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| Volume 4: A Future, Born in Pain | Part VII: That Which Man Hath Brought Together.... |
"WIN or lose, I no longer care. The warriors of the future will hail my name, they will follow my legacy, they will remember my deeds.... and they will know me. Maybe they will accept me as a great man, maybe they never will.
"I know this, though. I have lost the war, yes.... but in my own way, I have won. And that is enough. Do you understand me?"
"Yes. I understand you all too well."
* * * * * * *
It was the curse of the warrior always to be alone. Friends, lovers, companions - all were fleeting, transitory, ultimately irrelevant. A warrior loved only one thing: battle. Why make friends when they would only die? Why fall in love when the burdens of this world would only separate you?
Duty was all that remained. Let the priestlings have their riches and the workers their little pleasures. The warriors had their duty. The rest of the Federation lived and slept and loved all because of them. That was satisfaction enough. The rush of battle, the burden of duty, the weight of the blade.... such was a warrior's life.
Victory and defeat were merely words. How could mere words, how could poets or writers or historians hope to describe the true heart of a warrior, the ultimate triumph of victory and the agonising despair of defeat?
Sonovar had never fancied himself a poet or a writer, and his conceit caused him to label himself a maker of history, not a recorder of it. But he knew.... oh, he knew victory and defeat all too well. He had gloried after Tarolin 2.... and now he despaired.
Weeks passed, moving into months. While the rest of the galaxy dissolved into war, while Proxima 3 adjusted to the new era, while the Narn and Centauri continued to fight, Sonovar did nothing. He moved as a ghost through the corridors of his ship, his eyes haunted, his mind plagued with dark thoughts. He slept poorly, and spoke often to himself.
His war was lost, he knew that now. He had been defeated the instant Sinoval had stolen away his Tak'cha. Once, he had been in a position to dominate the pitiful remains of the Minbari Federation. Now, he was nothing more than a rebel commander in charge of a handful of ships. Those who had followed him were leaving, defectors recognising the futility of their position. Rastenn had left but days ago.
Oh, Takier was still here, and so was Tirivail. Not that she was her old self either. Whatever had happened at Babylon 4 had changed her. It was probably connected to Kozorr's defection. Now that had hurt Sonovar. He had genuinely believed Kozorr would follow him into the grave. Still, why should a man who had broken one oath think twice about breaking a second?
Takier was himself, the same as he had always been. He was a true warrior, the wisdom of experience in his mind, but even he was beginning to bend beneath the burdens he faced. He had had three children - one was dead, another a traitor and the third turned into a living ghost.
It was Takier who had organised the retreat and the fortification of what was left of Sonovar's fleet. He had done so with his customary skill and judgement. Should Sinoval choose to attack, then Takier's defences would hold long enough for a truly glorious death, an epic battle rather than a meaningless slaughter.
Of course, the point was moot. Sinoval was too skilled a tactician to attack. He had no need to. He could sit back and wait. The inrush of those surrendering to him was proof he had won. His offer to 'talk' had proved that. He knew he had won. All he wanted to do now was gloat in his triumph.
"Talk," Sonovar whispered to himself on one of his long and lonely walks. "Talk. He is willing to talk." Willing only to gloat, to glory in his victory. "Talk." As if they were priestlings, diplomats.... negotiators! They were warriors. The only words that needed to be spoken came from the blade.
"Talk."
He returned, as always, to his private sanctum, his place of meditation and training. His pike lay on the floor there. He had not lifted it in weeks. A goblet had been placed by its side, full and ready with the sometimes bitter, sometimes sweet elixir Forell prepared. It was meant to be invigorating and refreshing, but recently it had tasted only of ashes.
"Talk?" he said again. "Ah, Sinoval...." Sonovar looked into the shadows of his room, and saw the form of his nemesis there. "Ah, Sinoval.... what is there to talk about?" He drained the elixir. "What is talk for such as we?"
Then he fell silent. He could not think of anything to say.
* * * * * * *
Sinoval knew the value of silence. Sometimes, he knew, the most effective words are the ones that go unspoken. He had developed the skill of silence for the purpose of intimidation, but more recently he had put it to other uses. He had turned the skill of not speaking into the art of listening.
He had known in advance of Rastenn's story. It was very similar to those of all the others who had come to him, seeking forgiveness, seeking penance. He would do with Rastenn as he had done with the others - send him to defend Tarolin 2 and the other worlds he controlled. It was time they all learned the value of lifting a weapon to protect, rather than to destroy.
The story was indeed as he had been expecting. He was told of Sonovar's military capabilities, his plans and deployments. He learned of Sonovar's malaise and Tirivail's distractions. He discovered that Takier was practically leading the force now, and that Forell appeared in the darkest of shadows, whispering words of dark portent.
He learned a good many things, some of which were important, some of which weren't.... but when Rastenn finished there was one thing he had not been told, the one thing he most needed to know.
"Tell me," he said, the first words he had uttered since Rastenn had come to him. "Why?"
"Holy One?" Rastenn asked, puzzled. That was another unifying factor. All of Sonovar's warriors, captured or defected, referred to Sinoval as 'Holy One', the title he had held as leader of the Grey Council before he had broken it. None of them would ever call him 'Primarch'.
"Why have you left Sonovar and come to me? Am I not your enemy?"
"I...." Rastenn looked down. Sinoval had heard many answers to that question. Some had said that they had realised Sonovar was wrong. Some claimed to have been merely pretending to follow him in order to gather information. Others had replied that they knew it was over and had come to make peace and serve their people.
"I just knew it was right," Rastenn said finally. "I heard what you said to Tirivail on Anla'Verenn-veni. It just took too long for the words to touch me."
Sinoval nodded, and then dismissed Rastenn. He had asked that question of every defector who had come before him, and never yet received an answer he had been satisfied with. He then looked at the two members of the Primarch's Blades who were standing guard, together with the Praetors Tutelary. Minbari warriors and Soul Hunter guardians were watching each other with a wariness that never faded, but had been subsumed by the greater need to protect their Primarch.
He found himself wishing there was someone he could truly talk to. He found himself wishing Kats were here. But of course she was on Tarolin 2, rebuilding there with Kozorr, trying to mend the wounds of their hearts as well as the physical wounds of war. Sinoval was content to leave them there. His attempts to heal Kozorr's injuries had bought the warrior renewed life, but for a few months only. Let the two of them have their present. It was all they would ever have.
He also found himself wishing the Primarch were here. He closed his eyes and remembered the flash of light that had taken the Soul Hunter in the Starfire Wheel. A part of him lived on in the Well of Souls, but it was not the same.
He found himself wishing he could talk to Durhan, his Sech, his teacher. But he was busy, working with the Vindrizi on their sanctuary world and preparing the beginnings of something very special, something for.... afterwards.
He found himself wishing he were a child again, learning at Varmain's feet. He found himself wishing he could remember more of her lessons, more of her words. Alas, all he could recall were her last whispers.
So much. Valen has blessed me indeed.
Had Valen blessed him? Would he look back on his life as an old man on his dying day and smile as she had done?
He laughed at the thought. What foolishness! A futile dream of one who had not realised until too late the price of all his decisions. Now he knew, but now it was too late. He was stuck with the burden of his responsibilities.
That, he knew, was why he was moving so slowly. He could have finished Sonovar months ago, destroyed him directly after the loss of the Tak'cha. Even giving the renegade enough time to accept or refuse the offer of negotiations, he could have moved by now. So why had he not? He knew why. He knew what he would have to do after Sonovar was defeated.
He raised his pike, Stormbringer, and looked at it. He had forged it with a part of his own soul, and it had absorbed and claimed all his darkest essence, becoming a distorted reflection of himself he did not like to acknowledge. There were times when he longed for a day he could set it down and never raise it again, and others when he wished to lift it high on a battlefield and charge to his death.
No. No more procrastinating, no more delays. Rastenn's words had confirmed what he already knew, what he needed to know. He had to act now.
"Lanniel," he said, and she looked up. His choice was not random, he had known she would be the one for this task ever since he had prepared it in his mind. There were few others he could trust with something like this.
"Lanniel, there is something I need you to do. It will be dangerous, very much so, and it may well claim your life."
"I'm not afraid to die, Primarch," she replied simply. "Command me, and I shall obey."
He sighed. He had known she would say that.
* * * * * * *
"When I was a child, I used to watch the workers at nightfall. I was meditating, training, all the things young warriors do. There was one occasion, one out of many, but this one I remember.... I was standing in the Reihaido Gardens in Yedor. I was still and quiet, absorbing my surroundings, filling myself with knowledge, memories, the wisdom of my ancestors.
"Then I heard laughter. It was not mocking, not arrogant, not bitter. It was the genuine laughter of happy people. I roused from my meditation, irritated and annoyed, and turned to see who it was.
"They were workers, three of them. They were returning from some task. They were covered with dust, their garments were worn and dirty. They looked.... pathetic.
"But they were laughing. They were smiling. They were happy. I wondered why, and I wondered for a long, long time. What could such as they have to be truly happy about?"
Kozorr smiled, and brushed the dust of stone from his tunic. "Now I know," he said.
"It is a wonderful feeling, isn't it?" Kats agreed softly. She saw the light of understanding in her beloved's eyes. She heard the whispers of peace in his voice. But she also knew that the peace, understanding and contentment he had been radiating these past months were nothing but masks, thin layers of silk over a heart that burned and raged.
Still, even the thinnest of layers could one day harden.
"To create," he said in wonder. "To stand back and look at the efforts of your labours. It is.... I have been trained in twelve different techniques of meditation, each one aimed at bringing calm and peace, a respite from worldly concerns and fears. None of them has ever made me feel as I do now."
It lit her heart to see him so happy. She knew what it had cost him to be here. The two of them had come here after the incidents on Anla'Verenn-veni, partly at Sinoval's wish, but also to try to force a reconciliation. There was still much to be done here. Even after the damage done by Sonovar's attack over a year before, there were raiders, pirates, scavengers. Warriors had been sent to help deal with them, mostly people who had defected from Sonovar's side. Many of these had known Kozorr before. They saw him moving with workers, 'grubbing in the dirt' as one of them had put it.
He had said nothing, but looked down, his eyes dark. They chose to interpret his place in the work crews as a particularly humiliating punishment from Sinoval. He had not chosen to disabuse them.
"Are you tired?" she asked. He never looked directly at her any more, always choosing to stare just to one side or keep his head down. Still, at least he could bear to be around her these days. He would talk to her. The inner demons he was battling were being cast down.... albeit slowly.
"I feel I could stay awake for weeks," he said.
"Perhaps you should sleep. Then I...." She hesitated. She had been intending to say this for some time, but the words had never come. Now she was sure she was ready. There were rituals and formalities to be followed. She had not approached his family, and even if they were still alive she had no illusions as to how they would receive her suit. Nor had she formally asked his lord - Sinoval. She knew what he would say, but she knew she had to do this herself.
"Then I could watch you."
His eyes flashed with remembered pain, and he looked down. "I.... That would.... not be...."
"My name is Kats," she said, stiffly. He had not spoken her name since his return here. "Or you used to call me 'my lady'. I always liked it when you did."
"It would not be.... appropriate," he said harshly. "Not any more."
"We both know it is."
"I am not worthy of you. Please.... don't make me say this. We both know I do not deserve you.... not after what...."
"No!" she snapped loudly, speaking with a force that belied her gentle bearing. "Kozorr, listen to me.... You did not abandon me when I needed help."
"But I did," he said. "I should have helped you.... I should have acted against Kalain earlier, I should have...."
"No! You acted when it was right to do so. You spoke to me when I screamed at night. You were always there, always wise and strong. I thought of you constantly when.... Kalain was.... You restored my mind and my soul to me.
"Now, I am free.... and I will restore your soul to you." It was true. She was free from Kalain now. There had been a vision on Anla'Verenn-veni, where she had seen him again and realised that she did not hate him any more, or fear him. No.... she only pitied him, and so she had been able to forgive him.
"I have no soul," he whispered. "My lady, why.... please.... leave me...."
"No." She glided across the floor of his simple room, moving to his side. He turned away, but she reached up and touched his face, looking into his eyes. "Neither of us can know what will happen tomorrow, but we do know that there is today. I know you need healing. For all these months you have needed healing. I am here, and I will not abandon you. Not again."
"My lady.... Kats...."
"No," she said again. "Don't say anything." Gently she touched her lips to his and held him close to her. He wept and trembled, and every tear cleansed both of them, until they were healed and ready to face their future.
* * * * * * *
There is a message I need you to take to Sonovar. Place it in his hands. Do not harm him or any of those who follow him. That is important. Defend yourself, yes.... but harm none of them.
If he chooses to give a reply, then bring it back to me.
This is the most important thing I have ever asked of anyone, and the hardest. I have faith in you, Lanniel. I know you will not fail me.
* * * * * * *
It took a great deal to rouse Sonovar from his torpor these days. Takier doubted even the news he was bringing his lord would manage that feat, but he was to be surprised, never a feeling he had welcomed.
And he had been surprised once already this day.
"And what is she?" Sonovar had asked. Takier had insisted on informing his lord personally of this. It was not an honour any had sought to take from him. Few wished to have anything to do with Sonovar recently, save only his loathsome advisor, Forell.
"Has she come here as an emissary? An assassin? A messenger? A threat, what? What is she?"
"She is my daughter," Takier said simply, and a dark light had burned within Sonovar's eyes, the first sense of excitement since the Tak'cha had left.
"Then take me to her."
Lanniel was where she had been left, guarded by five warriors with weapons drawn, ready for the slightest provocative move. She had claimed to have come alone with an important message for Sonovar. Her ship had been searched and it had been confirmed there was no one hiding there, nor were there any suicide devices, either on the ship or on her person. She had surrendered her weapon with no complaint, and demanded to see Sonovar.
Takier pondered this, and was darkly compelled to believe her story was true. She had come here to talk, not to fight. He did not like the thought of that.
She looked up as he and Sonovar entered, and her eyes betrayed no sign of recognition at the sight of her father. He in turn spared her no thought. She had chosen to ignore the orders of her father, her lord and her clan, and had sworn herself to an usurper and a traitor. He had no kinship with her now. She was nothing but an enemy.
But in the part of his soul that spoke not as a warrior or a lord, but as a man, he was proud to see his daughter stand so tall, so ready, so much a warrior in her every essence.
He looked around and saw Tirivail in the far corner, her eyes and bearing troubled. Concern festered within him. She had changed greatly since her return from Anla'Verenn-veni. He did not know the cause of this change within her, or what he could do to soothe her pain. All he could do was speak to her as lord to soldier. He had long ago forgotten how to speak as father to daughter.
Tirivail's eyes were locked onto her sister. Lanniel in turn paid her no heed.
"So," Sonovar said, softly. "We have a guest." His words were flat and harsh. "Why are you here, traitor?"
"I have been sent to deliver a message to you," she said simply. There was no passion in her voice, no hatred, just a simple statement of fact.
"Then give me your words."
"It is for you only," she replied, holding up a data crystal. "This is yours."
One of the guards took it from her and studied it carefully. Takier knew it to be what it seemed. It was not poisoned, nor any form of explosive device or other instrument of assassination. Of course, it might yet contain ways to destroy or wound. Words could do that.
Sonovar took it and held it up to the light, seeing the rays illuminate and scatter across its surfaces. "Ah," he said. "I wonder what proud words Sinoval has for me. Perhaps he wishes to surrender?" Takier half-wondered whether that was a joke. A year ago he would have been sure it was, and would have laughed accordingly. But then Sonovar was a very different person from the one he had been a year ago.
Sonovar turned his gaze back from the crystal to Lanniel. "And is that the extent of your mission?"
"I am to take any reply you may have back to my lord Primarch."
Sonovar smiled. "Ah.... then your mission is indeed finished. I have no words to say to him. None whatsoever, despite what he may choose to say to me, despite whatever lies he chooses to try to feed me. You see, your mission is over.
"Tirivail!"
She stepped forward. "I am at your command, my lord."
"That is your sister, yes?"
"Once, that was correct, my lord. Now she is.... nothing. A traitor, no more."
"I am glad to hear that. As you said, she is a traitor. Kill her."
Takier clenched his hand into a fist, but said nothing. There was nothing to say. He looked directly at Lanniel, and felt her eyes meet his. He hoped she could see his pride. She was not moving, not crying out in fear, not trying to flee or beg for her life. She was going to die as a warrior should. What more could a father ask of his daughter than that she die well?
The five guards stepped aside, ready for Tirivail to move forward. Sonovar looked away, focussing once more on the crystal. Takier did not. He could not have turned from the sight of his children.
Once, he had had three children. Now, he had but one.
Tirivail and Lanniel looked at each other for a long while, and for the first time Lanniel seemed to recognise her sister's presence. Something passed between them in that moment, something indefinable, that not even Takier himself could truly comprehend. He had had a brother, who had died in battle long years before. Since then he had been alone, unable to experience the bond his daughters had shared.
Abruptly Tirivail turned to face Sonovar. She fell to her knees and extended her pike to him. It was ready to be used.
"I cannot obey your command, my lord," she said, her voice strained. "My life is yours. Take it, for my failure."
Sonovar looked at her suddenly, shocked, even stunned. He staggered back, then turned and left, not running, but certainly moving faster than was dignified or appropriate.
All eyes turned to Takier. He looked first at Tirivail. "Rise," he said. "Go to your quarters to await your lord's decision." She bowed once, and then left. "As for.... her.... place her in a cell. See that she is well-guarded, but also that she is well cared for. Remain there until Lord Sonovar or I say something different."
He turned and made to leave, but something, something he could not accurately express, forced him to turn and look at his daughters. "I am proud of you," he said. "Both of you." Then he left.
It was the first time he had ever said those words to either of them, but he had meant them. He had meant them a thousand times over.
* * * * * * *
Sonovar laid the data crystal down on the table and closed his eyes. He could still hear Sinoval's words echoing around his dead chamber. He could still feel Sinoval's presence in every particle of air, a ghost that would haunt him until he died.
He had nothing to say. It was lies, all of it. Lies! It had to be, had to be.
But what if it were true? What if...? No, it was lies.
He did not know. He did not know.
He turned the merest instant before Forell came into view, bearing as ever his silver tray and golden goblet. Sonovar darted to his advisor's side and scooped up the drink, draining it, heedless of the crimson rivulets that ran down his chin, dripping onto his tunic and to the floor, each one a drop of blood falling from his mouth.
"The elixir is life." The words came to him somehow, from somewhere, from some part of his consciousness. "The elixir is blood. The blood is life."
"True words, great lord," rasped Forell. He took back the goblet Sonovar thrust at him. "True words, indeed." Sonovar had not even been aware he had spoken aloud. "Were there equally true words from the traitor, Primarch Sinoval?"
Don't give him that title! Sonovar turned, about to shout the words aloud, but he stopped, wondering for a minute whether he had already said them. It did not matter. "I do not know," he said, trying to remember what it was Sinoval had said. It was strange, just a moment before he could hear Sinoval, hear his every syllable. Now, it seemed as if the message had come to him from another galaxy.
"No," he said at last. "It was lies. All of it. A lie."
"Then will you give him a reply, great and noble lord?"
"No.... yes.... I do not know. What does it matter? I am a warrior, not a diplomat. I need no words. My voice is in my blade."
"Indeed it is, great lord. Then you must send him a message by means other than words, yes?"
"Yes. Yes, I must. I am a warrior! My voice is in my blade."
"Attack his shipyards. Attack his people."
"Yes!" Sonovar turned away from his advisor, and began to pace up and down. "Yes! I will destroy him! We will attack!"
"Krindar, my lord. He is building a new fleet there, a strange, dark new breed of ships. Greater Krindar. That is where his shipyards are."
"Greater Krindar. We will burn his shipyards to the ground, raze them to nothing but ash and dust. Yes.... that is what we will do. We are warriors, after all. Forell! Fetch my captains. Takier, Kozorr, Haxt...." He paused. "No. Kozorr and Haxtur are gone.... left me. Forell, what...?"
"I shall fetch Lord Takier to you, great lord, that you may communicate to him your grand plan. You shall gain a great victory at Greater Krindar, lord."
"What is at Krindar?"
"The shipyards of the Accursed One, great lord." Forell's voice was calm and patient, as though explaining to a child.
And perhaps a child was what he was explaining to. A cloud had slipped over Sonovar's mind for a time, a dark and foggy cloud, but it was beginning to pass, slowly, revealing flickers of light and no more. He could see Sinoval standing there, hear his words.
"That I know," he said. There were shipyards at Krindar, yes.... but were they Sinoval's? He could not seem to remember. "You seem very eager to pursue this, Forell. What is there in it for you?"
"Nothing but the greater glory of the lord I serve."
He tried to study Forell's words for any sign of treachery or deceit.... for anything, but the fog around his perception would not shift, and finally he shook his head. "Bring me Takier," he said. "We will muster our fleet, such as it is. In truth it does not matter what is at Krindar, as long as there is a battle. As long as there is.... then we will win glory, or we will die and rest."
"It is as you say, great lord." Forell bowed and left. Sonovar turned from him and glanced casually back at the table. He stopped, and thought.
The table was bare.... but there had been something there, had there not? A.... a data crystal? No, it was not there. There was nothing, just a figment of his imagination.
He prepared himself to receive Takier. For too long he had been still and silent. He would wait no longer for the enemy to encircle and destroy him. He would seek out glory.
He would choose the manner of his death.
* * * * * * *
"I understand now. I have been waiting for this, preparing for it. I know my destiny, and yet.... and yet....
"And yet now that the time is soon, I do not want this.
"Could I have changed things somehow? Could I have done things differently, or would my destiny always have brought me back here, to this place, to this time, to this understanding?"
All things can change. All things could have changed. You could have let the assassin's knife claim you as you stood above Earth. You could have remained in the Dreaming as Varmain died, and gone with her. You could have been content with the simple rôle of soldier
But you did not. You were not. You fought, and raged, and struggled. And your struggles led you to this place. Destiny did not bring you here. You brought yourself here.
"And there is no other way? None at all?"
You have asked that of us before. The answer is unchanged.
"I know. Will I be alone? Always?"
You will be with us always. No, you will not be alone.
Sinoval nodded. "Then that will be enough. It will have to be."
* * * * * * *
I hail thee, Sonovar. I speak to you from across space, in hope that as one warrior to another we may save our people, the people we both have sworn to serve and to protect.
Sonovar could feel the air hum around him, vibrating with breathless anticipation. He was going to war. He was riding to battle, the wind his steed, the stars his guide, the blade his voice.
"We attack Krindar."
"What is at Krindar?" Takier had asked. "What is there for us there?"
I am a warrior. I am not afraid, not to die, not to live, not to walk, not to rest. I fear only failure, but I am a warrior, and I will not fail.
You lie, Sinoval. Your words are lies.
His destiny is waiting. His destiny. My destiny. I have but to reach out my hand and take it, grasp it in my strong fingers and squeeze.
You are dying, Sonovar. You have been infected by a virus passed on to you by Kalain before his death. He was infected by Jha'dur, Deathwalker. It was part of her foul plan for revenge - on humanity, on me, on the whole universe. She is dead, but her legacy lives on. I bear the burden for her evil, and I will pay the price for it, I assure you.
"You lie, Sinoval. Your words are lies."
"You are wise indeed, great lord. Victory shall be yours, surely."
Forell is not here, but that does not matter. Nor is Sinoval, nor is Takier. Their voices are here, their spirits reaching out to touch him.
Forell is feeding you a drug, an elixir. It contains an antidote to the disease that is killing you. An antidote, but not a cure. It is holding back the disease and preventing you from spreading the illness to others. You became infected in Kalain's dying days. No one who has come to me shows any sign of her disease. I believe it is you alone who now bears the legacy Jha'dur intended to destroy our people.
"You lie, Sinoval."
"Of course he lies, great lord. He seeks to distract you from your great purpose."
"What is at Krindar, Sonovar? Why do we attack there?"
The elixir is more than a cure, Sonovar. It is a drug, an addiction. Forell is controlling your mind, warping your perceptions. He is using you. I do not know what purpose he intends for you, but you are being pulled by his strings. He has made a weapon of you, a weapon he has been using to strike at our heart. The elixir that preserves your life is destroying your mind and your honour.
"I seek only to serve you, great lord. I seek only a merest fraction of the glory your shadow casts over the galaxy."
You lie, Forell.
One way or another, Sonovar, you will die. As do we all. It is for you to decide whether you die with glory, or with shame. The elixir is destroying you, but without it you will die and taint all those with you, spreading Jha'dur's contagion.
Come to me, Sonovar. All will be forgiven if you come now. Resist, continue to serve dark masters you do not know, and I will destroy you, and do more than destroy you. For myself, I can forgive. For my people....
Come to me, Sonovar. Come to me now, and I shall forgive you.
You lie, Sinoval. Every word a lie!
"We go to Krindar."
"What is at Krindar?" Takier asked again.
"Glory," Sonovar had replied simply.
* * * * * * *
The Alliance shipyards were at Greater Krindar, the spawning grounds for the new Dark Stars, each one a cocoon wherein lay a screaming telepath, bound in a dark chamber.
Sonovar arrived, his approach undetected, for the Shadows did not move with him save in the shadows of his mind.
This tale has already been told, the tale of war, of sacrifice, of heroism, of countless screams in the night.
Finally Sonovar limped away, bloodied but unbowed, broken but not silent, maddened but not mad.
On the contrary, at last he was sane.
* * * * * * *
What is love?
A question Kats could not answer. As she looked down at Kozorr's sleeping face for the third and final night, she found herself finally prepared to ask herself the question she had not been able to face before now.
She had not been surprised by the things she had seen in his face. She had seen his loyalty, his honour, his pride. He was a fine warrior, possessed of many of the virtues true warriors were meant to exhibit, but there was more to him than that. She could see his decency, his protectiveness, and most of all his sheer, clear and precise love for her.
She heard him cry out in his sleep. She saw his self-hatred, his inability to forgive himself for his self-perceived treasons, and she wanted to reach out and touch him, easing his pain and bringing him peace.
She remembered the first time they had spoken. She had been alone, trapped in an agonising pillar of light, at the complete mercy of a madman who had attempted to tear her apart, body and soul. She had met Kozorr then, trapped in despair and pain and suffering, wishing only to die. She had seen him before then, many times, but that had been the first time she had seen him as a man, not simply as one of her tormentors.
Help me! she had cried.
He had not answered, not with words, but his face had shown his divided loyalties. His eyes had revealed his sympathy, and that had been something for her to hold tight as she suffered the onslaught of Kalain's words and blows.
What is love?
She did not know, but she did know that it was what she felt for him now.
Above all else she wanted to reach out and ease his pain. He had eased hers without ever realising it. It had been a simple thing, one single look, but for her it had been enough.
She could do no less for him. Nor would she.
"I love you," she whispered. His sleep became more peaceful, his dream demons abated.
* * * * * * *
Sonovar listened again to Sinoval's words, and this time the seeds sank into his heart, and the doubts that had been there sprouted and grew and wormed their way into his mind. He knew now the dark Masters of whom Sinoval had spoken. He saw at last whom Forell served, and he wondered why he had not seen it before.
He sat in silent meditation, for the first time since he had taken the reins of leadership and power from Kalain. At the end Kalain had been raving, broken, a husk. He had taught Sonovar so much without ever realising it. He had taught him to reach out and grasp his destiny with his own hands, to claim it for himself and never let go.
He had given him the answer to every question but one: How to be a great man. He had asked that question of many he had known and met, but he had never asked the one person he should have asked.
Himself.
For long hours he spoke with his ancestors, feeling their spirits around him. He spoke of his fears, his questions, his dreams, and as they listened, so he listened to himself. And as he heard them, so he heard himself. So he heard the answer to his last question.
He rose from his meditation at last, heedless of the pain of his body. It was nothing. The blood that filled his right eye was nothing. The shattered bones in his leg were nothing.
He was a great man at last.
"Great lord," whispered a familiar voice. "I have come to bring you your healing draught, great lord."
Sonovar's eyes, the one filled with blood and the other a pale blue, so pale as to be almost colourless.... both of them flashed.
"I think there are things to be said, Forell," he whispered.
* * * * * * *
Takier had been a leader all his life. From birth he had been destined to command, to lead his clan and his warriors, to die in glorious battle and pass the burdens and glories of power to a successor. At first he had hoped his son would lead, but his death had forestalled that. Lanniel's treachery precluded her, which left only Tirivail, but was she ready to lead? Was she truly ready? He had not known.
He still did not know.
The battle had been hard-fought and bloody. Of the five ships Sonovar controlled, three had been destroyed. The remaining two had been forced to flee, broken now at last. Their rebellion was over. Sonovar's final order had confirmed it.
"It is done," Takier whispered to himself. "We fought, and we tried. We lost.... these are the wages of defeat. Had we won...."
No, foolish thoughts. They had lost. Why think of what might have been?
He stopped before the door. It was unguarded now, of course. There were not enough left to guard it. His orders had been for her protection, but now.... now it was far more likely that he would need her protection, that they all would need her protection.
The door opened and he stepped through. Lanniel was sitting in silent meditation. Communing with her ancestors, perhaps? Her eyes opened and an expression of acceptance crossed her face.
"Am I to die then?" she asked softly.
"No."
"Then has a reply been prepared for me to take back to the Primarch?"
"In a sense. We are the reply."
"What?"
Takier breathed in harshly. He had faced countless enemies, fought a multitude of battles, stared at death a million times and not been afraid. But he was afraid now.
"I have received orders from Lord Sonovar. I and the entire Storm Dancer clan are to surrender to Primarch Sinoval."
* * * * * * *
"I think there are things to be said, Forell."
There was no reply, not at first. Only a slow drawing in of breath and a slight twitching of his mutilated face revealed any change in his demeanour.
"What things, great lord?" he asked at last.
"The truth.... unlike the lies you have been feeding me along with that foul drink. Who are your masters? How long have you been working for beings other than myself? Since the very beginning?"
"I have always worked for you and you alone, lord." There was a shimmering on Forell's shoulder, something Sonovar could not clearly see, something on the edge of his perception. His crimson-stained vision did not help.
He moved forward, pike raised, and smashed it through the tray Forell held, sending goblet and elixir to the floor. Forell took an involuntary step back, but then held his ground.
"Liar!" Sonovar cried. "Answer me, Forell! I need the truth!"
"There is no truth," Forell said calmly. "There is nothing but the perception of truth. There is nothing but words and images and a million different interpretations. The others have a saying: truth is a three-edged sword. They are wrong. It is not a sword but a maelstrom, a whirlpool of thought and colour.
"Truth is chaos personified."
Sonovar stepped back slowly. The voice was Forell's, but the words did not seem to be his. A dark mass began to appear on his shoulder, long tendrils snaking around his neck.
"You do not understand," Forell continued. "That is something else the others say. They say understanding is irrelevant. They are wrong. Understanding is vital.... but only when the time is right. You have served us directly for two years, and indirectly all your life. You are a chaos-bringer, an instrument of war, forged in battle.
"You are everything we could have wished of you.... almost. But there is one better, one more fit than you. In another world we might have come to you and moulded you for our purposes, but not in this one. In this world you were only a foil, a means to orchestrate and enhance another. You were the fire within which he was tempered.
"You were ours even when you did the bidding of the others.... when you entered his sanctum and wounded him fatally. Even when you acted at their will.... you were following our path."
"No," Sonovar whispered. "How did you know...?" He had told no one, not ever. Not Kalain, not Takier, no one.
He had told no one that, just as the fleets of his people circled above Earth, when he was nothing but a servant to the Grey Council, he, on the orders of the mysterious Vorlons, had gone to kill one of his own..
"You wanted the truth?" Forell observed mockingly. "We know. We have always known. You were nothing but a tool to us, and now your usefulness is ended. What is done, is done."
The thing around his neck became clear. It had one eye which flicked open, radiating a sheer malevolence, a pure and unbridled hatred.
"Now do you know who we are?"
"You won't win...." he rasped. "I'll destroy you all! Every single one of you!"
"No.... not you. Others, perhaps, but not you. It is possible we will not win. It is possible that the time has come at last for a decision, for one of us, Order or Chaos.... to triumph at last.... but should we lose, then we will leave behind our legacy.
"Congratulate yourself, great lord. You were vital to the nurture of our legacy. Our greatest weapon against the others is the enemy you tried and failed to kill."
"Sinoval," he whispered.
"Yes. Sinoval."
"No!" Sonovar roared, moving forward. Forell knew what was coming, but did not react. He could have tried to sidestep, to block, to move away, but he did nothing. The pike tore through his bone and his flesh, crushing skull and mind and heart. Sonovar continued to rain blows upon the body until there was nothing left but a mass of flesh and blood and broken bone.
Trembling, he stepped backwards. His mind was strangely clear, and he knew what he had to do. He could see so much now. He had broken his people apart, not for glory, not for power, not because it was right, but because an ancient race of evil had incited him.
"What was done.... what is broken, can always be repaired," he whispered to himself. "There is redemption, reparation...." He was thinking of what to tell Takier. He at least could salvage something from this. An order to surrender would be given. The Minbari must be united. This war must end. Now he saw that. He would fight for glory, but never for the whims of another.
"Redemption.... Reunification.... And of course...." His eyes flared, and he raised his pike.
"Revenge!"
* * * * * * *
Time shifted, faded, dissipated. As Kazomi 7 recovered from the assault of the Fist of Darkness and the near-destruction of the entire world, as John Sheridan waged unrelenting and bloody war on the Shadows, as Proxima 3 suffered famine and hardship, as Centauri Prime once again went up in flames.... Sinoval worked to heal the fractured wounds of his people.
He received Takier and his followers in person. Lanniel was freed and returned to her duties as Sinoval's guard. Takier requested the right of morr'dechai - an ancient right to suicide last practised in the early days of Valen's reign - but Sinoval denied him permission. Takier, Tirivail and the other leaders of the Storm Dancers clan were imprisoned, while those who could be trusted were set to guarding the trade routes between the sparse Minbari worlds.
Sinoval continued to watch for Sonovar, but he had seemingly disappeared. Reports came, whispers through the Vindrizi, through the Well of Souls. Shadow ships had been attacked, their bases threatened, their warriors hunted down and killed. Some of these were surely fabrications or exaggerations, but in some there were footprints that could only be Sonovar's.
Sinoval was content to wait, however. Since he had taken the title of Primarch he had learned patience. He could sense that events were being played out and that he would meet Sonovar again when the time was right.
On the day the Dark Star ships fought the Shadows at Velatastat, on the day Lord-General Marrago faced down the Shadow Criers in the throne room, Sinoval finally uncovered Sonovar's last place of refuge.
* * * * * * *
The ship was floating dead in space, broken, shattered, finished. It was nothing, nothing at all, hidden in a nowhere place far from anywhere. This was the place Sonovar had come to die.
Sinoval stood alone on the pinnacle of Cathedral and looked across at the ship. Sonovar's flagship, the place where he had stood and plotted and raved, the place where he had imprisoned Kats and Kozorr, the place where he had dealt with the Tak'cha, the place where he had continued the long process of tearing apart the Minbari people.
And that process would end here.
No. Sinoval shook his head. It would not end here. It would end somewhere else, when he carried out the deed he had been warned was necessary. The day he had taken the rôle and the name of Primarch Majestus et Conclavus, he had asked the Well of Souls what he would have to do to heal his people.
He wished he had never heard the answer.
That would end the strife, that would reunite his people.
"You are there, Sonovar," he whispered. "I can feel you. You aren't dead yet."
No, Sonovar was a warrior. He had chosen his last place. He was preparing himself, waiting. He was not dead yet, but soon.... very soon, he would die a warrior's death.
Sinoval closed his eyes and let the Well of Souls wash over him. He was unsure how the previous Primarch had felt this experience, but then he had been present at the actual creation of the Well and had known that he was a conduit, an extension of it. Sinoval had lived thinking of the Soul Hunters as abominations, monsters, demons from legend. For any true Minbari the very concept of the Well of Souls was a terrifying thought, a strike at the heart of everything he believed in and cherished.
Sinoval was no longer fully Minbari, but then he was not yet fully a Soul Hunter either. He was somewhere between the two, and so his thoughts were mixed.
He was not and never had been a poet, or he might have been able to put the experience into words. As it was he could envisage only the whispers of countless voices, as if he could hear the entire conversation of a planet just inside the next room. Different voices, different languages, different ages.... all in one, and yet separate. A musical symphony of a million different instruments and voices.
Sinoval gave up. He simply could not describe it. The Well existed on an entirely separate plane from this one. It could see through to this realm however. It could see the dying.... and the damned.
Sonovar was there, on the bridge of his ship. He was the last Minbari alive. Blood stained his hands and face. Not all of it was his own. Some of it came from those who had chosen to follow him. Sinoval sensed the thing that the Shadows had sent after him. Sonovar was evidently too insignificant for them to concern themselves with directly, so they had sent one of their minions.
The Well could feel it, and each voice trembled slightly. They knew what it was. Just one being, just one monster, but that was enough. It crackled its presence across both realities, poisoning the worlds of the dead. It was a true abomination, once a member of a great, enlightened and noble race that had fallen, and fallen far. It now lived only for death, to kill, and to raise up those it had killed, desecrating the bodies and souls of the dead, creating an army to serve itself.
Did you know I would be here? Sinoval asked himself. Is that why, of all the countless minions in your servitude - the Drakh, the Zener, the Z'shailyl, the Wykhheran.... is that why, of all of them, you unleashed this?
The Shadows were evidently not finished with him yet.
He knew how this worked, although he had never done it before. The previous Primarch had been able to manoeuvre through hyperspace effortlessly, but then he had been a scion of the eldest race, and had known things about the universe few others could match. Sinoval knew the procedure and he knew the dangers, and that had so far prevented him from using this latest of his abilities.
Have no fear, came the voice of the Well. We are ever with you.
"I never doubted it," he replied. Then he stepped from the pinnacle and floated through space, until the world between worlds claimed him.
* * * * * * *
There were voices, hateful and loathing. There were hands and claws, spindly, yet filled with strength. They reached out to scratch him, the smell of death heavy. There were images of a mighty city, vast beyond comprehension, built on the bones of the dead.
Sinoval ignored them all.
He knew the history. He knew how the Vorlons had once tried to open a gateway to heaven, to storm the celestial gates and threaten the gods themselves. He knew of the demons they had brought through to this reality, a race of powerful, ancient evil who had slaughtered all that lived within their own universe and sought to do the same here. They had been beaten back, driven into their own barren, dead existence. But still they reached through, seeking gaps in the fabric of hyperspace.
Sinoval cursed the folly of the Vorlons, one more feather on the scales that weighed against them. They had driven back the aliens, yes, but not all of them. Some had remained, some had fled, mortally wounded, and been found by the Shadows. There they had been enslaved, their power sapped and broken, their genetic tissue modified and altered, enhanced and.... directed.
That was why they were here. They could feel one of their number nearby, spreading their creed of hatred and death to races they had never even imagined.
Sinoval ignored them. They were evil, yes.... but they were not here. They could not be here.
Like blood-red water, the mists of hyperspace slipped past him and he appeared in the world of flesh, in the hallway of Sonovar's derelict and dying ship.
A harsh, ululating wail rose up. There was a whip-crack that tore the air in half. And there was a smell, a stench of death that filled every corner of the ship.
"Look at where your ambition has brought you, Sonovar," he whispered. "You now rule only the dead."
Sinoval lifted Stormbringer and felt its darkness glow, rising up at the thought of what was to come. He began to sing as he went into battle.
* * * * * * *
Sonovar was ready to die.
The pain was less now. Even the shame and the humiliation were almost gone. Yes, he had been used, manipulated, controlled, but that did not matter. He had turned against his controllers and waged war on them, as much as he could. Now he was to face down one of their minions, a mighty adversary. He would die as a warrior should.
The smell came to him first, and then a gentle swishing noise, the sound of long tentacles caressing the corridor walls of his ship. It was here, searching for him. He had come here to make his last stand. Let it find him. Let it come for him. This was his ship after all, the last thing other than his blade and his soul that he could call his own.
He stepped forward and raised his pike. The broken fingers of his left hand clenched around it with no pain. His blood-filled vision did not prevent him from seeing. The shattered ribs, the mangled leg, the agonising pain in his head, none of them mattered. He had transcended pain now, moved to a place where he was something beyond mortal. This must have been how Kalain had felt at the end. He had tried to explain to Sonovar, but understanding had not come then. Now it did.
You are dying, Sonovar.
Sinoval's words came back to him, and this time they did not bring anger, but an ironic smile. "Yes," he rasped. "I am dying. We are all dying. But some of us.... some of us die great deaths."
The air trembled as the minion of the Shadows came into view. It was much taller than Sonovar himself, and shimmered half-in and half-out of sight. Not of this dimension, it was not bound by many of its rules. It was an abomination, a creature that existed only to kill.
"Yes," Sonovar whispered. "Yes." This was a worthy foe. It did not matter if he lost here. What other warrior could claim to have been sent to his ancestors by such a beast?
One black eye focussed on him, and there was a warm wind blowing in his mind, a wind that brought the stench of rotting meat with it. He saw in his mind's eye a world filled with the dead, their bodies raised up to walk, to serve, and to be killed once more. He sensed the unbelievable hatred these things felt for all that lived, from the greatest warrior to the smallest bacterium.
"No!" he roared. A lifetime of meditation, of preparation, of mental, spiritual and emotional equilibrium had taught him well. He cast off its mental image and stepped forward. Limbs moving without obstruction, body moving without pain, soul moving without fear, he struck at it. They had fought before, over the weeks this creature had been roaming his ship, but they had been nothing but skirmishes. This was the final battle.
A tentacle brushed against his side and a dart of pain shot up his arm. His fingers trembled and tensed on the pike, but he kept his grip and lashed out, stepping backwards cautiously, watching the beast move, waiting for his opening.
A number of things happened at once. He heard a song of his ancestors, a warrior song, proud and triumphant, in a deep voice. The beast turned, darting around, something between fear and hatred shining in its bearing. Sonovar moved.
Pain swept outwards from the mind of the creature, exploding in Sonovar's body as a tentacle tore into his leg. At the same moment his pike struck its body. Despite the beast's distraction with the newcomer, a tentacle slid around the pike and tore it from Sonovar's grip. There was a horrific sound, and Sonovar screamed as he saw his weapon snapped in half. Wielding part of his pike - his pike! - the beast smashed a blow into his chest, shattering ribs and grazing his heart. Sonovar fell, blood spilling from his wound.
You are dying, Sonovar.
Our greatest weapon is the enemy you tried and failed to kill.
The voices swimming in his mind - Forell's, Sinoval's, his own - faded as the song began to rise. He blinked, shaking droplets of blood from his eyelids, and struggled to stand. He could see someone fighting the creature, a Minbari, a warrior singing a song of battle and glory.
Sonovar's eyes widened and he smiled, beginning to sing himself. This was one of his ancestors, one of the warriors of his past, come here to mark his passing with glory.
He sang louder, still struggling to rise. His ancestor was fighting well, but the minion of the Shadows was an ancient, powerful evil from a universe that was not this one. It was wounded and seemingly afraid, but it was still powerful, still evil.
Through crimson vision, his eyes lit on the broken half of his pike. One half was still in the grasp of the beast, but the other.... was within his reach.
His ancestor moved forward, landing blow after blow on the creature.
Sonovar darted to his side, scooping up his pike in numbed, broken fingers that seemed three times their normal size.
"I am Sonovar!" he roared, and hurled the broken pike with all his might. The creature's eye opened, flickering darkness, and the broken pike penetrated the dark orb, shattering it.
The beast fell, its tentacles folding up into itself, its body becoming ethereal, as if it did not truly exist in this world. It slid to the floor and passed through it, returning to the dimension that had given it birth, returning now, in death.
Sonovar smiled, and slumped back to the floor. He had won, and such a victory! His ancestors would be proud. Now he was ready to die.
"You did well," said the voice of the spirit that had come to his aid, and his smile broadened. Then he started. He knew that voice.
"But then," Sinoval said, walking forward, "I never doubted it."
Sonovar began to laugh; hollow, mocking laughter. "Well.... you have won."
"Yes."
"It's over."
"Yes."
"It doesn't matter, anyway. It never did. Win or lose, I no longer care. The warriors of the future will hail my name, they will follow my legacy, they will remember my deeds.... and they will know me. Maybe they will accept me as a great man, maybe they never will.
"I know this, though. I have lost the war, yes.... but in my own way, I have won. And that is enough. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, Sonovar. I understand you all too well."
"Ah.... I think you do. This is the way it should have been. A warrior's death, a death in battle. Not from Deathwalker's legacy, not from Forell's machinations. I go to join my ancestors now. You have won, the Minbari are yours."
"No. They are not mine, and no, you are not going to your ancestors."
"What do you mean?"
"I will be leaving them. While I am with them, there will always be war. They will not follow me, Takier and the others, and if they do, it will be from fear. I will be leaving now. I am done with this world for the time being.
"But I will be taking something with me. I want you to know, Sonovar. I am not doing this because I hate you, nor to punish you. I offered you a chance to talk, a chance for peace, and you refused me, twice. You will die now, yes.... and if you do, you will be reborn, and it will happen again. There is something in you, a spark. It may take you to greatness, or it may take you to damnation. I cannot let either happen, not to you."
"What are you saying? Do you plan on saving my life?"
"No.... preserving it."
Sonovar's eyes widened. He could feel his heart slowing, and at that singular realisation, it almost stopped. "No! You can't! You wouldn't!"
"We will talk again, once you have had a chance for redemption, as another did.... we will talk once more, Sonovar.... in a thousand years."
"NO! You can't.... Please.... you can't! How can you...? I am Minbari. I am a warrior.... I deserve to die.... I...."
Sinoval was humming, and a small globe had appeared in his hands, tiny whispers of mist forming around it, sheathing it, shrouding it.
"No! Damn you, Sinoval! Damn you! You wouldn't dare!" More and more of his blood was seeping free. No! He couldn't die, not like this, not knowing what was to happen....
"I'll curse you! I'll hate you forever! I'll curse you, Sinoval!"
Sonovar bowed his head, tears streaming from his eyes. "You can't...." he whispered, wishing he had just one last burst of strength. Just one more.
"Nooo...."
His body slumped, and his soul departed. Sinoval captured it easily, and held the globe up. He could feel the soul raging and thrashing within it, and his dark eyes revealed his grief.
Then he turned and made his way back to Cathedral.
* * * * * * *
It was done, at last. It was done. The chapter that had begun.... where? Perhaps when Sonovar led his ships to Tarolin 2? Perhaps when Sinoval had left Minbar on his pilgrimage and handed over power to Kalain? Perhaps when the Minbari came to Earth? Perhaps even further back, when Valen had first appeared before Marrain and Parlonn?
Anyway, it was done. This chapter was over.
Sinoval knew this as he walked to the meeting he had arranged. He was strangely calm, perfectly at peace. He knew now where his destiny lay, and there truly was no other way.
He could hear Sonovar's cries, even now. He could not accept what had happened to him. He would, though it took him a thousand years. Sinoval had broken an ancient law by returning Marrain to the flesh. A balance had been necessary, but more than that. To let Sonovar die would be to let his madness return, his chaos spread. Now there was a chance for him to learn, to seek and gain redemption. It would be a slow process, but it would happen.
And then, in a thousand years time, would there be another? Another traitor and oath-breaker who had turned to darkness, who needed to die and yet live on to maintain the balance that would be broken when Sonovar finally passed beyond?
Sinoval did not know, but he did know that he would be there when it happened, in one form or another.
They all rose when he entered the chamber, with varying degrees of respect. He cast dark eyes across the room, lingering on each one, noticing blackly just how segregated they were.
Takier was sitting beside Tirivail, his expression one of dark resignation. He was a true warrior, a man who would rather have fought to the death than surrendered, an option denied to him. Now he was expecting nothing less than execution, or worse....
Lanniel was some distance from them, although on occasion she and Tirivail exchanged glances. Sinoval had been told what had happened upon the delivery of her message, and he had smiled. One cycle broken there, although it would take time for all wounds to be truly healed.
Kozorr was also present, although he looked uncomfortable. He no longer wore his warrior's uniform, but a simple worker's smock. Kats was beside him, her eyes and bearing radiant, her hand gently in contact with Kozorr's.
Another worker was next to her. Lurna, daughter of the former Satai Durlan. She looked every bit as uncomfortable as Kozorr, but there was sternness in her eyes, a grim determination.
And sitting together, but clearly alone, were Gysiner and Chardhay. Both had all but disappeared after the fall of Minbar. Sinoval had expected them to be causing trouble, but had been pleasantly surprised to learn they had been working to repair the damage on Tarolin.
All of them reacted when he entered, from a gasp of shock from Lurna, to muttered prayers from Gysiner and Chardhay, to an understanding smile from Kats.
Sinoval, like Kozorr, had abandoned the garb of a warrior. Unlike Kozorr, he now wore the black and silver robe of the Primarch Majestus et Conclavus. A circlet rested on his forehead, within which was set a brilliant red stone. Stormbringer was at his side as ever, and it seemed to be shining softly, reflecting the silver of his robe.
"I thank you for coming here," he said, walking up to the table. "There is much to be decided, the future of our people to be arranged. And you will be the ones to do it."
Kats realised his meaning first, not surprisingly, and her eyes widened.
"I abdicate my position as your leader. I give up all rights to dominion over the Minbari. I, and Cathedral, and all Soul Hunters will leave Minbari space. The Minbari people can never be as one again while I am here, and so I depart.
"I have two final acts as leader. My first is the pardoning of all who allied themselves with Sonovar. He himself is gone, and there is no gain in pursuing those who followed him. Takier.... I believe you will do as you see fit for the good of our people. With my departure, there will be little left for you to fight over, correct?"
"As you say," he replied stiffly.
"My second and truly final command is that the Grey Council be reformed. I broke it two years ago for good reasons, but now those reasons have gone, and the Council is needed again. As before, there shall be three workers, three warriors and three religious, and as before, they shall rule our people together, nine voices as one. It was the war with the humans that began the beginning of the shattering, and that is now over. It is time for the Council to be reformed. How that is done, who sits upon it.... all those things I leave to you. That is no longer my rôle."
"You will leave Minbari space?" Takier asked. "And never return?"
"No, I will never return. My work here is done. I have made many mistakes, and done some good, but I am needed here no longer."
"Where will you go?" Kats asked softly.
"Away," he said. "To walk on the edges of perception, at the border between light and darkness."
"My Primarch," said Lanniel. "Take us with you. We are your Blades and we swore to serve you. Please, lord.... take us with you."
"Where I go you cannot follow, Lanniel. I was never displeased with you or with any of the others. Serve the new order as well as you did me, and that shall be enough."
"But, Primarch...."
"That is my wish, Lanniel. Will you deny me that much?"
She stiffened. "No, Primarch. It shall be as you say."
Sinoval bowed to them all. "Then I am done here. I have faith in you all, and in our people. I will not be here, but I will watch. I know you will all do well."
He turned and left, moving quickly. There. It was done. There had truly been no other way to unite the Minbari. What he had told Takier had been true. They would never be as one while he remained there. There were too many old memories, old divisions. Without them.... there could be unity.
He became aware that someone was coming after him, moving as quickly as he was. He turned and saw Kats standing there. "I cannot be dissuaded, my lady," he said. "Others will need you to be their conscience now."
"That is not it," she said. "I understand. I disagree, but I understand. I just wanted two things."
"What?"
She reached in and kissed him gently, once, then stood back. "To say goodbye," she said. "And to ask just one favour, one last memory."
"Of course, my lady. Anything. What do you wish of me?"
She told him.
* * * * * * *
Lunacy. Absolute lunacy.
Oh, he had tried to protest, tried to insist that there was someone more suitable, but she would have none of it. No one could dissuade Kats when she set her mind to a task.
"But I am no priest.... Surely one of the religious caste...."
"We wish it to be you."
"Have.... have all the rituals been performed?"
"Some, but not others. Some we could not perform, others were not appropriate. The old ways are gone now, Sinoval. They can never come back, so why should we be shackled by old customs? We have been thinking about this...."
"We?"
"Well.... I have been. We want this to be you. No one else will.... It would not be the same."
"But...."
"I understand that you must go, and I understand that I may never see you again. We both do. But will you truly go without leaving us anything to remember you by?"
"No.... No, I could never deny you anything, my lady. Nothing that was in my power to give you. Allow me some time to prepare."
She had smiled, a smile that could have outshone stars.
And so it was that Sinoval, Primarch Majestus et Conclavus, Master of Cathedral, found himself performing the ceremony that wed a warrior who had given up his weapons, and a worker who carried hers in her heart.
It was far from being a traditional ceremony, but then that would have been impossible anyway. For one thing there was no holy ground, except for the vast chapel that was the Well of Souls. There were no witnesses apart from a million souls of the dead, their spirits joined in happiness and wonder.
Never before, the Well told him, and he was sure he could hear the Primarch's voice foremost in the music that came with the words. Never before has there been such joy here, and from only two souls. We thank you for this experience, Primarch. It is not something we had imagined we would feel.
"Never before has there been such joy," Sinoval mused, knowing that Kats and Kozorr could not hear his words. He knew full well the blood and torment that had forged this place. "And it is doubtful there will be again, not within their lifetimes certainly." He knew what neither of them knew. Kozorr was dying. One day, very soon, his life would just.... stop.
"But they have the present, and they will always have their memories. Perhaps, in the end.... that will be enough."
And he had something to take with him as well, something to take on his lonely and barren war, a war that would never end. He had their happiness, their smiles, their joy.
And he had the sheer pride as he ended the ceremony. It had been a mix and match of various cultures, various words and deeds, but it ended as so many did, across worlds and races and nations.
"You may kiss."
And they did.
Sinoval smiled. His war beckoned, but as he looked at the two of them, so very much in love, it was the first time he had had even the slightest idea of what he was fighting for.
And for that he thanked them.