37 DIVISON

 The years leading up to 2005 were quiet. 2010 came and passed, and finally, when 2015 arrived, it was their twentieth year in Brazil. As much as they liked the city, the Devi community and the Brazilian way of life, it was time to move on.

“John. We have not heard from the Authentic for quite some time. She usually sends a note about it being time to relocate. She has not yet, and I was asking, in a discrete manner, the other Devi, and they said that there was no news out of France for a while, and any correspondence was from Jannike or another household agent.”

“That is strange, and I had been wondering about the same thing for a while. I have heard that two couples from Mexico City flew to France to see her a couple of years back, but they were denied.”

“That sounds damn strange—something I never mentioned to you from the early 2000s. Yes, we promised to hold no secrets from one another, but at the time, this was not of much note. Patricia asked me the strangest question about our time in Doha. ‘Did you learn anything about, anything, of the Authentic?”

“And you said?”

“Nothing, JD interrupted us.”

“As I have been getting more and more memory back, I have had a niggling feeling about her. I do not know why or about what. There has just been some discomfort.”

“Okay, the facts are, she dismissed the missing pages in your dossier. She lied to us about not having left Paris for 300 or more years, according to LaJade. It was more like 100 or so.

When you asked her about regaining your memory, she said nothing was to be done.”

Akshamsaddin said we were right to ask LaJade and that her authority was greater than we knew. So, we decided that LaJade would know the Authentic's secrets.

“What do we do?”

“Get Patricia back here.”

“They have fallen off our friend's list, I guess, since you failed to answer her question.”

“What if it was timed? She would ask me about the Authentic, and JD would be there to hear my reply, which I did not give.”

 

The Scotts agreed to a visit on Tiradentes' Day, which is celebrated annually in Brazil on April 21. The holiday commemorates the execution of Brazilian national hero Joaquim Jose da Silva Xavier in 1792.

After the greeting, pleasantries, and niceties, Jonathan walked onto the patio with four large Caipirinha. A cocktail of fresh lime juice, sugar and cachaça. A distilled spirit made from fermented sugarcane juice.

“JD and Patricia, it is just that Evelyn and I have been wondering about something for a long while, and I will cut to the bone on this.

What is up with the Authentic? What is her game?”

The Scotts both slightly recoiled in shock, and after a few minutes of give-and-take verbal sparring, Patricia said one word, “WAR?”

“What war? Whose is at war?” Jonathan said, equally as shocked.”

“The Devi, we are undergoing a civil war. It is a power struggle, and in many cases, it has turned to blood.”

Evelyn and JD remained silent as Jonathan and Patricia discussed the points of this new conflict.

“War? What war?”

“Power and the future. The Authentic would like to keep the status quo, and others, like LaJade’s people and everyone in Doha, or basically from Cairo to New Delhi and maybe beyond, want a more progressive future.”

“Progressive, how?”

“The Progressives want us to become more active in politics and various movements. Like environmentalism, because long after the current crop of Standards is dead, so are their children and their children’s children. Most of us, Devi, will still be walking around and cleaning up the mess.”

‘When did this start? How long has this been going on?”

“Maybe, more than a century, or one hundred and fifty years. No one has a clear date, but some think you had a hand in it.”

“A hand in it? Hell, I am just hearing about it now. How could I have done anything?”

“The trip you and Orland Marcano took in 1853, I believe, to see a Sultan and to broker a stronger British – French – Ottoman alliance. The die was cast then, according to some. We should and could influence events with more effect.

“What? That effort failed. Wars broke out across the Balkans, then the Crimean War… It was an abject failure.”

“Yes, it was. In the eyes of the Authentic, it was a clear demonstration that we do not have enough power or any power to direct the events in the world of the standards. And that is how she wants to keep it.”

“How was I not aware of this? Evelyn, did you know about this?

“No, John, no.”

“Both sides wanted to keep you out of it. The Progressives because we don’t know what you will do. And her forces or side, well, their actions are more sinister.

You said years ago that she claimed she knew nothing about restoring your memory. Well, we think that she fears something in your head. If she fears it, perhaps we should as well. It is war, and who knows what can happen.”

 

As if a child in school, Evelyn raised her hand to speak. “In the late 60s, as the Authentic was leaving our farm outside of Montreal, she said something to me that was more than a little unusual. “Someday, we may need to kill for feeding. It is against everything we stand for, but I fear for the world and humanity. The more Standards and the fewer of us, the more we can hide in the numbers if it comes to transgressing our Cardinal rule, so be it.”

JD replied, “There is a flaw there. If there are more standards, and we can hide more easily, why would we have to kill?”

Patricia shrugged, “That is an easy one. The more Standards there are, the easier it would be to hide. But the more Standards there are, the greater the world’s problems, and that would mean Devi getting involved, and She is against that. So, I think she did not mean killing and feeding on Standards, but our own.”

“Oh, my god,”

“Yeah, what she said.”

“I have a question for you two: What side of this conflict are you on? Progressive or status quo?

Jonathan and Evelyn exchanged glances. Progressive, we need to change and adapt on a macro scale.” Evelyn nodded in agreement.

“Are you sure?”

“Are you sure?”

Both said, “Yes.”

This time, JD and Patricia looked at each other and nodded, then put handguns on the table. “We won’t be needing these,” they said.

“Really?

“Yes.”

“The Progressives in America wanted us to watch you. We followed you from California and needed to be here once you went to Doha.

We did everything we could to mask your flight there. Global events at the time helped, so we arranged for you to have a private jet back here.”

As far as we know, the Authentic does not know that you did that. And we think that because she has not killed you.”

“What, you two have been following Eve and I?”

“No, protecting you two.”

Patricia finished off her Caipirinha and pointed at Evelyn. “You did a sort of census for the Authentic; it was vastly incomplete. There are Devi communities that have been off-grid and hidden for centuries. You likely missed one out of three.

You said there were about 50,000 Devi, more like 75,000 or even a hundred thousand. I think Paris was looking at a list of reliable people and maybe an enemies list”

They debated the pros and cons of that and finally decided to try to figure out why Jonathan was unique.

Jonathan, I haven’t asked you to divulge anything about your past and have allowed you to do so at your own pace. But what is your earliest memory now?”

“Rome, I do not know the year, and the images are strange. I look like a beggar in some flashes and a king in others, horses, thrones, blood. Always blood.

I see flames, and it could be a sacking of Rome.”

Visigoths, Vandals, Normans or Arabs.”

The Visigoths would move you back to about 400, making you one of the oldest Devi I have met. And Paula, what about your oldest known Devi?”

“About 1500 or so. I know someone who knew Clovis, the founder of the Merovingian dynasty. And aren’t the Authentic and her former assistant Isabel Martel from that time?”

“I am the new kid on the block here, but why is she called the Authentic?” I know about the structure of the Colette thing, and the Authentic in that sense means that she is the boss. That is a little lame and contrived for today and nonsense for the Middle Ages.

What if she is not authentic and more of a fraud or fake?” 

The room was silent momentarily, followed by some quiet mumbling and consensus.

JD reached into the bag he had brought in and pulled out a small computer tablet. “John, I was listing your lives, not out of any surreptitious or malevolent reason, but just out of interest. You have a solid line from the mid-elevens to the mid-14s, but a blank of 300 years until Lisbon in the mid-17s.”

“My dark years. After Lisbon, I needed to get away, not just from the lifestyle but from people. I travelled across North Africa. I had a letter of passage and a ring from a Sultan, so that was an easy period. I was in Mali at the start of its decline when Mansa Mahmud Keita II opened diplomatic relations with Portugal. They sent two envoys, d'Évora and Enes in 1487. I was an official for Keita II.

I went back to Lisbon with them and met two brothers. Gaspar and Miguel Corte Real. They had set out on an expedition to map the coast of the New World. Later, Miguel returned to Portugal with two of their three ships, and Gaspar continued southward and was never heard from again. I was on that ship.

With no accurate maps or even an idea of where we were, we hit a hurricane off the coast of what is likely now the Carolinas. Four of us made it to shore. The Iroquoian natives thought us interesting, and we rapidly learned their language.

They were cultured and had fair-sized settlements, realistic laws, and fair and balanced societal rules. What amazed my treasure-seeking companions was that these noble people had the wherewithal not to have the idea of personal possessions—no ownership.

Trading my limited wisdom on various things, I travelled inland. I was likely the first European to cross the Appalachian Mountains and the first to see the Mississippi River.

I was aware back then of the dangers of fathering children, but for the first ten years in the region of today's states of Illinois and Missouri, there was nothing but peace and joy. I fathered two children, a boy and a girl.

The Scotts looked at Evelyn. She nodded in agreement, saying that she had known about this.  

“Then I worked my way east to Quebec City and claimed I was a survivor of a lost colony. I returned to France and used the Quebec contacts to establish a furrier company. I had bags of gold and livres stashed around, so in the late 16s, I was a banker, currency broker, and lender in Rome, and then, as you know, I went to Lisbon.    

And that should sum up the last 900 years of my life.

“That is my man, Jonathan. A busy guy was a full paSt.”

“JD agreed, but what in the past would have the Authentic screw you over like that and for so long?”

Neither John nor Evie had an answer for that. JD reached over and prodded Patricia, “Now may be the best time, but Johnny has no idea.

You two folks may want a drink or bring in the bottle.”

She sat there quietly, trying to find the proper starting point. For a few minutes, the room was dead silent.

“John, you have little or no recovered memories before perhaps being a Cather in the mid-11s and a few flashes of Rome. Could it be any kingdom? Could it have been Aachen and not Rome?

“Yeah, I could see that.”

“What if you were a few hundred years old then? Could that be?”

“Yeah, the past is an open book, waiting to be coloured.”

“In full disclosure, JD lied about keeping your past lives as a note of personal interest. The powers behind the progressive movement wanted to learn more about you, and they did.”

“What the hell? What? Forget about the why. Just tell me and nudge my brain.”

“You were there on 25 December 800, when old Pope Leo III crowned Charlemagne as Holy Roman Emperor.

Charlemagne’s father was Pepin the Short, and his father was Charles Martel. Charles was the father of the Authentic’s former and late Aide-de-camp, Isabel Martel.

Charles' father was Philip of Herstal, and he had a mistress Alpaida. Not Alpaida, whom we know as the Authentic, Philip’s Alpaida was 100 years later. They were all the same family.

The Authentic, as Alpaida, said her father was Pepin of Landen. Pepin’s wife was Itta of Metz, and she was later sainted. She was born in Landen.

Her piety was for a transgression she had made earlier in life. She had married late in life, at age 22, late for a royal wedding of the time. Her and Pepin’s first child, Saint Begga, was born in 615. Itta was 23. Unknown to Pepin, Itta had a child at 17, Alpaida, the woman we know as the Authentic, and as the saying goes… “You are the father!”

“What? How is that possible? How could that have happened? How could I not recall that?”

“Perhaps you were drunk or boisterous, but through our agencies at those DNA lineage places, we matched her DNA and yours, and she carries your genome in her DNA.”

Barely able to speak, Evelyn croaked out, “I cannot believe this. It is outrageous madness. I think John would by now have remembered something as both significant and twisted as this.”

“So, what is the issue we, or I, have with this woman you call my darling daughter?”

“She by now knows of your trip to Doha and that you are remembering things and that you, as her father to some degree and by the rules of our people, have authority over her. After 1200 or 1300 years of being essentially the Queen of all European Devi and, to a degree, globally all Devi, she likes her status and her position. You threaten that. As long as you were not remembering, you were harmless.”

The evening descended into more drinking and both idle and detailed speculation. One important suggestion was that Jonathan should go deep off-grid.

 

They began contacting some of the Devi he knew and trusted from his past adventures, and many, not quite half, had met with various unfortunate circumstances. That may have been because when Johnathan had been with these people over the last 200 years, they had all seemed to be best with their hopes of living forever, with a progressive mindset, and looking for new things in the Devi experience.

They had the money to run. The Authentic had always demanded a fee or tithe from all Devi to support all the Devi efforts like relocation. Jonathan had always kept a second set of books for himself. He was a self-made millionaire many times over in many lands.

Since the Napoleonic Wars, he had been stashing away wealth in lands and coins. Then, from time to time, as a new life began, he would invest it for twenty or thirty years in some local venture.

He had a successful and profitable gold and currency exchange when he met Evelyn on Waterloo Bridge. He had also invested in steamships and railways through a perpetual trust, and that income more than doubled the gold business.

While securing and building Devi's holdings in Los Angeles, he often held the mortgages on those buildings. In the same way, Patricia Scott had made millions in the sports betting business, but there was no paper trail or accurate accounting figures sent to Paris.

The Authentic likely knew there was skimming and graft, but everything was fine as long as it was not blatant, and she got her share.