A Plague of Giants (Seven Kennings #1) - Kevin Hearne Page 0,215

We were not so lucky as to arrive just after a shipment of oranges this time, and the menu had most of its meat entrees crossed out, replaced by new seafood dishes. They were all prepared with dry Kaurian spices and sometimes slivers of Kaurian tree nuts either baked on or garnishing the fillets. Kindin Ladd, the Priest of the Gale, was enjoying his lunch there, and we waved to each other across the dining room and traded smiles.

The bard looked a little weary under his eyes and I inquired if he had slept well. He shook his head.

“The nightmares were bad last night.”

I pursed my lips, considering. I knew that many people suffered lingering mental effects after something terrible happened to them—how could they not?—and that it took many forms. Their tempers flared quickly, or they withdrew and shut down the way Elynea had until recently, or they had nightmares or vivid flashbacks of whatever trauma they experienced, or all that and more. Regardless, it crippled them to some extent. My panic attacks and nightmares about gravemaws hounded me for years and then ebbed thanks to a Kaurian principle Rölly told me about. Deciding that neither of us had anything to lose, I brought it up.

“Have you ever heard of the Kaurian practice of presence?”

“I’ve heard of it, but I’m not too clear on the concept. Why?”

“It helped me reduce the number and frequency of my nightmares. Or maybe it was simply a matter of time, as I suggested yesterday, though I still get them every once in a while. The problem with such horror is that some things, once seen, can never be unseen. Since you pointed out that your memories won’t fade over time and I think practicing presence helped me, perhaps it might help you, too.”

“I don’t know,” Fintan said. “If it’s associated with Reinei, I might offend the Triple Goddess.”

“It’s not a religious practice at all,” I assured him, “though of course the Church of Reinei condones anything that leads to peace, including personal peace of mind. It is simple to adapt by those of other faiths or of no faith at all. I could try to explain, but I might not do it justice. There’s a Priest of the Gale a few tables over whom I know. Would you mind if I invited him to briefly outline the practice?”

Fintan shrugged. “Sure.”

I waved to catch Kindin’s attention and beckoned him over. After introducing him to Fintan, I asked him to explain presence and its benefits to us as laypeople.

“Certainly. May I sit? I will stay only a small while.”

We begged him to be seated, and he thanked us.

“Outside the Church of Reinei,” he began, “presence is a therapeutic practice that suggests one should make a conscious effort to live in the present. The reasons for this deserve to be examined regardless of one’s faith. We begin with this observation: That which tends to cause us mental distress is either memories of the past or worries about the future. In such times we are not living in the present; we are missing the peace and fulfillment in every moment because our mind is absent in some other time that lies behind us or ahead. To amend this—to ease the distress we feel—we must train ourselves to be mindful of the now.” Kindin leaned back and grinned. “Open your senses to this instant, friends. Is it not fine? The clank of pans and the hiss of heat from the kitchen. The chimes dangling in the wind outside the door that we can hear, a muffled yet insouciant song of the wind. The smell and taste of your food and the bounty of the ocean that makes it possible. The craftsmanship on display in this building and this very table, a beautiful hardwood improved from my home. The company you are keeping, Fintan—a Brynt and a Kaurian, with darker skin and different cultures from yours but still men who love and mourn and exult in the sun as you do. To be present, you note these things instead of ignore them. You allow—no, let me rather say, you encourage the wonders of the moment to occupy your thoughts rather than your past or future.”

“All right; that sounds fine in theory,” Fintan replied, “but if I’m to achieve that, isn’t that some form of repression? I can’t prevent thoughts of the past or future from happening. They won’t simply go away.”

“Oh, no, I’m not suggesting that!” The priest straightened