using a stencil or a portable laserstat. Mostly used by the Public Works department, but commercial artists have been known to use it for immediate image stamping. It's expensive as hell and even harder to clean off.”

  She managed to find her voice just as the elevator doors opened. “Where else have you seen this?”

  “It's been reported all over,” he said. “Three near Branden Hill Park, eight in South City, eighteen in the Waterfront…all within the last day, and corresponding to incidents of violence before or after the fact. Someone wants to make a point.”

  Caren shuddered. How many attacks had taken place that hadn’t been reported? “Not a coincidence, is it?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think so. It's too close to the attack area, each time. A block or less away. I called one of my buddies at the PW, he says that this stuff is hell on the paint scrapers, it's so hard to clean off. I also accessed some of the security cams at those intersections where the graffiti was found, just to see what I could dig up.”

  The sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach began to grow. “You sure you got the time right?” she asked.

  “One twenty-three in the afternoon is when your incident took place,” he said, pausing in front of the doors. “The tag could not have been put there no more than an hour before.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked. “Poe and I walked by the one on the corner of Guyton West and Sandison Avenue. It looked like it had been there at least a day or so. It was dry, but one tire mark had gone through it. No padding after it, though.”

  Nick frowned. “Weird. Smartpaint isn't supposed to do that. We could have gotten something out of that tread.”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” she said. “Nick, why are we really here? We could watch the security vids in the office.”

  “The words themselves,” he said. “About four years ago, when I was a cop in the South City district, there was a stretch of about five weeks where I'd see those words sprayed somewhere new each day.”

  The incident played in Caren's memory. “Some punk gang, right? Some startup jackers thinking they were going to start something down there…they had a few nuhm’ndah in their ranks, didn’t they?”

  Nick nodded gravely. “Spiral, they called themselves. I was part of that investigation. Damn near got killed three separate times, trying to pin those bastards down.”

  “That was you?” Caren said, eyebrows lifted in surprise.

  “Me and a few Mendaihu agents,” he added. “My first case with them. They protected me with their lives more than a few times.”

  Caren regarded him quietly. They had remained in the foyer of the library, voices not quite a hush. The events still unnerved him, but he had learned to accept them as part of his past and not his current life. He gestured ahead and led her to the front desk to grab the files he’d requested and a keycard for one of the private rooms.

  Caren held her tongue until they were in the room with the door closed and all recording modules off. “Do you think Spiral is involved this time out?”

  “I doubt they’re even a thing anymore,” he answered with conviction. “Unless the Shenaihu appropriated them, there's no way they could pull off what we saw. They were lethal when I knew them but the Spec Force corps put an end to them about two years ago. Besides, these new attacks are not their forte.”

  “Who would it be, then?” she asked. “Stealing a gang tag seems kind of pathetic.”

  Nick cracked a smile at that. “The nuhm'ndah are definitely not the type to leave clues like that. No, this is a different group entirely.”

  “But there is a connection,” she said, gesturing at the vidmat folders. “Did you find something?”

  “Beginnings,” he said. “I pulled out the old Spiral files I'd worked on myself and look for any similarities.”

  “And?”

  He shrugged. “Not much. Except this...” He flipped open the top folder open and pushed it her way.

  She caught her breath, startled by the image of Gordan Milainikos standing at the corner of Guyton West and Sandison. There was no mistaking the man; it was the documentation beneath the picture that revealed the location. He seemed to be waiting for someone or something, a stance of impatience in his body language. “When was this taken?” she asked. “And why is it here?”

  “It was taken two days before the Awakening ritual. Edha Milainikos was a witness to gang activity at a house run by Spiral when I was on the case back then. That gang has been on the watch list ever since, so anything remotely related gets added. He popped up about three weeks before the Awakening, making some odd moves around the city, but we didn’t think much of it. Until now, of course.”

  Caren frowned. “He knew something, probably still does. What hospital is he checked into?”

  “Branden Hill People's General,” Nick said. “He's healing physically…but spiritually, we’re not sure what the hell happened to him. Or no one’s saying.”

  The extra security didn't make her feel any better. He was Mendaihu, and a strong one at that, based on the deflection defenses he’d thrown up when Saisshalé blasted him. He’d been injured badly, but he’d remained alive…at least until they’d moved to the alleyway.

  “The
security,” Caren said. “Do we have any Mendaihu on that team?”

  Nick frowned. “Already tried confirming that, but no one would say.”

  Caren rose from her seat. “Nick, send me a copy of these files. Farraway’s got some explaining to do.”

  “He’s not on roster.”

  “He’s hiding,” she barked. “The bastard’s hiding, and he’s only pissing me off!” She dashed out of the library and headed for the side stairwell, cursing all the way. It had already been twenty-four hours since the attack on West Guyton. She had no idea how quickly it would take for Gordan Milainikos to heal. For stronger Mendaihu, it took a matter of days and a lot of will power. For others, it took slower than a normal human. She didn't want to take the chance of someone eliminating the man.

  She blasted straight past the man’s front desk clerk and burst into the inner office, ready to ream him out. Farraway stopped her cold with a cautious hand and an icy stare.

  “Calm yourself, Johnson,” he said. “I'm already on it. One of the sensitives on site picked up on what was left of his signature and requested extra security as soon as he was admitted. He hasn't regained consciousness yet, and we want to question him as soon as he does. And budget be damned, I'm requesting more trained Mendaihu and Shenaihu agents be put into our unit. We can't let more incidents like this become commonplace.”

  Farraway offered her a chair, which she took grudgingly. “Since the Awakening, we've been trying to find more sehndayen-ne,” he continued. “The city's desperately short of teachers and practitioners, and it’s falling on us to fill that gap, whether we want to or not. We’ve received offers for help from other provinces, but it’s only a matter of time before they’d have to return. The One of All Sacred certainly did a number on everyone, expanding an awakening like that.”