The Third Nature -Book One of the Triad

Voyager fantasies by Taya 17 Janeway @ Nimgil

ceremonies of light and dark

He was nervous.

Night had fallen over the Daer-On-Naiad, and the chill of the night air whipped around him as he ascended the carved wooden steps leading up to the viewing balcony that the mages had built, perched precariously on the branches of the scarletwood tree. Around him, life pulsed: he could feel the giant tree he was scaling breathing, living; he could feel the barely contained exuberance from the gathered crowd below at the expectatory feast; and most of all he could feel her, his senses sharply aware of every breath she took, the turmoil that emanated from her like a thunderstorm.

He knew why she was up here, away from the crowd, away from her people—their people. What he wasn't so sure of was why he was here. He wasn't sure if he was truly ready for what he was about to do. Deep inside he prayed that he was.

He and Paris had spent a large part of the day exploring the options open to them, finding out more about the Joining ritual and its possible consequences from the men in the daer. They'd consulted Myriam, who had advised them not to discuss it with their... partners until the ritual was over. Such was meant to simplify matters when it came to the actual ritual itself, but now, hovering on the edge of doubt, Chakotay was beginning to question the wisdom of this move. He knew that he would be feeling a great deal better if Janeway had actually consented to this ritual.

As it was, he was left with a vague feeling of dread and unease. Not very conducive for the task that he was about to do.

He ascended the last few steps, and there she was, standing alone, leaning on the smooth wooden railings, gazing thoughtfully, not at the festivities below, but at the sky. Although he couldn't see it, he knew that if he could extrapolate the direction of her gaze, he would find her staring directly at the bright star in the sky that was Voyager. Her ship, so well-shielded from the gaze of others, nonetheless shone brilliantly in the sky for her.

She was dressed in the long flowing robes that the Mage women favored; her hair, which she'd been growing in true Mage tradition, spilled over her shoulders and hung halfway down her back. And for a brief, stunned moment he realized that she would look completely out of place on the bridge of a starship. His doubts faded away. He was right: she had changed so much since their arrival here. No longer the Starfleet captain he thought he once knew, but something more now. A Mage, a messiah, a leader. And she belonged to this place now, just as all of them belonged to it. All he had to do was to help her see it.

He stepped up beside her; she stiffened in response, realizing that her little sanctuary had been compromised. "It's a lovely night," he said by way of conversation. In the cold air his breath hung, mist-like, in front of him.

Janeway looked away from the stars and avoided his gaze, studying her hands. After a long uncomfortable silence, she finally said, "Yes." After a long pause, she added, "It almost seems like we were back on Earth." With frightening suddenness her gaze was fixed upon him, piercing, all-seeing. Chakotay realized belatedly that her telepathic powers had undoubtedly already told her what he was here for. Yet her blue eyes bored into his dark ones, searching for confirmation of, support for, and agreement to her statement.

"You consent, then?" he asked her softly, not daring to hope. Perhaps she'd already decided to put Earth behind her, and embrace this life—

"No," she said bluntly, crushing Chakotay's hopes of an easy resolution. "This upcoming battle is crucial, Chakotay. Everything we've worked for—they've worked for—has been leading up to this. I can't let anything affect me on that day." She fixed her disconcertingly blue eyes on his. "Including emotional attachments."

"Fighting a battle such as this while keeping a lid on your emotions is the surest way to defeat," said Chakotay. He grasped her arm gently. "Kathryn, this ritual will ensure that your abilities are honed to the maximum during the battle," he said. "You know the Joining is inevitable. Deep in your heart you know that."

Janeway shook her head imperceptibly. "I'm not ready to give up hope on Voyager reaching home yet."

"You don't have to!" said Chakotay, desperation tingeing his voice. "Why can't you see it? Voyager has reached home already." His arm swept a wide arc, encompassing the feast, the daer, the woods: "This is home. Our people are happy here, and you can be as well, if only you'd let yourself do so."

She hesitated, trying to stall for time. "I need—"

"More time? Kathryn, when have you known yourself to be so indecisive?"

Her eyes flashed at the perceived insult. "Decisions made in the heat of the moment are often flawed, and I'm not willing to make that mistake at this crucial point of time!"

His eyes grew equally flinty. "Then... I guess the issue has to be forced, doesn't it?" With a quick, unexpected movement, he unsheathed the short hunting knife strapped to his waist and slit his wrists.

Janeway's eyes widened with horror as his blood came surging forth from the cut, flowing over his arm, soaking his tunic a deep red. "Chakotay!" She hadn't seen this coming, and his drastic action clearly shocked her. Till this moment, she hadn't realized how sincere his feelings were about this situation; how sincere his affections were for her. It frightened her, and he could see it in the distressed tears forming in her eyes. "Why did you do that?"

The throbbing pain was clouding his senses, his thought train. "It... had to be done," he wheezed.

She seized his arms and tried to staunch the flow with her hands. "I'm not a Healer, Chakotay, I don't have the skill to heal this!" She glanced frantically at the festivities far below, then back at him. "I'll get help—"

"No... time," he said faintly. "You know... what you have to do..."

"Chakotay," she said softly, desperately. She was frightened, she was turning away, she was backing out. He didn't care anymore. The world was swimming, floating away from him. Dark spots appeared in his field of vision. Maybe it didn't matter. Perhaps it was better this way...

His world exploded with sudden forcefulness.

The world around him jumped from being a gray haze to a sharply defined, living thing. Every small detail, every minute aspect of the world seemed magnified, intensely real. Colors were richer, sounds louder, and everything seemed somehow closer to him. Conversely his body seemed to grow further and further away, until it became insignificant, swallowed up by the sheer magnitude of the world. The two seemed to merge and grow, until he felt like an all-pervading entity, observing the world, roaming the world, and being the world.

It was marvelous. It was horrifying.

And then she was there, her mouth pressed to his open wrist, drinking in his blood, drinking him in. She was part of him and he was part of her. Their beings seemed to merge until he couldn't tell them apart. Her emotions rushed through him: fear, anguish, resolve, hate, joy. And instead of swamping him like they always did, they electrified him, revitalized him. He felt wind whistling in his ears, and for a crazed instant he imagined that he was flying, with her by his side. He was everywhere at once and nowhere at the same time, he was within her and around her, his blood ran through her veins and hers through his. Together they formed the only universe he'd ever known.

He was laughing, he was crying, he died and was born in that moment, which stretched to infinity and back in the space of a heartbeat.

And then it ended as abruptly as it had started. He was back in the corporeal world, seated on the cold hard floor of the viewing balcony. She was slumped against him, her face, wet with tears of pain and joy, pressed into his shoulder. A strange lassitude settled upon him; he felt as if he could remain there forever. With her. Yes, always with her. They were of one soul now: he could acutely feel the difference in the way he perceived her. He was hers, all hers. He surrendered his soul willingly, even joyfully.

Small tremors were running through Janeway's body. He glanced down at his wrists: the cuts had been completely healed. He shifted his position slightly to wrap an arm around her shoulders. "Kathryn." His voice sounded hoarse. Had he actually been screaming without being aware of it?

There was no response from her. Chakotay realized that something was wrong: his new connection to her told him that. But the new sensations pounding through him were alien, unfamiliar: he had no idea what was wrong with her. Her entire body had gone limp, except for the tremors, which had grown in frequency and intensity. "Kathryn?" He lifted her head; here eyes were shut and her face was pale and covered with sweat. "What's wrong?" he asked her.

A low, soft moan issued from her lips.

He was beginning to feel slightly alarmed now. Vaguely he recalled Myriam telling Paris about some possible side-effects of the Joining, but he didn't know if it was anything like this. He tried focusing on his new, nebulous awareness of Janeway. All he could feel was the power racing and surging through her, like he always did when he tried to telekinetically scan her.

Then he realized: the Joining was a ritual meant to amplify a Mage's powers. Myriam had always spoken of Janeway as having an incredible amount of skill. Had the ritual now magnified her powers so much so that her body could no longer function as a receptacle for it? The thought frightened him.

Suddenly her entire body went rigid, her muscles clenching tightly. "Kathryn!" he shouted. His throat flared with pain; he had been shouting himself hoarse, all right.  Convulsions began to shake her small frame. Panicking, he gathered her in his arms and held her tightly as her body strained. Now the power he felt in her was tinged with pain, great pain. Stumbling to his feet, he began running for the Healer's office, praying that he would reach it before it was too late.