Free A Division of Souls - A Novel of the Mendaihu Universe by Jon Chaisson Page A
Authors: Jon Chaisson
time, she got
herself ready for bed. She’d have time enough for all that
misplaced anger later.
Stepping back out of the bedroom moments
later, she began her own post-work ritual with a series of long
deep breaths and muscle stretches. She had freed herself from the
uniform and pulled on a pair of overworn sweatpants, a stretched
out and faded black tee shirt, and her hair draped loosely over her
shoulders. Every hindrance, anything that held her back, had been
willed away and disposed of. Her body and soul were free.
“…hra khera, hra mehra…” she whispered in
the Anjshé tongue, breathing slowly and fully. “…hra khera, hra
mehra…” To be here, to be at peace. She repeated the mantra
slowly with every breath, in her ritual to relax. It took her
several minutes before she felt the beginnings of an inner calm,
when her muscles no longer twitched and her brain had stopped
racing. She would ignore hints of anger and distraction, instead
focusing on that calm she so briefly held moments before. It was a
tough ritual, one of the hardest she had to perform on herself, but
she would not give up.
That was her problem…her brain was always in overdrive. Always thinking, always plotting out
scenarios in her mind. It made her the strong investigator that she
was, but at the price of inner peace. This constant and
directionless energy would plague her at the end of every shift.
Her dreams were vivid, on the rare instances she had them, and her
sleep was often short and restless. Some nights it would take her
an hour to even attempt the first stages of sleep, and she’d often
wake up multiple times throughout the night. Tonight would be no
different, but she’d already accepted that.
Hra khera…hra mehra…
This was the only way she could reach her
inner calm. The civilian Caren fought to surface, but Special Agent
Johnson wouldn’t let her out so easily. She stood center in the
room, legs akimbo and her hands gently reaching out to opposite
walls, and closed her eyes. She visualized the stress and fatigue
in her body and gathered it together, within her soul. The excess
energy swelled within this space, and with a deep breath and a
push, it began draining through her and out her limbs, pouring out
of her hands and feet, away from her like rainwater.
Hra khera…hra mehra…
To be here.
To be at peace.
Denni .
Calm.
Finally, the tension inside her body began
to melt away. Blood circulating evenly throughout her body now,
energy balancing itself within her spirit. Every part of her being
wound down, slowing down to a crawl, until everything within
equaled all that was without. She pushed out a final deep breath,
completed the ritual, and opened her eyes. Meekly, the civilian
climbed out of her shell and assumed Caren’s person, felt it safe
to be there, and let the last of the tense energy disappear.
She brought her hands slowly together,
fingers entwined, her index fingers resting on her lips as she
nodded. Smiling, she opened an eye and glanced at a framed picture
hanging on the wall in front of her. Aram and Celine Johnson
watched over her, handsome and regal in their Mendaihu uniforms,
smiling back at her. This was the same picture she saw in her
lumisha dea, the one over the mantel at her parents’ old house, but
whenever she saw the real thing, it comforted her. She whispered a
silent prayer to them, thinking of them fondly, and brought her
hands back down. They had taught her that meditative technique when
she was young, and it had never failed her. Satisfied, she turned
to her living room sound system, and tapped a preset. Ancient
Celtic rhythms filled the room with a soft, safe ambience.
She fell into the cocoon of the couch, and
closed her eyes.
Safe…
The spinning in her head wound down to a
stable balance. “…hra khera, hra mehra…” she whispered again. She
closed her eyes, taking in slow rhythmic breaths, and before she
sought to thank her parents again, she was
herself ready for bed. She’d have time enough for all that
misplaced anger later.
Stepping back out of the bedroom moments
later, she began her own post-work ritual with a series of long
deep breaths and muscle stretches. She had freed herself from the
uniform and pulled on a pair of overworn sweatpants, a stretched
out and faded black tee shirt, and her hair draped loosely over her
shoulders. Every hindrance, anything that held her back, had been
willed away and disposed of. Her body and soul were free.
“…hra khera, hra mehra…” she whispered in
the Anjshé tongue, breathing slowly and fully. “…hra khera, hra
mehra…” To be here, to be at peace. She repeated the mantra
slowly with every breath, in her ritual to relax. It took her
several minutes before she felt the beginnings of an inner calm,
when her muscles no longer twitched and her brain had stopped
racing. She would ignore hints of anger and distraction, instead
focusing on that calm she so briefly held moments before. It was a
tough ritual, one of the hardest she had to perform on herself, but
she would not give up.
That was her problem…her brain was always in overdrive. Always thinking, always plotting out
scenarios in her mind. It made her the strong investigator that she
was, but at the price of inner peace. This constant and
directionless energy would plague her at the end of every shift.
Her dreams were vivid, on the rare instances she had them, and her
sleep was often short and restless. Some nights it would take her
an hour to even attempt the first stages of sleep, and she’d often
wake up multiple times throughout the night. Tonight would be no
different, but she’d already accepted that.
Hra khera…hra mehra…
This was the only way she could reach her
inner calm. The civilian Caren fought to surface, but Special Agent
Johnson wouldn’t let her out so easily. She stood center in the
room, legs akimbo and her hands gently reaching out to opposite
walls, and closed her eyes. She visualized the stress and fatigue
in her body and gathered it together, within her soul. The excess
energy swelled within this space, and with a deep breath and a
push, it began draining through her and out her limbs, pouring out
of her hands and feet, away from her like rainwater.
Hra khera…hra mehra…
To be here.
To be at peace.
Denni .
Calm.
Finally, the tension inside her body began
to melt away. Blood circulating evenly throughout her body now,
energy balancing itself within her spirit. Every part of her being
wound down, slowing down to a crawl, until everything within
equaled all that was without. She pushed out a final deep breath,
completed the ritual, and opened her eyes. Meekly, the civilian
climbed out of her shell and assumed Caren’s person, felt it safe
to be there, and let the last of the tense energy disappear.
She brought her hands slowly together,
fingers entwined, her index fingers resting on her lips as she
nodded. Smiling, she opened an eye and glanced at a framed picture
hanging on the wall in front of her. Aram and Celine Johnson
watched over her, handsome and regal in their Mendaihu uniforms,
smiling back at her. This was the same picture she saw in her
lumisha dea, the one over the mantel at her parents’ old house, but
whenever she saw the real thing, it comforted her. She whispered a
silent prayer to them, thinking of them fondly, and brought her
hands back down. They had taught her that meditative technique when
she was young, and it had never failed her. Satisfied, she turned
to her living room sound system, and tapped a preset. Ancient
Celtic rhythms filled the room with a soft, safe ambience.
She fell into the cocoon of the couch, and
closed her eyes.
Safe…
The spinning in her head wound down to a
stable balance. “…hra khera, hra mehra…” she whispered again. She
closed her eyes, taking in slow rhythmic breaths, and before she
sought to thank her parents again, she was