Spirit Walk_ Old Wounds (Book 1) - Christie Golden [46]
“Why not?”
“I just…never got around to it.”
He didn’t look at her as he answered. The real truth was that the ritual, which temporarily transferred the personalities of the Kaz symbiont into the bodies of the current host’s various friends, was a deeply personal one. The host had to completely trust the people he was permitting to bear the personalities. The Kaz symbiont had had twelve hosts, including Jarem; it had been hard to think of eleven people that he was that close to.
“I can imagine it would be difficult to round up that many people for the ritual,” Astall said, again as if she had read his mind. “And don’t worry, I don’t think it’s something we have to do right now, either.”
“Thank goodness for that.”
“But there is a great deal of wisdom in the zhian’-tara. A ceremony of closure, I believe it’s referred to. And closure with Gradak is something you need right now, because his presence could start to interfere with the execution of your duties.”
Suddenly apprehensive, Kaz glanced up.
“It’s not interfering,” he said sharply. “I told you. It’s just some bad dreams.”
Astall smiled gently. “I said ‘could start,’ not ‘is starting.’ If you continue to have nightmares, I think eventually it will start interfering. And neither of us wants that to happen. We all have old wounds, Jarem. And that’s all right. They ache and linger and become a part of us. And we learn to live with them. But first, we have to make sure they’re healed.”
“So, what do you propose?”
“I think we need to sit with Gradak for a while and let him tell you about how he lived—and died.”
Kaz felt suddenly, strangely uncomfortable. He realized the feeling was vulnerability.
“I have the memories.”
“Of course you do. And you know as well as I that unpleasant memories often aren’t acknowledged. In traditional therapy, the patient and counselor bring these memories out in a safe place and look at them.”
“You sound like you’re examining a microbe with the computer,” he joked.
“In a way, I am. The brain is the most marvelous computer we’ve ever known. Nothing, not even Commander Data’s positronic brain, has been able to surpass its functioning. Gradak Kaz underwent severe emotional and physical trauma—so severe that it killed him. Those memories need to be seen…”
She paused. “No, more than seen. They need to be honored, to be witnessed, by Jarem Kaz if he’s to make them his own and give Gradak peace.”
She spoke quietly, gravely. The weight and seriousness she gave the words sobered him. He looked down at his hands, clasped tightly in his lap.
“I’m not sure I’m ready for that,” he said softly.
Astall reached over and gently placed a hand on his knee. “Everything I know tells me that you won’t be able to move forward until you do. The closer we get to Cardassian space, the more intense these dreams will become. Gradak wants to be heard.”
Kaz looked down at his hands, entwined tightly in his lap. He didn’t want to do this. But he knew in his heart that she was right—that things would only get worse instead of better if he didn’t address it.
“Then,” said Kaz, “I will listen.”
Tom Paris was heartily sick of Boreth’s library. Hell, he was heartily sick of the entire planet of Boreth.
He felt utterly useless. He couldn’t help B’Elanna wade through the seemingly endless piles of scrolls and books. He’d finally figured out how to write with the bone pen, but only just. He had gone through several parchments before he could write anything resembling legible text, and the librarians were not happy with him.
Gura had taken it upon himself to lecture Tom about how difficult it was to make a single piece of parchment.
“First,” he had bellowed, “the proper paagrat must be culled from the herds. It is fed sacred grains until it is fat enough for our use. Then it is ritually sacrificed when the stars are right. Its skin is scraped and dried and treated to render a single sheet of parchment.”
“Sorry,” Tom had muttered, thinking that a padd was much more economical and ecologically responsible. Out of some oddly placed sentiment, he’d asked to see one