by Jon Chaisson
“You drive me crazy, Anando,” she said to herself, relishing the glow of her heart and spirit. She turned away and followed the top ridge of the park. She purposely took her time walking along Jamison Avenue as it made its graceful arc northeastward. She was in no real hurry. She watched the traffic stream by, the congestion at Grieves Street's terminus spilling onto the avenue. She was half tempted to stop at the bakery across the street, but felt that would only add to her procrastination. Instead she soldiered on until she finally arrived at the former Kellerman Hotel a few blocks north.
It was a short and stocky building compared to the others in this neighborhood at four floors, made of dirty brick and grimy windows that hadn’t been washed for some time. She approached the entrance and without fail the doors opened on their own. The inner security doors unlocked and opened themselves as well. The elevator doors, on the other hand, had remained closed.
“I apologize, Agent Johnson,” Matthew Davison said over a crackly intercom. “We're trying to get the damn thing replaced, but I'm having trouble finding a vendor that still works on this model.”
She cocked an eyebrow at the air in front of her and smirked. “Somfei, Matthew,” she said, and walked the long stretch of narrow hallway towards the back of the building to take the stairs. “Poe and I must be the only ones who use the damn thing.”
“Honestly, yes. We haven't had many visitors. Back stairway is open, come on up,” he said.
Matthew Davison once again stood at the door to Vigil’s sprawl headquarters, ready to greet her. He was looking sharp in an expensive navy blue suit, shoulder-length hair pulled back in a ponytail, and completely free of facial hair. This clean-cut look was not only an improvement from his usual jacker anti-fashion statements, she admitted it made him quite handsome.
“Good afternoon to you, emha Johnson,” he said, emphasizing the Meraladian title. “Edha Poe is busy today?”
“Couple of days off. He took a land shuttle last night to visit his family up north.”
Matthew nodded slowly as if distracted, then looked back at her. “Oh — nyhnd’aladh, please, come on in,” he said, and stepped aside, holding the door open.
“Thank you,” she said. Matthew was certainly acting weird today…and that never boded well. He led her down the main hallway to one of the back rooms, glancing in each side room as he passed by. A nearly empty kitchen, completely devoid of any electronics except a single hardback vidmat propped up against the wall. Bedrooms tidied up and silent. Quite different from the last time she was here just weeks ago, when the place had been a collegiate sty with vidmats and hardbacks lying around everywhere.
They entered the back master bedroom, which Matthew set up as an operations hub, complete with an engineering cage of multiple monitors and keyboards, and offered her a seat. He sat down in the swiveling chair within the cage and started fidgeting. As was his habit, he glanced quickly at the numerous screens, typed a bit of code into one of the three keyboards, then turned back to face her.
“To what do I owe this pleasure, Caren?” he asked, leaning back into the chair and crossing his legs. He flashed a cordial smile. “Doing some research on your day off sounds like Poe, not you. Is this a social call?”
“You know damn well why I’m here,” she said. “It’s been twenty-five years since the last Embodiment. So don’t play dumb with me. Not now.” She watched as the bemused look on his face wavered, then changed to a tight-lipped scowl. Slowly he uncrossed his legs, pushed himself up in the chair, and crossed his arms.
“Straight to the point,” he said after a moment, his voice now quiet and even. “Does Poe still have the research you two had me do last month? The datacrystal I gave him the day you two came around after the Awakening?”
Caren nodded. “He should. Why?”
He nervously cleared his throat. “If you're about to ask what I think you're about to ask, that data could be of some use. It certainly would save us a lot of time — that is, if I agree to what you might have in mind.”
Caren did not want to deal with his coyness and laid it all out for him. She told him about Gordan Milainikos and Saisshalé, about the other spikes in violence over the past few weeks, the public’s reaction to it, and the complete lack of any solid plan from the ARU brass. When she was done, Matthew did not answer right away, turning partly away to think about something. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, waiting.
“It truly does depend on the actions of the individual,” he said eventually. “As much as I hate to say that, it’s true. Any reality seer will agree. There are far too many variables still open at this time. If these instances were premeditated, then chances are good the Shenaihu are up to something. What that might be this time out, I don't know. I’ll be honest, I don’t think anyone does.”
“And that’s exactly the problem we need to focus on,” she said. “All those variables, as you say, are reactive. But what if it escalates? What then? We don't have nearly enough trained Elders and practitioners in this town. Even with almost the entire city awakened in some way, sending them all off to battle would be suicide. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to let Denni shoulder all that responsibility on her own, deity or no.”
Matthew nodded again, bit his lip, and looked away. The fidgeting heel of his right foot began tapping against the floor as he thought, making a quiet clicking sound in the otherwise silent room. He huffed out a breath, shifted in his seat, and pulled his crossed arms closer to him. Caren resisted the temptation to guess what he might be thinking — and definitely nixed the idea of using the Mendaihu sensing to find out — and waited as patiently as she could until he was done.
“I believe there might be a way,” he said quietly.
“What is it?”
“I know a sehndayen-ne,” he started slowly. “Brilliant teacher, one of the best. Crittiqila Nayélha is her name. She lives up in your area, I believe, in Berndette Sector. I haven't talked to her in ages, but I do think she might be able to help you.”
Caren's hope sank quickly. “So she's a spiritual teacher,” she said. “What can she do that Denni can’t do herself or with the help of Ampryss?”
“That I can't say.”
“Can't, or won't?”
Matthew gave her a wilting grin. “Both, I'm afraid. Can't, because I'd only be describing it from my own experience. Won't, because each milédayen-ne experience will be their own. My opinion would be worthless and pointless.”
Caren grunted at him. “Of course.”
“Let me contact her for you,” he offered. “She knows me well. I studied under her three years ago. I can have her calling you by the end of the day.”
She weighed the options. Denni had already started preparing and training herself as soon as she’d returned from her elsewhere. She'd been Lightwalking constantly, and Caren could sense it each time. Ever since the failed Ascension, Caren had made it a habit to keep some sort of subconscious link between her and her sister, just strong enough that she could recall it at a moment's notice. She often wondered where she went off to, whether it was Trisanda or her nonspace, or someplace else entirely.
Either way, Denni had not spoken about learning anything other than that she had picked up this ability or that bit of information. She’d revealed nothing important such as learning how to defend herself from any attack or protect anyone close to her. Caren knew she could teach her sister what she knew from her own experience — the spiritsensing, the energy blasts, methods of investigation — but she knew it wouldn't be enough, and time was against her.
“All right,” she said. “Call her. Give her my home phone. I'm sure you have it by now, anyway.”
“To humor you, I will,” he answered, flashing a lopsided grin. “Though I doubt she'll use it.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
He tapped a finger on his temple with a smile, and turned to look over his shoulder at the screens behind him. Something might have caught his eye, or perhaps a subsonic alarm h
ad gone off in his head, the way he turned slightly and studied the data streaming across the screens. He frowned once, tapped at a few keys at the closest keyboard, and let out a long breath. He turned partway back to her again, paused, and swung around again, fully facing his workstation. He hammered away at the keyboard again, this time for a full five minutes.
She’d had enough of his weird behavior and stood up to go. She did not want to be here longer than she'd wanted to, and if he was going to be rude and ignore her questions, there was no other reason to be here.
“In answer to your question,” Matthew started, cutting the silence and startling her. He was halfway turned in his chair, a slight frown on his face. He seemed genuinely offended that she had been about to leave in the middle of a conversation.
She parted her lips to say something, but thought better of it.
“As I was saying...” he said, when she sat down. “Emha Nayélha rarely uses landlines to contact someone for spiritual reasons. She'll most likely connect with you on a spiritual level. She might use innerspeak, she might Lightwalk into your apartment, or who knows…she may actually set up an appointment at your office. Why were you about to leave?”
His sudden question caught her off guard. This apartment was truly his turf, and she'd just broken one of his unspoken rules. She bit her tongue again, forcing herself not to lie. She ended up waving the question away and a shifting in her seat. She made sure, however, not to drop her eyes away. He may have won, but she was not won over. Not yet.
“Forget it,” he said. “Not important, anyway. Listen — I'm going to make your call, so you can either be here or be on your way.”
“Excuse me?” she growled, hands balling into fists. “Did you just dismiss me?”
He waved a hand at her. “Don't worry, Caren. I'm on your side. I accept this little job you have for me.”
“I haven’t offered you anything,” she said. “And I’m not your fucking helper here, kid, so watch your damn tongue.”
Matthew nodded, forcing himself not to smile. “You have, emha Shalei,” he said. “You've just hired Vigil to ensure that the Ninth Embodiment of the One of All Sacred fulfills her duty the best she can.”
Before she could respond, Matthew stood, excused himself from the room, and headed towards the front of the apartment, and she quickly got up to follow. He was already out the front door when she got to the kitchen area, and double-timed her steps to catch up. He had left the door open. She stopped just outside the apartment, looking down both hallways, having temporarily lost sight of him. She could hear footsteps in both directions, but could not tell which were his. She stood there, confused and pissed off. What the hell was Matthew trying to pull? She was half-tempted to give up and walk away, but her spirit knew better than that. He'd acted this way on purpose, to test her. Well, she was in no mood to be tested right now. She closed her eyes —
“Good afternoon, Miss Johnson,” a voice said to her left, startling her. She lifted her eyes again, and saw a young woman walking up towards her. She had a head full of dark, curly hair that reached well past her shoulders, and she was dressed conservatively, as if she’d just gotten off work. She looked familiar, yet she couldn't quite place her. A neighbor, perhaps? A Mendaihu?
A Shenaihu?
“Do I know you?” Caren said.
“Sure you do,” the woman smiled, and entered the apartment. She did not close it, nor did she say anything else.
Caren shook her head and forced out a breath. “Pashyo…”
“Please,” the woman said after a few moments. “Come on in. Don't mind Matthew. He gets like this when he’s stressed out and completely forgets not to be an asshole. Just humor him. Would you like some tea?”
Caren threw her hands up and gave in. The woman was in the kitchen, already brewing hot water on the stove. Caren smirked at the antique range, surprised it still worked. Even stranger how the woman used an old steel teakettle instead of the ceramic cylinders everyone used nowadays.
“Tea...” she said, and nodded. “Tea sounds good.”
“Welcome to Vigil,” the woman said. “I'm Jenn Underwood.”
Caren gaped. She did know her! “Goddess! From Glover Court? Chris Gorecki used to babysit you?”
Jenn laughed. “One and the same.” She waved her into the kitchen and gestured towards a pair of stools near the breakfast nook. “Come on in.”
She slid onto one of the stools and leaned up against the tabletop. She glanced at Jenn, judged her to be in her early twenties. “I remember bits and pieces,” Caren offered. “I think it was the hair that gave it away. I do remember an overly curious preteen with impossibly black curls nosing around Christine's office now and again.”
Jenn joined her at the nook, taking the other stool. “Yes, that was me. I was the little shit who wanted to be a private investigator when she grew up.”
“So are you?” Caren asked.
“Close,” she said. “I work at the DRL up on Pendergast Boulevard. Doing a lot of dry data research, but it pays the bills.”
“That would explain a few things,” Caren said. “Makes perfect sense that you'd run with someone such as Matthew. My condolences for putting up with him.”
Jenn shrugged. “Well, the pros outweigh the cons by far. I'd rather be doing Vigil work than working a questionable government job. No offense, of course.”
“None taken,” Caren said. “I question it all the time.”
“Pressing business with Vigil, then? Let me guess…you need our help with the new season of Embodiment. You want us to make sure things remain stable, like we did with the Ascension.”
Caren nodded. “How did you know?”
Jenn touched her arm and shook her head. “Emha, at the DRL it's hard not to see trends as they develop. We've been getting constant research requests since before Awakening Day. It's been another twenty-five years since the last insurrection, and this time they want to be ready for it.”
“It's very unpredictable,” she said. “I seem to recall about a hundred twenty-five years ago, it was confined to an eight-block radius in the south edge of the Waterfront sector and lasted a whole month. The next time out it lasted just a few days but we had a near-massacre taking up the Waterfront all the way down to South City.”
“Ah, yes,” Jenn said. “The Coastal War. Odd season, that. One of the few where it lost steam all on its own, rather than the Special Forces taking over.”
Caren nodded. This girl knew her stuff. “Any predictions?” she asked, perhaps more flippant than she should have been.
Jenn arched a brow at her, but the sharp whistle of the steam forcing its way out of the teakettle interrupted her answer. She held that thought and left for the kitchen. Caren was reminded of that night with Denni, when she had come home, exhausted and at wits' end, and her sister had made tea for her. That was the same night she learned Ampryss had been calling for her from within. And the night she had told Denni the truth about her parents.
“It's hard to tell,” Jenn said, returning with two mugs of black tea. “This isn't like any other season I've researched.”
“Care to hazard a guess?”
Jenn sipped from her cup and thought it over. “It really is hard to say. All those points of violence almost from day one: St. Patrick's, Sculler’s Crossing, the DRL — which I happened to witness — and the random events popping up around town recently? I can't seem to find any patterns or reasons. It's almost reactionary, the way it's panning out. No one can figure it out, not even Vigil.”
“ARU is feeling the same way,” Caren said. “I can't tell if the nuhm'ndah are deliberately undermining us or just wasting everyone’s time. That's really why I'm here. I'm wondering if Vigil sees something we can’t.”
Jenn nodded and placed the cup down. “We're already on it. Matthew's been digging into files and working with outside channels.”
“I won't ask who.”
“Much appreciated,” she continued. “Regardless, we have the
same intel you have right now. There may even be a chance we're just reading too much into it.”
“I don't think so,” Caren said, and sipped from her own cup. “We awakened the One of All Sacred, Jenn. Something that important wasn’t on accident. She's safe and surrounded by a city full of protection, but I still fear for her life. The threat is still out there. Why would the nuhm'ndah not want to react to an awakening of a major deity, or the entire city for that matter?”
“Perhaps they revere her as much as we do?”
“Maybe so,” she said. “But why would they keep her ascension from taking place?”
Jenn nearly dropped her mug and stared at her. “What did you just say?”
“The Ascension failed,” Caren said warily. “It was forcibly stopped, pretty much at the last minute. Denni isn’t quite sure how, but she knows the nuhm’ndah were behind it. Or at least the Dahné. I thought Vigil already knew.”
“We do, but…” Jenn swallowed, then blinked. “Pashyo...that could be it.”
“What?”
Jenn pushed off the stool, knocking it over in the process. She nearly tripped over it as she backed away from her, staring now, not at her but in the vacant space between them. She lifted up a wavering hand, gesturing for her to wait, and rushed out of the kitchen and down the hall towards Matthew's war room.
“Jenn?” Caren called out. “What's wrong?”
There was no answer. Then—
Without an Ascension, there is no eternal savior.
Jenn was speaking to her from within. Caren shuddered, the words unexpected. She stood up and started making her way down to that far left master bedroom, into the control room. She knew Jenn was in there now, furiously typing away at one of the keyboards.
What do you mean? she called out. Jenn, what’s wrong?
Without an Ascension, there is no eternal savior, she repeated.
Without an eternal savior, there is no eternity.
Without an eternity, time ceases to exist.
