Pathways - Jeri Taylor [24]
He wasn’t going to be able to get out of there. This was something he hadn’t counted on—how did one leave a vision quest? He knew his body was actually sitting in the habak of his house, palm lying on the Akoonah. But here, in his mind, there was no Akoonah, no way that he could think of to break the hold of his vision.
He sat down again and contemplated the snake. It was completely at rest, all its bodily functions slowed in order to channel its energy into digesting the fish. It was in its own version of a trance. Chakotay was on his own.
That, he realized, seemed to be the message everyone was giving him. No one was going to help with this difficult choice; no one would even suggest which path might be more desirable. He and he alone must choose.
With that realization, a great weight seemed to be lifted from him, and he felt himself return to the euphoria that had preceded his arrival at this place. The green of the forest began to run, smearing into kaleidoscopic patterns once more, and again he felt buoyant and weightless. Was that all it took? Understanding, on some gut level, that only he was master of his destiny? It seemed too easy . . . until he remembered that just moments ago, it was an impossibly difficult idea to embrace.
The forest glade had swirled out of existence and its colors were shifting into cohesive forms once more. A pleasant humming in his ears grew louder and louder until—
—he opened his eyes. He was in the habak, surrounded by artifacts that had been a part of his people for thousands of years. His hand was on the Akoonah, and now he withdrew it, slowly. The sensation of euphoria was still with him, and he was loath to lose it. The stillness of the clearing pervaded his senses, and he remembered the coiled body of the snake with fondness, feeling somehow empty to be apart from it.
Curious.
He rose and sought out his father, who was tending his garden, lush now in late summer with fruits and vegetables, the seeds of which had been brought from Earth two hundred years ago when several native tribes emigrated to Trebus. Kolopak looked up, holding a bright golden tomato in his hand, smiling with satisfaction.
“I’m harvesting lunch, Chakotay. This will be delicious in a salad.”
Chakotay wasn’t much interested in a tomato. He regarded his father with a serious mien and said, “I’ve made a decision. I’m going back to Starfleet Academy. I intend to graduate.”
Kolopak nodded once, then studied the yellow tomato. “Is this enough, do you think? Or should we have squash as well?”
“Squash,” answered Chakotay without hesitation. It really wasn’t terribly hard to make decisions, once you put your mind to it.
Three years later, Chakotay graduated from Starfleet Academy with honors. He had eventually excelled in his studies and his extracurricular activities.
But there was little joy in the process. All around him, he saw his friends and classmates responding with enthusiasm to their regimens, finding wonder in knowledge and pleasure in activity. They laughed, they fought, they played jokes on each other, they fell in and out of love, they alternately despised and worshipped certain instructors, and in general entered into Academy life with vitality and ardor.
Chakotay was on the periphery of those experiences. He had friends, but none was intimate. He participated in wrestling events and had a rackful of medals to show for it, but he found no satisfaction in those victories. He was always asked to participate in group outings, and occasionally did, but frequently demurred. He was popular even though he didn’t seek out friends.
Only one person held a particular fascination for him, and that was Sveta, whose cool and knowing manner intrigued him. She seemed to see into him in a way no one else did. She challenged him, confronted him, debated with him—and then would smile that enigmatic smile and slip away, not to be seen for days. She began to assume the aspect of a mythological being in his mind: the Ice Maiden, alluring and mysterious.
His closest friend was probably