and after all the experiences you’ve had, you still cling to this ridiculous notion that the world is as the world seems to be.”
“My skepticism keeps me from becoming a loony,” Annja said. “Anyone else would have flipped out if they’d suddenly found themselves with Joan of Arc’s old sword. Me? I seem to handle it pretty well.”
“Maybe you’re Joan of Arc reincarnated,” Roux said.
Annja waved her hand. “You know, I thought of that once. But, to be honest, I don’t know what I believe. If I was Joan of Arc in another time, then I ought to have some of her memories locked away somewhere inside my head, right?”
“Only if you happen to believe the usual silliness that most New Agey types espouse.”
“You don’t think I’d have her memories?”
Roux shrugged. “I don’t know for certain. What I do believe is that the process of reincarnation might prove so traumatic that the soul does its best to almost cocoon itself from the trauma. That would mean that memories, emotions and the like would only be released very, very gradually throughout the next life. In some circumstances—say, something like being burned at the stake—the soul might never release any indication of the former life.”
Annja looked at the fire and tried to imagine what it would be like to have the flames lick their way through clothing and flesh, burning from the outside in while a crowd watched.
She shook her head. It was too awful to think about.
“It was a terrible sight to behold, Annja.” Roux said this quietly above the winds that still rustled the nearby trees.
“Did she suffer for long?”
“I have no way of knowing exactly when she lost consciousness,” Roux said. “So, I can’t say.”
Annja shook her head. “The people who did to that her…”
“They paid for their crimes—I’m certain of it,” Roux said.
Annja looked at him. “How are you so certain?”
Roux shrugged. “Because I have to believe that any just and loving God would never allow one of His children to be killed in such a manner without repercussions to those who committed the grievous act.”
“That’s rather Old Testament.”
“I happen to like the Old Testament, Annja. It’s a lot more properly intimidating than the new huggable versions they perpetrate on the unknowing these days. Imagine if more people thought they’d be facing God’s wrath when they faced Him, instead of a big welcome hug. People might actually check their ridiculous behavior from time to time. That would be a good thing indeed.”
Annja sighed. The night was growing long and she needed some sleep. Hans was expecting her at the dock in the morning.
She looked up at Roux. “You were going diving tonight.”
“Yes.”
“So that was you back on the resort stealing oxygen tanks?”
“No. That was your dive master actually. I paid him a nice little bribe to bring all that gear out and set it up for me to use.”
Annja frowned. “You might have a word with him about his inability to fill oxygen tanks all the way to capacity.”
Roux smiled. “Well, he probably didn’t think he’d have another person using them. You didn’t happen to notice the label on the back of the tank you used, either, did you?”
“What label?”
“The one that said it wasn’t to be used. I had him bring out two that were half-empty so I could use them for inflating several flotation devices if I found anything down there worth bringing to the surface.”
“I must have missed that,” Annja said.
“I’m not surprised, considering you were in the midst of a rainstorm.” Roux stood and looked out at the ocean. “Although it certainly seems to be calming down now.”
“Is this your way of telling me to skedaddle?”
Roux looked back at Annja. “You’re not in much shape to go diving, Annja. You’re not even dressed for it.”
Annja grinned. “You’ve got a point there.”
“I can take you back to the resort.”
Annja nodded. “And then
“My skepticism keeps me from becoming a loony,” Annja said. “Anyone else would have flipped out if they’d suddenly found themselves with Joan of Arc’s old sword. Me? I seem to handle it pretty well.”
“Maybe you’re Joan of Arc reincarnated,” Roux said.
Annja waved her hand. “You know, I thought of that once. But, to be honest, I don’t know what I believe. If I was Joan of Arc in another time, then I ought to have some of her memories locked away somewhere inside my head, right?”
“Only if you happen to believe the usual silliness that most New Agey types espouse.”
“You don’t think I’d have her memories?”
Roux shrugged. “I don’t know for certain. What I do believe is that the process of reincarnation might prove so traumatic that the soul does its best to almost cocoon itself from the trauma. That would mean that memories, emotions and the like would only be released very, very gradually throughout the next life. In some circumstances—say, something like being burned at the stake—the soul might never release any indication of the former life.”
Annja looked at the fire and tried to imagine what it would be like to have the flames lick their way through clothing and flesh, burning from the outside in while a crowd watched.
She shook her head. It was too awful to think about.
“It was a terrible sight to behold, Annja.” Roux said this quietly above the winds that still rustled the nearby trees.
“Did she suffer for long?”
“I have no way of knowing exactly when she lost consciousness,” Roux said. “So, I can’t say.”
Annja shook her head. “The people who did to that her…”
“They paid for their crimes—I’m certain of it,” Roux said.
Annja looked at him. “How are you so certain?”
Roux shrugged. “Because I have to believe that any just and loving God would never allow one of His children to be killed in such a manner without repercussions to those who committed the grievous act.”
“That’s rather Old Testament.”
“I happen to like the Old Testament, Annja. It’s a lot more properly intimidating than the new huggable versions they perpetrate on the unknowing these days. Imagine if more people thought they’d be facing God’s wrath when they faced Him, instead of a big welcome hug. People might actually check their ridiculous behavior from time to time. That would be a good thing indeed.”
Annja sighed. The night was growing long and she needed some sleep. Hans was expecting her at the dock in the morning.
She looked up at Roux. “You were going diving tonight.”
“Yes.”
“So that was you back on the resort stealing oxygen tanks?”
“No. That was your dive master actually. I paid him a nice little bribe to bring all that gear out and set it up for me to use.”
Annja frowned. “You might have a word with him about his inability to fill oxygen tanks all the way to capacity.”
Roux smiled. “Well, he probably didn’t think he’d have another person using them. You didn’t happen to notice the label on the back of the tank you used, either, did you?”
“What label?”
“The one that said it wasn’t to be used. I had him bring out two that were half-empty so I could use them for inflating several flotation devices if I found anything down there worth bringing to the surface.”
“I must have missed that,” Annja said.
“I’m not surprised, considering you were in the midst of a rainstorm.” Roux stood and looked out at the ocean. “Although it certainly seems to be calming down now.”
“Is this your way of telling me to skedaddle?”
Roux looked back at Annja. “You’re not in much shape to go diving, Annja. You’re not even dressed for it.”
Annja grinned. “You’ve got a point there.”
“I can take you back to the resort.”
Annja nodded. “And then
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