A Division of Souls - A Novel of the Mendaihu Universe by Jon Chaisson
*
The shuddering reptilian Shenaihuza spiritform of Janoss Miradesi stepped out of the air and onto the cold pavement of the waterfront district warehouse. He walked with a pronounced limp to the right, an unfortunate injury acquired during his struggle with Nehalé Usarai. Though the battle itself had been glorious, his injury was an undignified one. It wasn't so much his pride that had been hurt, but his frustration that the catch had eluded him.
He’d decided not to dwell on this failure. Somewhere Nehalé nursed injuries worse than his own. They would both heal before the end of the day — he could sense Nehalé’s regenerative powers as strongly as his own — but both would now carry scars of the battle. Whether he or Nehalé would keep those scars was up to question. He chose, at least for now, to carry them as a matter of Shenaihu pride.
He trudged heavily across the dust-laden floor towards the rear of the building, not really paying attention to where he was going and following instinct instead. Somewhere behind the disused equipment and partially collapsed racking there was a short hallway leading to the back offices. Behind the last office was a door, rusted shut to everyone except those who could walk through. It led to the maintenance tunnels, and beyond those to Bridgetown’s forgotten underground railways. He lifted a scaly, bony hand and laid it flat against the door. Closing his eyes, his spirit sensed the breeze of both the air currents and the multitudes of spirit winds flowing by. The heavy breath echoed off the brick walls ahead, as if pleading for his presence. The corners of his mouth lifted in an attempted smile at the selfish thought.
Fingers curling, his claws scraped against the dust and paint of the door, flecks chipping off and falling to the floor. The door itself was cold; colder it than it should have been, it seemed. Janoss was reminded of the third reality of Trisanda, the wastelands of his youth, of the constant bitter-tasting air and stinging cold winds of the land to which the useless nuhm’ndah were corralled and forgotten.
Forgotten so quickly, he thought bitterly. Cast aside. Abandoned on a bleak world.
He breathed deeply, twice, then stepped through, spirit pulling along the physical.
The Rain of Light, he said within himself. He was now on the other side of the door, standing in a dimly lit hallway covered in dust and debris. The spirit winds shifted, temporarily stopping, swirling around his reptilian body as if picking up his scent, and then moving on, westward in the direction of the Mirades Tower. Inhaling, he tasted these ethereal energies, unimaginably sweet on his tongue and euphoric on his nerves. They welcomed Janoss blindly, unconscious of body but exacting in spirit. Their unseen presence gently pushed him northward, towards the Mirades Tower.
I awaken you, children, he said within.
The spirits shivered around him, vibrating the air, and shimmering into life. Displaced air clicked loud and echoed down the dusty tunnel, energy blasting tiny sparks which illuminated the chipped masonry around him. The closest spirits danced off his skin excitedly, and Janoss opened his mouth in a giddy laugh. The taste of these spirits! The boundless energy they held! He could not get enough. Nehalé Usarai must have felt the same dizzying thrill.
I awaken you, he sang out gleefully. Come and join me in this dance of life!
He exhaled long and even, his warm breath condensing in the cold air and dissipating as the spirits shot through it hungrily. Each spirit in turn seemed to glow and shimmer with each pass through the air, pulsating like stars.
Awaken —
A rumbling piercing storm of dust suddenly shot past him, tasting like burning garbage and also strangely of cinnamon, pushing him backwards. He skidded, arms suddenly flailing at the tunnel walls just out of his reach. Something had pushed him away…something stronger than himself. Not to be beaten, he angrily pushed himself forward again until he regained his footing. The spirit wind began to dissipate around him, lost to another reality now, and caught the next wind, disappearing behind him. He squinted and lifted a hand to block the dust, and tried to see ahead, but there was nothing but dry, dusty darkness. He coughed and spat as he attempted to breathe, and eventually turned his back to the wind and lowered his head to his chest.
What...what is happening?
“Janoss Miradesi.”
Who –
“Come now, you know who I am. It’s me. You knew I’d be here.”
Gasping for air, Janoss opened his eyes. He was staring at his feet, his eyes watering from the dust storm that was no longer there. He coughed and spat out the dryness in his throat, brushing the dirt and grime and soot from his clothes. He looked at his hands — they were no longer the true Shenaihuza…they were flesh and bone of Gharné. Human hands. Reality had returned again, though not by his command. He heard the shuffling of steps and spun around. In the dim light he could see the dark eyes, the close-cropped auburn hair, the hard face and frowning mouth of Natianos Lehanna.
“N—Natianos...” Janoss managed, staring at the man that towered over him. “What…what just happened?”
Natianos, ill-dressed for this dank tunnel in a tailored navy suit, crossed his arms and gave him a wilting smile. Janoss Miradesi shivered in both awe and fear.
“Not yet,” he said, shaking his head. “You will know when to awaken them.”
“I’m sorry, edha,” Janoss said, averting his eyes.
“Janoss, my dear sehnadha.” His voice was unnervingly calm. “We are equals here. There’s no need for formalities. You are well?”
“Y—yes,” he said, and coughed one last time. “Injured, but otherwise fine. What brings you down here?”
“Injured?” Natianos said, more as a surprised comment than a question. He paused to study him, leaving Janoss to wonder what the man was thinking of him at that moment. Probably not much, he admitted. It had been a pathetic fight.
Janoss tested the air with a sigh before speaking again. “I am afraid that we did not completely fulfill our goals today. I was unable to obtain Reverend Miriam. I tried to stop Nehalé Usarai, but he proved more powerful than I’d expected.”
Natianos pursed his lips and nodded slowly. “You have made our presence known,” he said after a moment. “That is enough.”
Janoss frowned. “It’s not enough, you know that. We need to do more.”
“You prepare too much, Janoss!” he said. “You carried out the main objective, and that is more than sufficient. The hrrah-sehdhyn movement is underway. Soon the Mendaihu will understand why we have moved in such a manner. We have let them think they have won — in fact, we even pushed their plans farther ahead than they’d expected. The hrrah-sehdhyn will prove to be their saving grace and their downfall.”
Janoss nodded solemnly.
The nuhm’ndah shall no longer be left to die, Natianos said from within.
“I…” Janoss trembled. We…are returning?
Yes…the nuhm’ndah are returning, as you have promised to Nehalé Usarai and all his followers. There is a gathering of Mendaihu and Shenaihu in the Waterfront sector as we speak. Our humble Governor has even sanctioned it. It is there that it will all happen.
Janoss found he couldn’t contain his silence anymore and spoke aloud. “When is it all going to happen?”
“When the One enters Light for the first time. That is when we shall move. She will be vulnerable, and more importantly, she will not have truly transcended yet. Not until then.”
“Yes, edha,” he said. “Will we have people in the Waterfront?”
“They are already there, and they will know when to act,” he said. Janoss thought caught a sense of sadness in his voice, an affectation he couldn’t quite hide, but dared not question it. “We have a number of Shenaihu infiltrating the crowds. Highly trained, nearly impossible to track them down. They will take over when ordered.”
Again, he heard that sadness. “Yes, sir,” is all he could reply.
In the semi-darkness of the tunnel, Natianos moved to Janoss’