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| Volume 5: Among the Stars, like Giants | Epilogue: The Final Words Spoken |
"EACH candle is a tale," the custodian said, as the two of them sat in the shadow of the massive archway, listening to the quiet prayers and soft supplications of the pilgrims, the rememberers, the mourners.
"They come here from all over the galaxy. They speak of Kazomi Seven, of the birthplace of the Alliance, of the Neuadd building, of the markets and the museums and all those places, but this is where they come first, or where they mean to come first. But some never come, too afraid of what they might find. Some visit and then leave again very quickly.
"Others do not leave at all.
"It is an old saying that blindness makes one's other senses more acute. I don't know if that's true or not. I was.... in shadows for a very long time. At some point during that time I became blind. I really don't remember what it was like to see, or how my senses were before that, but I am telepathic to some extent. Not strong at all. Pitifully weak in fact, but the power is there all the same.
"I know about our home, of course. The sanctuary of the telepaths. No, I've never gone there. Have you?"
"No," Jack whispered, fascinated.
Dexter Smith!
Dexter Smith!
The blind man had been right when he said he had never been a true hero. He was certainly no Sheridan Shadowkiller or Prophet G'Kar or Commander Ta'Lon, but he had been there all the same. He had fought in the war. He had known the Blessed Delenn, and more than known her if some of the rumours were to be believed.
He had simply faded from history, like so many others. So many whose fates would never be known, so many mysteries which would never be solved. Jack felt oddly pleased with himself for having solved this one.
"No," Dexter continued, as if oblivious to his wonder. "You wouldn't have been permitted to go. You're not a telepath, are you? Not one of them. My daughter is. She could have gone, to be with her mother, but no.... I'd like to say I told her to go, but I couldn't....
"I've never seen her face....
"This is my home now, as much as anywhere can be. My real home is gone, and it wasn't much of a home anyway. You visited Proxima, you said?"
"Yes."
"And you went to the shrine. The proper one?"
"Yes."
Jack did not like to think about that little corner of a dark alley, and the large, imposing building that loomed above it. He had felt as if something had been watching every step he took, and that every shadow was alive. The shrine itself had felt angry and corrupted, a single spot of beauty in a sea of ugliness. Beauty which was being destroyed.
It had made him feel profoundly uncomfortable.
"Then you've been there," Dexter continued. "My first home. Sector Three-o-one. They called it the Pit. My mother died there, and so many of my childhood friends, and a fair few of my adult friends as well.
"And Delenn, of course. She died there, too.
"We worked so hard to turn it around. It was always such a dark place, but we tried so hard to make it something better. It worked, too, for a short time. But then the War came, and the Aliens, and it all returned to darkness and wasteland. All that work for nothing. There was nothing we could have done about it, and I know these things happen. There are a million stories like that. Stay here long enough and you may hear some of them."
"I've heard several."
"We won.... but sometimes I wonder if the war was worth winning. Do you?"
"Well...." Jack tried to think for a moment. "The war was long ago," he said lamely, wishing he could come up with something better. "It's over now." That was even worse.
Dexter chuckled slightly. "That's a young man's view. For me, it seems like only yesterday. All of it...." He fell silent for a long time, and the whispering around them grew louder. "Do you feel it was worth it? Do you feel this is a galaxy worth fighting for?"
"I...."
"Come on, boy. If you don't know, who will?"
"I've seen a lot of beauty, a lot of wonderful things, but I've seen a lot of bad things as well. I've known good people, and bad people and....
"This place....
"I so much wanted to come here. I wanted to leave it till last, but I was afraid it wouldn't measure up to my dreams, and when I did finally come, it looked for a moment as if it would, but....
"I was arrested. I didn't do anything, but I was arrested anyway, and I met this woman and I was nearly killed, and the Rangers just seemed.... more cruel than I was expecting and....
"I'm not telling this very well."
"I'm hearing enough, although it may just be that I hear very well. You're saying that Kazomi Seven is a real place, not a dream, and like all real places, it has some tarnish along with the gold."
"Yes," Jack admitted. "That's it."
"So.... you still haven't answered my question. Was the war worth fighting? Was all we did worth it in the end?"
"I don't know.... I can't imagine the things you saw, the things you had to face, but.... I've seen some of the battlefields. I've seen Proxima, I've seen....
"Yes.
"Yes, it was worth it."
"Heh. Good to know someone thinks so."
"Don't you?"
"Sometimes.
"Sometimes.
"I need to think about things for a moment. If you'll excuse me.... It was good to meet you, boy."
"And you, sir," Jack whispered, awestruck. The hero of the War rose and left quietly, leaving Jack to his thoughts, and the prayers and stories rising with the wind.
* * * * * * *
The second thing she discovered about Shirohida was that it was full of ghosts.
The first thing was that it was cold.
Very cold.
Her grandfather had always lived in the mountains, and it had always been chilly there. She had heard the story of the time he had gone hunting in the mountains and she knew how cold it must have been there.
She had once walked into the mountains alone, trying to find the roof of the world. She had got lost after an hour or so. The cold had filled her, becoming almost tangible, a malevolent enemy whose sole purpose was to destroy her. She had been unable to cry, unable to move, unable to act against a foe infinitely more powerful than she was.
Her grandfather had found her and carried her home. Her mother had been angry, and she had been kept at home for weeks.
The fear had gone, but the memory of the cold stayed with her. It had been her first real glimpse of forces in the galaxy that meant her ill, forces too ancient and too powerful for her to comprehend.
Shirohida was colder.
Her grandfather did not seem to notice, in fact he revelled in the chill. His breath hung around his face in clouds of ice, shrouding his features and leaving only his eyes visible, dark and foreboding. He seemed to belong here, as if he were waiting for a place as one of the statues.
They scared her, and they were only the first of the ghosts she saw in the ruined fortress. She did not know who any of them were, but her grandfather seemed to know. He named each one, softly and reverently. The oldest looked as ancient as the mountain itself, but the features were not weathered or corroded. They were blackened by smoke, yes, but that was no more than tarnish on a fine weapon.
Then he reached the last statue, and bowed deeply. "Hantenn," he whispered. Then he said something else, in a language Deralain did not understand. "The language of the warriors," he told her afterwards. "The dialect of the wind." It was the first time she had ever heard him speak in that tongue.
There were empty alcoves after that, but still he stopped at them. He said nothing at the next one, but merely nodded once, in a gesture that might have been respect, or contempt, or a little of both. He moved on to the one after that.
"Marrain," he said softly. And then another word, one she did not understand and he would not explain to her.
And then the one after that.
He stayed in that alcove for a long time, imagining perhaps the statue that would stand there. He seemed to become one with the stone around him, and for one terrifying moment Deralain thought he had become invisible.
Then he moved again and walked towards the throne.
"The seat of the Warleader of the Wind Swords," he said. "The throne of the Lord of Shirohida. The lord sat here on only three occasions, child. Do you know what they were?"
Deralain looked at it. The chair was made of stone, and it looked incredibly uncomfortable, covered with sharp barbs and spikes that could easily break the skin.
She shook her head numbly.
"To welcome dignitaries.
"To stand triumphant over defeated enemies.
"To pass judgment on those who had failed him."
He paused, looking at the throne. "No one has sat here for so long, little one. There are no Lords of Shirohida now, no Masters of the Wind and the Stone. Where have your glories gone, Shirohida? Where are your warriors now? Have they deserted you for fairer climes? Do they wear uniforms of black and silver and swear different vows? Do they pledge allegiance to the One and not to your majesty?
"What remains of you now, Shirohida?"
Deralain watched him, frightened. He did not seem to notice her, his voice becoming a sing-song lilting of despair and sorrow.
"The last Lord of Shirohida stands here. None shall follow me. None shall know me.
"What remains of you now, Shirohida?
"Why, nothing.
"But memories.
"And ghosts."
He remained there for a long time, staring and singing under his breath, moving between the dialect she knew, and the other. He mentioned many names, none of which she recognised. He seemed to flicker and fade, and around him she saw flames dancing and wind rising and a mirror breaking. Six ghosts lurked behind him, and another inside him, and the rain lashed hard against the walls of Shirohida. But the walls remained strong and resolute, bereft of glory and servants and lords, but full of strength always, as strong as the mountain from which they had been carved.
* * * * * * *
Jack wandered idly around the shrine, simply staring up into the sky, or at the ground, seeing a million new things of wonder in every step.
This was why he had done it, why he had left his home. Five years of travel, and it had all been worth it. He had no idea what he might do now, or where he could go. Surely there was nothing in the galaxy that could compare to this.
He felt fulfilled, but oddly lost as well.
He paused to talk to some of the visitors. A human woman carrying a baby claimed, with absolute sincerity, that Delenn had come to her and given her the child to raise. He would be ruler of the galaxy one day, she said.
A young Brakiri told him a story about his grandfather. He had been present at the birth of the Alliance, and had worked with Delenn to create the original version of this shrine. He had died at Kara. Every year the Brakiri came here to pay his respects. A pilgrimage of sorts.
More than once Jack thought he saw a glowing woman, just on the edge of his perception.
A Narn spoke to him for several minutes, and every other sentence was, "Are you Sinoval?" Apparently he was waiting for Sinoval to return. When Jack finally snapped and said that no, he really wasn't Sinoval, the Narn looked crestfallen. "Are you sure?" he asked.
He had a brief reunion with a Minbari woman he had met several years ago, but whose name he had forgotten. She was the one holding half a necklace, looking for the man who bore the other half. Eventually Jack remembered that her name was Beys. He had a nagging feeling that he had seen something he should tell her, but he could not quite place what.
A patrol of Rangers passed by, eliciting a chorus of cheers and boos and wary glances. Jack looked at them carefully, but the blonde human woman wasn't there.
Finally he found a clear space, and sat down for a moment to think.
He didn't know what to think about the Blessed Delenn. Until today, he hadn't met anyone who could credibly have claimed to have known her. She was a hero of the war, but in a different sort of way from everyone else.
Sheridan had been a soldier and a leader, and Jack had met several people who had served under him. He had been to some of the battlefields, and the Shadowkiller's exploits were fairly well documented, from the destruction of the Black Star until his death on Babylon 5, and even the various rumours of his resurrection after that. Sheridan was human, after all, and he was lauded as the true hero of the war by humanity.
Sinoval had been.... well, no one quite knew what. He had been sort of a hero and sort of a villain, but he had certainly done a great deal, and there was a wealth of legends about him. Jack had heard most of them, but he had never met anyone who had known him. He doubted anyone had truly known him.
Kulomani and Vizhak and Ta'Lon.... well, they were statesmen and soldiers. Great people in their own right, but hardly unique.
G'Kar had been an orator and a prophet and there were billions of people alive who had heard his speeches. Besides, Jack had read Learning at the Prophet's Feet, and he felt he knew G'Kar pretty well.
Emperor Mollari.... well, he had been an Emperor, one of very many to the Centauri.
But Delenn....
He couldn't really get a handle on who she had been. Many people called her a saint, or a messiah. This shrine demonstrated an almost uncomfortable degree of fanaticism. From what little he did know, Jack doubted Delenn would have welcomed that.
He remembered hearing that she had run some sort of hospital during the war. Perhaps he could go there next. It would be good to go somewhere she had lived and worked. Maybe some of the people there had worked with her, or been treated by her.
Yes, he must remember to ask Dexter Smith....
Dexter Smith, holy God!
.... if he knew where that hospital was.
Jack smiled at the thought. He had first met the man a handful of hours ago, and already he was thinking of asking him favours, just like he was an old friend.
He saw the flickering glow again, and stood up curiously. It was disappearing around the corner of the shrine, but he was sure he had seen it this time. He looked around. No one else seemed to have noticed anything.
He thought about this for a moment, but then his curiosity got the better of him, as it always did, and he set off to follow the glow.
It was night, but the many candles were almost blinding in their intensity. Jack almost lost the glowing figure on several occasions, but he eventually caught up with it.
He followed it round the back of the shrine, and out through the walled enclosure that marked the boundary of the holy ground. There seemed to be very little there. No one had apparently wanted to build so close to the Blessed Delenn's memorial, and whatever had been here had clearly been demolished long ago.
There was only one structure, just ahead. A faint glow came from the window. Jack ran towards it.
It was a hut, big enough perhaps for two people, if they lived very simply indeed. It looked lived-in, and in any case it seemed unlikely that an unoccupied building would be standing here.
The door was slightly ajar. He paused, looking at it.
"Hello," he called out.
There was no answer.
"Hello?"
Still no answer.
With no force but curiosity driving him, he pushed the door open, and entered.
He saw a number of things all at once. A simple, though clearly well-cared-for, room. A crude but loving drawing of a human woman, blonde hair falling over her face. A well-thumbed copy of Learning at the Prophet's Feet on the table. The faint memory of a golden glow hanging in the air.
And the motionless body of Dexter Smith on the floor.
* * * * * * *
She took to exploring Shirohida. The place was both fascinating and terrifying. Each stone held a story, each corridor a tale, each room an epic poem. While her grandfather remained in the great hall, she explored wildly and randomly, curiosity winning out over her fear.
She walked along the roof, and although the sky was clear, for a moment she imagined herself in a bitter storm. A woman was kneeling there, blood mingling with the rain, and a man stood over her, a weapon in his hands.
Just a ghost. One of many. Her grandfather would not explain that one to her, although he did explain many others.
There was a room long boarded up, the door sealed with holy symbols warding against death. She had been constantly drawn to it, until finally she worked a hole large enough to squeeze through.
What she saw inside horrified her utterly, and she was sobbing and shaking when she finally escaped. Her grandfather later told her the story of the Seven Days of Red Tears, and she had had nightmares afterwards, convinced that the Red Wind was pursuing her, blood streaming from his eyes.
She found the greatest shrines of the Wind Swords, each with a stone commemorating the glory of the dead warriors. She stayed there for a long time, overwhelmed by awe of power.
She found what remained of the records of Shirohida. They were incomplete and badly damaged, and in a dialect of which she could only understand every third word, but she read them anyway. The diaries of Kennen the Stone Wind, Yama the Iron Mountain, and Akemain, one of the nine female Warleaders of the Wind Swords. Some of them chilled her and some of them fascinated her and some of them inspired her.
She talked to her grandfather often after that. Sometimes he would not reply, silent and grim, but at other times he was more like the man she used to know, pleasant and open and almost gregarious.
"Akemain loved him, you see, but her duty to Shirohida came first, and so she led her armies to war against the Moon Shields. It is said she faced him directly in denn'cha, and died soon afterwards. Some say she died of grief, but others say that she was claimed by the disease which had plagued her for her entire life."
"Which one was Akemain?"
He pointed out the statue and she regarded it reverently. The statue made Akemain look as hard and unmoving as the rest, but her diaries - what little Deralain had been able to understand - depicted a woman very much in love. There was poetry there.
"I doubt it is a good resemblance," her grandfather said. "Not of her outward appearance, anyway. By all accounts she was very short, pale and frequently unhealthy. But her spirit, that was stone, and that is what the statue represents."
It was not long after that conversation that she saw the floating lights and the ghost that collected them.
She had not been so far underground before. The furthest she had been was to the great shrinehold. But Shirohida had been built into the mountain, and while it reached high into the heavens, it also descended deep into the earth, for the Wind Swords were both: earth and heaven in one.
It was dark, and even by the steady glow of her light globe she could not see far in front of her. Still, she continued, and when she heard the soft singing she thought at first it was only an echo, or simply her imagination.
Then she came to the chamber, and saw the ghost.
It was not Minbari. She did not know what it was, for she had not seen anything like it before. Its skin was a leathery grey, and a third eye was set deeply into its high forehead. It wore robes of deepest black that seemed to wrap it in shadows.
All around it floated small wisps of light. In its lap was cradled a globe, with spiralling balls of light shining and dancing within it.
It looked at her.
"The child comes," it said, in a harsh, stern, earthy voice. "For decade upon decade has one waited for the child to return, and does the scion return as well? Is the saviour of Golgotha herein, returned to his ancestral seat to claim his legacy once again?"
The voice was hypnotising, fascinating and terrifying, like everything else here. She could only stare mutely at the alien.
"One asked the child a question. Does the child not understand? Can its mouth not open, and its heart not speak? Is the saviour of Golgotha herein?"
"I.... I don't know who you mean," she said at last. "My grandfather is here. He is upstairs."
"And does that one have a name, child?"
"I.... Yes.... yes.... He's called Parlain."
"Ah.... as was promised. If this one waited long enough, watched and waited with the souls alone for company and the memory of the Well to endure, then the saviour would return. Stone endures, and he is more stone than this one. One sees too much of air within you, child, too much of the ether, of motion and transience. But he is stone and patient and still. Little of his blood in you, there is. Little, but perhaps enough, and perhaps more in your children, yes?"
"I.... I don't have any children."
"You are mother to a greater destiny than you know, child. He knows that, as does this one, as do your enemies."
"I don't have any enemies."
"A child has more than she knows. Enemies of her mother, and her mother's mother, and her mother's mother's father. Yes, him especially. Bargained with, was he, as was the saviour. Bargains we keep, for we are as stone, and stone remembers. Take me to the saviour, child. Take me to the guardian of the future."
"You're not real," she whispered. "You're just another ghost."
"And the child knows much of ghosts, does she? This one does. The saviour does as well. He has come to the right place for ghosts. There are many here, and the greatest ghost of all remains, in death and fire and memory. Yes, that ghost remembers flame very well indeed. Take me to the saviour, child. Take me to the ghost of stone."
Deralain backed off slowly, then she abandoned her light globe and simply ran, always hearing the footsteps behind her. She could not remember the route she had taken to bring her down here, and she could not remember the way back, but she continued to run, and she continued to hear the footsteps behind her, following her, echoes of her own frantic flight.
Finally she came to a place she recognised, and she headed for the great hall, where she knew she would find her grandfather. He was there, sitting in meditation before one of the empty alcoves. She simply collapsed in front of him, exhausted and terrified. When she turned back, terror and resignation in her eyes, she saw that the ghost had followed her, a smile on its thin mouth, its third eye glowing with an unholy light.
* * * * * * *
The next few hours passed in a blur. The body was taken away, the small hut searched carefully, an endless stream of questions. Ranger after Ranger came to speak to Jack. Some were soft and gentle, others were abrasive and threatening. For a while he honestly thought he was going to be blamed for this.
No, he hadn't known Dexter Smith before today.
Yes, he had only just arrived on Kazomi Seven today.
No, he had nothing to do with Dexter Smith's death.
Yes, he had been arrested earlier, but that had been a mistake and he had been released.
No, he wasn't a wanted criminal.
Yes, of course he had valid ID papers.
No, he wasn't smuggling anything.
Yes, he would be happy to co-operate, and he was actually co-operating.
No, he wasn't getting angry.
And so on, and so on....
Finally yet another Ranger came to interview him, but this one was different. He was a Narn - bigger than usual for a Narn, or maybe he just seemed bigger. The room certainly seemed smaller when he was around. Hell, the planet seemed smaller when he was around.
And he had only one eye.
Jack only knew of two one-eyed Narns, and the Prophet was dead.
"Do you know who I am?" asked the Narn.
"Yes," Jack said, in a combination of awe and disbelief. Two legends in one day. What were the odds on that?
"And?"
"Commander Ta'Lon."
"Good. Did you do it?"
"No."
"Good enough for me."
And that had been that. Jack eventually picked up that Dexter had been ill for a while. His death was sad, but not entirely unexpected. He had preferred to keep a low profile and he had had few friends, so no one really knew how ill he had been, or even what was wrong.
He found out later that he had not been the only one to see a glowing figure near the shrine. Theories varied from unusual atmospheric conditions, to mass hallucination, to the return of the Vorlons, to the spirit of the Blessed Delenn returning to her memorial either to bless her faithful servants or to scour the faithless from the planet.
Jack was in a foul mood as he left the shrine. The arch itself was still beautiful and peaceful, but he was in no mood for beauty or peace today. He had initially thought of Kazomi 7 as a place of wonder, and then he had seen its dark underside, and the distinctly unsympathetic face of the Rangers. Then he had seen the shrine and spoken with Dexter and he had been filled with wonder again.
And now....
It didn't matter how wonderful this place was. People still died here. People still talked complete rubbish and believed the most ridiculous things. People, human or alien, were just as stupid and insensitive and blind here as they were anywhere else. This was meant to be a cradle of peace and beauty, but no one seemed to appreciate it. This was a wondrous place, crawling with undeserving parasites.
Such thoughts were hardly new to Jack. His dislike of humanity as a whole had been at least part of the reason he had wanted to travel, to go where people would be different. He hadn't found anywhere like that.
He had made few friendships in his travels, and certainly no lasting friends. He had made a few acquaintances here and there - Beys for one - but that was it.
He was angry and lonely and filled with rage at the universe.
He walked away from the shrine and into the city, deliberately not looking at his surroundings. He didn't feel like sightseeing. He just wanted to be alone.
Maybe he should try and find Golgotha again and stay there.
Eventually, after he did not know how long, he found himself in a park. Dawn was rising, so he must have been walking for a while. The park was an unusual combination of different alien cultures, and it seemed as if each race had contributed something to it. He walked through a Japanese rock garden into a Centauri floral display and past that to a Minbari shrine. Despite himself he was quite impressed with the care and attention which had gone into the place.
And that was where he heard the crying.
He walked towards it without really knowing why. He found her in a tightly-packed Drazi desert garden, sitting on the low stone wall that encircled the park.
It was the blonde Ranger woman. She was sitting there, still wearing her Ranger uniform, the picture of utmost despair. Her face was hidden by her long hair, and her hands were rubbing at her eyes.
She was crying.
Slowly, not entirely sure what to do, Jack walked over to her, as unobtrusively as he could. He was not very good at the unobtrusive part, but he was right next to her before she looked up at him. Her eyes were red and sore, and her cheeks were streaked with tears.
"You," she said, her voice hoarse. "Please, go away."
He ignored her and stayed where he was, trying to think of something to say. "Is there something wrong?" he asked pathetically.
"Of course there is," she snapped. "Or did you think I was just sitting here crying for no reason?"
"I'm sorry," he said, half in consolation and half in apology.
"Just go away," she repeated, dropping her head into her hands again.
But he did not. Instead, he sat down next to her. She felt warm, and her hair smelled nice. He wanted to reach out and hug her, but he wasn't sure how that would be construed, so he just sat there.
"Do you want to tell me something?" he asked finally.
"I thought I told you to go away," she replied, her voice muffled by her hands.
"You did. I didn't listen."
"You don't seem to be very good at listening."
"No," he conceded. "But I'm willing to try. Do you want to tell me what's wrong?"
She looked up, her deep, lovely, tear-filled eyes staring directly into his. He felt an unpleasant prickling at the forefront of his mind - not painful, but uncomfortable. He made no effort to leave, but simply sat there.
"My father died tonight," she said finally.
"Oh," was all he said, knowing instantly who she was talking about.
* * * * * * *
Her grandfather rose to his feet without haste or urgency. She flung her arms around him, consumed by an inexplicable terror. He was her grandfather, the strongest warrior ever. He would protect her. He would protect her.
The ghost moved forward, light rising above its head, a sly smile on its face.
"Long has this one waited. Long...."
"Long by my standards," her grandfather interrupted, "or by yours? An immortal people would have little concept of impatience, I would have thought."
"It is as you say, saviour."
"I do not appreciate you scaring my granddaughter, and I do not appreciate you desecrating this place. Whatever bargains I made with your leader are done. I have been paid very well for what I sacrificed at Golgotha." He looked at Deralain, and his hard, stone eyes registered fondness, even love. "Yes, I have been paid very well indeed."
"The Primarch will be glad to learn that, saviour."
"So why are you here? Is it to do with...." He hesitated, looking at Deralain again. This time there was doubt rather than fondness in his expression. "He who was lord here before I?"
"No. That one is safe, immersed in his fire and his madness. It is the child and the mother of children that this one has waited for."
"No."
"Does the saviour not wish to listen?"
"No."
"You know of the destiny that awaits her children, and their children. Of their line shall come greatness, and even holiness. The Primarch sees this. The Well knows this. The Well knows all, save one thing alone."
"You will not have her. If you had wanted her, you could have tried a long time ago. I have never kept my location secret. Perhaps I trusted a little too much in the promises of my allies."
"No, saviour. These ones accepted your wishes. By the Primarch's will, this one waited here, waited for the day you would return."
"Why?"
"Because, saviour, you would not return until you were ready to die, and you would bring the child here to show her the place you know so well."
A flash of irritation crossed her grandfather's face. "Am I really so predictable?"
"Honour makes men so, it is said. But we have the Well, which knows all things save one."
"You will not have her."
"The Primarch will be displeased."
"Let him be displeased. I bargained with the others, and they gave their word. Thus far, they have kept it. Shall it be said the Shagh Toth are less trustworthy than the Vorlons?"
The ghost made a dry noise that might have been a chuckle. "The saviour speaks well. The saviour knows that the Primarch intends no wrong. Her line is special, and must be protected."
"True, but I have taught her to protect herself, and I have faith in her. She will not be the pawn of any powers. We had enough of that, my father and my mother and I."
Deralain was not following any of this. Her terror had calmed now that her grandfather was here, but his words confused and puzzled her. She did not understand, and she was not sure she wanted to. She had faith in him, and that was enough.
The ghost stepped back. "Then it shall be as you say, saviour. We owe you too much to resist you in this."
"You owe me nothing. As I said, I have been paid in full. It is my friends that you owe, those who did not come back from Golgotha. However, your word will be enough. Swear you will leave her line alone. For the next thousand years. Swear."
"This one cannot...."
"Your Well speaks through you when it wishes. You can swear for me."
The ghost began to sparkle, its body shaking as if in convulsions. Black light seeped from its eyes and its mouth, and Deralain heard the echo of a million voices speaking as one.
We so swear, said the voice from nowhere and everywhere at once.
Her grandfather seemed untouched by the power of that alien voice. "Then that will be enough."
You will not leave this world alive. We know this.
"Yes. So do I. Will she?"
She will live long, and know great happiness and great sorrow.
"Thank you."
We owe you much, saviour. We have not forgotten, and nor shall we.
"You owe me nothing."
The black light faded, the chattering and whispering and hissing of the voices faded, and nothing remained but her, her grandfather and the ghost.
There was silence.
She broke it.
"What did it mean?" she asked, her heart pounding. "Grandfather, what did it mean when it said you won't leave this planet alive?"
He did not answer immediately. He looked distant and lost. "I think," he said finally, "that we will soon be having visitors."
"Grandfather?"
He did not answer.
"Grandfather?
"Grandfather?"
* * * * * * *
"My father died when I was three. I don't remember him all that well. The one thing I do remember is the smell. He smelled of.... dust. Black dust.
"We grew up on Ventari Three. I don't know if you know it.... Oh, you probably do.... Anyway, it was a Brakiri world. My parents were with a group of humans who settled there towards the end of the war. I guess it was quiet. President Corwin later had it ceded to us as part of some deal or other. Well, there's not a lot there, and the Brakiri hadn't done much with the place anyway.
"One thing the world did have was mineral deposits. Lots of them. Don't ask me what they were, or what they're for, but Ventari Three had them by the ton. My father was a miner.
"Black dust. That's what he smelled of.
"He died when I was three. There was a cave-in. Three hundred and fifty-seven people died, and my father just happened to be one of them. I suppose given the war and the Aliens and everything else, death in a mine collapse is pretty mundane.
"I didn't really think much about it until later, watching my mother try to feed us all. Don't worry. This isn't some terrible story about childhood poverty or whatever. It's just....
"I don't know. It's just me.
"I hated Ventari Three. There was nothing there, just an empty planet full of empty, soulless people. It didn't matter how far away the war was, or even that it had ended, no one ever seemed happy there. My mother certainly didn't. Nor did my brothers or sister.
"And I certainly wasn't.
"I left eventually, of course. I wanted to see the galaxy. All the places I'd heard of. It took me quite a while to scrape together enough to actually leave. I had to work in another mine for almost a year. It was terrifying. I kept thinking about my father, and wondering what the signs of a collapse would be.
"That was when I thought about him most. When I was in the tunnel, and terrified beyond belief. I still don't much like being underground.
"It must have taken a lot of courage to do that, if he was half as scared as I was. I knew it wouldn't be forever, and I still had to keep reminding myself exactly why I was doing it all. But he worked there permanently. There would be no better world for him, no travel, nothing. Just Ventari Three, until he died.
"I never appreciated that before, and I suppose haven't really appreciated it since. That year in the mines was the only time I really understood what he did.
"I'm not saying I understand what you've gone through. I wouldn't do that. I'm just saying that....
"I'm sorry. I really am.
"Well, that's it. If you still want to be alone, I'll go."
Jack got up, wishing he could have said it better, wishing he could have explained his feelings more eloquently. He made to go.
"Stay," she whispered.
He looked back at her, and sat down again.
She took his hand. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice hoarse and broken.
"Thank you."
* * * * * * *
For one terrifying moment, Deralain thought they were all going to die. The five Rangers stared at her grandfather, their weapons raised, ready for combat. Her grandfather looked calm and peaceful, but she knew that expression. The ghost was nowhere to be seen.
"I am Lennann of the Rangers," said their leader. "This land has been declared forbidden by order of the Grey Council. State your names and purpose."
Her grandfather stepped back, and then deliberately turned his back on them and walked towards the throne.
"Remain where you are!" snapped the Ranger.
Her grandfather sat down on the throne.
"Lennann," he said, as if sampling the name. "You remind me of someone I used to know. Are you any relation of Nemain, by any chance?"
The Ranger looked confused for a moment. "My great-grandfather," he said. "How do you...?"
"Look at me, Lennann. Your great-grandfather knew me quite well."
The Ranger looked around, taking in the surroundings. He looked at Parlain, sitting on the throne of Shirohida as if he belonged there. He took in the statues and the hall and the cold in the air.
He obviously knew almost immediately, but very much wanted to deny it.
Finally he could not remain silent any longer.
"I thought you were dead."
"A great many people did. Your great-grandfather, no doubt, desired it heartily."
"This land has been declared forbidden by order of the Grey Council."
"By order of your great-grandfather, you mean. Not long after my brother's death, I have no doubt. And why, might I ask?"
"It is not my place to question...."
"Blind loyalty. A virtue, when not misplaced. My granddaughter and I have been here for weeks, and yet you have only arrived now. Why? Could it be perhaps that it was not Minbari you were looking for, but someone else? Aliens, perhaps, who might have an interest in this place? An alien who might have remained hidden for a very long time, but who recently left his warded cell to deliver a message, and so revealed himself to your masters. Hence the speed of your arrival. Am I correct?"
The Rangers were shifting uneasily. "You are to come with us," Lennann said. "You are to...."
"You know who I am, and you show no fear. I admire courage. I had thought that was a virtue which your ancestor, amongst others, had worked to eradicate from our people."
"Your way is dead."
"For now. For another nine centuries or so."
"This is a time of peace."
"Those are not very peaceful-looking weapons I see you carrying."
"This is a time of peace."
"During which no Minbari shall slay another. Valen's words. Let me teach you a lesson, great-grandson of Nemain. Such words are all well and good, but they are nothing but words. The one you hunt is not here. He has delivered his message, and he has gone, and you will not find him. As for myself, I will not leave. There is only one way you can force me, and that would require breaking the holy law of Valen.
"You see, laws only work against those who respect them."
Lennann sighed. "You should have died a long time ago."
"I used to think so, but I have known a great deal of joy these past few decades. I could have died happy and quiet in my mountain home, but I wanted to see Shirohida one last time, and now that I am here...." He sat forward on the throne. "I will not leave again."
Deralain watched with growing horror. She knew what was going to happen. There would be a fight, and people would die. A great many people would die.
"I have my instructions, and I am a loyal servant of the Grey Council."
"But who has given you the orders you now seek to follow?"
Lennann sighed, and straightened, taking a slow and deliberate step forward. "I am a servant of the Grey Council. I live for the One, I die for the One. If I am to die here, then so be it, but I shall not do so as a coward. My orders are clear."
He moved forward, the other Rangers behind him. Parlain stepped down from the throne.
"No!" Deralain screamed, running forward, throwing herself in the way. "No!"
"Out of the way, child," her grandfather said, not ungently.
"No. You can't do this."
"This is my home. This is my hall. This is my legacy, and these children seek to take it from me. I will not allow that, child."
"No."
"This could be yours, little one. This castle, this hall, this name.... all of it could be yours."
"I don't want it," she whispered.
He looked at her, and she turned her head from his gaze. She felt like crying.
"Very well," he said at last. "I will surrender myself to you, Lennann."
Deralain kept her eyes tightly closed as she was led out of the hall. She did not want to see that place again, or the single drop of blood her grandfather had left on the throne.
* * * * * * *
They sat alone after that, talking for a long time - of inconsequential things, of this and that, companionable silences interspersed with political debate. Jack found her to be a lively conversationalist, sometimes muted, sometimes passionate. She was sad when she spoke of her father, and happy when she recalled some of the good times they had known.
"He never really talked about my mother, except to say that she had gone away somewhere else. He offered to tell me more, but it never seemed important. I always felt that.... if she had abandoned us so readily, why should I care who she was?"
"Do you wish you'd asked, now?"
"No.... perhaps yes.... No. She's taken no interest in my life so far, or his. Why should she care that he's died?"
"What will you do now?"
"I don't know."
And of other things as well.
"I knew President Corwin slightly. He came to talk to Dad sometimes, when I was a little girl. They both knew Delenn of course, and they knew each other from the war.
"It was inevitable I'd become a Ranger, of course. Dad didn't press me into it, and I had other options, but I never really considered anything else. The Rangers were.... well, heroes. They weren't just mercenaries. They kept the peace, they defended us.... they were the arbiters and the judges and so many other things. Why would I ever want to be anything else?"
She sighed.
"I was admitted, of course. I think President Corwin pulled some strings, and if he didn't, Commander Ta'Lon certainly did. I was promoted quickly, a lot more quickly than I deserved. Ta'Lon is talking about retiring in a year or so. He hasn't been the same since G'Kar died."
"You knew the Prophet?"
"I met him a few times. I heard him speak once. It was.... breathtaking. So much passion and conviction and experience."
"I've spoken to other people who've met him. They all said the same thing."
"I'm not surprised. Anyway, Ta'Lon wants to retire. I don't know what he'll do with himself. I don't think he does either.
"I think he's going to want me to be Ranger One when he steps down."
"You?"
"Is that really so ridiculous? No, I'm sorry. Don't answer that. I know I'm not ready for it. I don't think I ever will be. I don't even think I want to be.
"The Rangers.... there's what I was taught, and what I've seen. What happened to you earlier. It's Ranger policy to be hard on certain infringements. There's a whole set of Community laws stipulating things like fair treatment of prisoners and the right to a fair trial and so on. There was a huge dispute about it between us and the Centauri a few years ago.
"The Rangers don't follow any of them. We're exempt from so many of the rules. I suppose we have to be exempt from some, or we couldn't do our job, but....
"We don't even try to observe most of them. Why should we? We're special.
"Except that there's no war to fight, and no real enemies.
"So what are we doing? Are we all just wandering around trying to convince people we're important? Do we only matter in war, and in peacetime just sit around trying to convince each other we're still important? God, that's such a harsh thing to say, but....
"I don't know what we're doing.
"I was thinking the other day about whether I could be Ranger One or not, and I could only come up with one reason for taking it, and that's because it would make my father proud.
"And that's never going to happen now....
"....
"I'm sorry....
"I just can't....
"I'm sorry...."
She cried again, for a moment, and then she composed herself. She began talking about something else, about politics. All of a sudden he found himself saying:
"You could come with me."
She looked at him with her beautiful, tear-filled eyes.
"What?"
"Nothing. I'm sorry. Nothing. You were saying?"
"I...." she hesitated, and then stopped.
Suddenly her head whipped round, and she looked up. Jack looked round as well, trying to see what had attracted her attention. There was nothing there, nothing....
.... but a flicker of light.
He started as a glowing woman appeared out of nowhere, forming from the very air itself. Her skin sparkled, and her hair was like spun gold. She was hovering about six inches above the ground.
He had seen her before, very recently, out of the corner of his eye, a faint wisp on the breeze. He had followed her trail to Dexter's house.
He jumped to his feet, ready to defend his companion in some inept, macho, hopefully endearing way. She was a Ranger, and a much better fighter than he was, but he didn't even think about that.
I am not going to hurt you, the woman said, her voice inside his mind. A telepath, of course. Hadn't Dexter said something about his daughter being a telepath?
Which meant that her mother would be....
Oh.
She had evidently realised it too.
"You're my mother," she whispered incredulously.
Jack snuck away quietly. Neither of them noticed him leave.
* * * * * * *
Deralain was sick of waiting. That was all she had been doing since she had arrived in Yedor. First in a cell, then in a room at the Ranger base. She had not been allowed out, or even permitted to talk to anyone else.
Worst of all, she had no idea whether or not her grandfather was still alive.
The only person who ever talked to her was Lennann, the Ranger. He would not tell her anything about her grandfather, but otherwise he ensured she was well cared for. He tried to calm her down and reassure her, but she would not listen.
He would not even tell her what they had done wrong. No one lived at Shirohida, and her grandfather belonged there, in a way she understood but could not quite describe. The fortress fit him, and he fit it. Why had it been declared forbidden ground?
Lennann would not tell her. She knew nothing.
Then, one day, several weeks after they had left Shirohida, she had a visitor.
It was an old man, his skin grey and wrinkled, his eyes hollow and faint. A pattern of tiny scars adorned his face, countless white lines drawn against his skin. In an odd way, they reminded her of the long, faint lines on her grandfather's cheeks. He did not wear the garb of a Ranger, or a warrior, or a priest. He must be a worker, but Deralain did not recognise the Guild sigil he wore.
He stopped when he saw her, and breathed our slowly.
"It is true then," he muttered to himself. She sat still on the floor, containing her anger. She would be calm. She would be as stone, as her grandfather. He never got angry. She would be like him. She would not be angry.
She would not be angry.
"I had heard," he croaked, "but.... What is your name, child?"
Her grandfather called her that. "My name is Deralain," she said coldly. "And I am not a child."
He chuckled slightly. "I am Nemeranth, Deralain, Master of the Glass Shapers Guild."
She blinked. "Why are you here?"
"I just wanted to see you for myself. I had heard.... The wanderer has returned, after all this time, and he has brought a young girl with him. You are Parlain's granddaughter, I suppose."
"Yes.... Is he well? They won't let me see him. Is he...?"
"He is alive. I doubt a short stay in a cell would kill that one. He always seemed to be immortal. We thought he was dead, all of us. When Zathrenn died two years ago, I thought I was the last. I truly did, and now to see him appear again, as if nothing had happened...."
"How do you know him?"
He looked puzzled. "You do not know who I am, child? He has not told you?"
She shook her head. "No."
"Then it is not for me to say. Let it simply be that.... I knew him when I was a child, when we were both children. He is older than I am, although I doubt he looks it. My life has not been easy, and my health has never been good, and yet here I am. Alive still. I nearly died in my mother's womb, and the healers said I would not live to grow up, and here I am, and here he is. The warrior, the dead relic of a forgotten age. And we two are all that remain."
He blinked and shook his head, rising out of his misty reverie.
"I am sorry, child. I ramble to myself sometimes. Let me look at you." She looked up at him fearlessly, as brave and as stern as the mountains. "Ah," he said. "Yes, I see it in you." His voice suddenly choked, as if wrung by great emotion. "I see."
"What will happen to him?"
"He keeps his secrets well, does he not? Even when we were children, that was so. I imagine he has told you very little of who he really is, of who you really are."
A thousand questions rose to her mind, but she quashed them. She did not care. "What will happen to him?" she repeated slowly.
"Many years ago, sixty years or so, my brother died. He was murdered. Parlain was the prime suspect then, and he still is. We thought he was dead, and so we did not pursue, and time passed, and we all thought the matter done. Now that I alone survive, and he has returned...."
"Murder? No, that's not true. Minbari do not kill Minbari."
"So Valen said, child. But that law only holds while we hold to it. I have not seen your grandfather in sixty years, but then, he was a dark and terrifying figure. You know him better than I do. Tell me, child. Do you not believe him to be capable of such a thing?"
She was about to deny it angrily, but then she stopped, remembering his stance before the Rangers, remembering his stories of the old days, remembering the rain-lashed fortress of Shirohida, and how natural he seemed there.
"I don't know," she whispered, treacherously.
"Ah. There is a problem here, of course. We do not execute our own any longer, and we could not execute him. I doubt if he would stay dead anyway. He has returned from the abyss before, so why not again? I am no Satai, nor even a Ranger, and I have little say." He hesitated, mumbling to himself. "No, my word matters little."
"I need to see him. Please.... I need to see him."
He looked at her.
"You can do that at least, can't you? I need to see him."
"I will do what I can, child. I promise you that much."
"Thank you," she breathed. She closed her eyes tightly. "Thank you."
* * * * * * *
Inevitably, he was drawn back to the shrine. Where else was there to go? Again he sat at its base, staring up at the archway, and down at the ever-burning flame beneath it.
He should never have come here. He should never have come to Kazomi 7. This world should have remained a dream to him, forever. Now it was real, and sullied and....
His whole quest was tarnished. He had believed there was a purpose to his travels, and yet he hadn't found one. He had five years of memories, and nothing else. No one to share them with, no one to know them with. The greatest connection he had found to anyone in five years was to a Ranger whose name he didn't even know.
The galaxy had known nothing but war for decades. Now there was peace, almost on a galactic scale, and what was left? People forgot, and there was stagnation and boredom and emptiness.
There had to be something worthy of the peace. There had to be great people in peacetime just as there were in war. Humanity had to work towards something.
There had to be something better than this....
But he did not know what.
Oh, people seemed happy. But was it really happiness, or just an absence of misery? Fewer and fewer people remembered the war, and those who had fought in it were growing fewer and fewer with each day that passed. How many remained now? Commander Ta'Lon. Kulomani. Who else?
There had to be something. There had to be some purpose, or what was the point of it all? What did all those people die for if not for this?
He sighed. There was the merest whisper of movement, and he looked up.
She was there. She sat down next to him.
"You looked deep in thought," she said. He nodded. "That was my mother."
"I gathered."
"She said a lot of things. I'm not sure if I believe any of it. She asked me to go with her, to Sanctuary."
Jack blinked. "The Vorlon worlds?"
"The telepath worlds. She offered me a place there."
"That must be.... Wow."
"I know."
"The telepath worlds," Jack said again. He'd never been there, never spoken to anyone who had. He'd heard things of course, but rumour was one thing, and reality might be a different thing altogether. Something clicked inside him.
"You're a telepath?" he said. They didn't let just anyone in there, after all.
"I have.... hunches, sometimes," she replied. "Dad was low-level, I always knew that, but he never talked about it much. I can't be very powerful, and my guesses are wrong more often than they're right." She smiled wryly. "I was wrong about you that first time."
"Well," Jack said with a careful smile, "I'd reserve judgment on that one if I were you." Her smile broadened, and she even chuckled slightly. Trying to sound more nonchalant than he felt, he continued. "So.... are you going?"
"I don't know. I said that I didn't care who she was, she had abandoned me and my father and I had no interest in seeing her."
"I remember."
"I was lying. At least, I think I might have felt like that at one time, but when I saw her.... I wanted to know. I wanted her to tell me."
"Did she?"
"She said she knew Dad would look after me better than she could. She loved him, but she couldn't take him with her to Sanctuary. I was.... her gift to him. She gave me to him as a baby, as a sort of.... keepsake." Her voice was angry, and she stopped there.
"That's...." Jack wasn't sure what to say.
"I know. She said I'd understand when I fell in love.... She loved two men, and she chose to go with the other one because he needed her more. I don't know if I believe any of that."
"Do you want to believe it?"
"Do I want to believe I wasn't dumped in a corner? Yes. Oh yes.... but do I want to go with her? I don't know."
"What else could you do?"
"Stay here and become Ranger One in a few years."
"Do you want to do that?"
"No. I'm not ready, and I'm not the right person, and I don't believe in a lot of what we do. Perhaps I could change it if I was in charge, but I know Ta'Lon, and he's a good man. If he can't change things, if he can't change the inertia of the Community and the expectations placed on us, then how can I? I'm not ready for the task, and I don't want it."
"Then you should go with your mother."
"I'm not sure I want that, either."
"Then what do you want?"
"I don't know."
He laughed suddenly. "At least you're consistent," he said.
She looked at him for a moment, and then she began to laugh as well. "You're right," she said.
"At least that's something."
"This is a good world," she said finally. "This is a good dream, but it isn't my dream. I've been pushed into it for so long, and now there's no reason left to carry on....
"This is a good world, but it isn't perfect."
"You could help to make it perfect."
"No, I couldn't. Not yet. I'm not ready. I know that. Maybe in ten years or so. When I've seen more of the galaxy, when I know more about the galaxy, more about the people. I envy you that, all the things you've seen."
"I haven't seen half of what there is to see."
She smiled at him, and his heart almost stopped as he realised he knew what she was about to say.
"Could I come with you?"
* * * * * * *
His cell was white, and brightly lit. Incense was thick in the air, an echo of chanting and prayer just audible. Deralain hated it. She could not imagine what her grandfather thought of it.
He seemed to be at peace. He was sitting in a corner of the cell, meditating silently. She watched him through the transparent wall of the cell. The door was opened, she entered, it was closed behind her, and still he did not stir.
She looked at him, wondering what to say.
"I know you are there," he said. He opened his eyes. "They have permitted you to see me, little one. I am surprised."
"Someone came to see me," she whispered. "His name was Nemeranth. He said that he could...." Her voice choked, and she stopped. "He said...."
"Nemeranth? Well, I really did not expect him still to be alive."
"He said he was the last.... You and he...."
"Now that does not surprise me. What else did he tell you?"
"That you are a murderer."
"Ah."
She hesitated, her eyes downcast, unable to look at him, afraid of what she would see in him, afraid of what he would see in her.
"Do you want to know?"
She looked up at him. "You would tell me?"
"If you wish me to."
"No," she said. "No, I don't want to know. Anything. I am alive, and.... and you are my grandfather and.... there is nothing else.... What does my mother know?"
"Nothing, and perhaps enough. I made a bargain, a long time ago. I am not ashamed of it, and I would make it again, but it will affect you, in time. I wanted you to be ready when the fruits of my bargain came to you, but.... To see Shirohida again, to see my home, the place that has ever been my true home.... I forgot a great many things.
"My father made mistakes, and they consumed him, and they destroyed him. I swore to myself I would venerate his legacy without walking in his footsteps. He was the last true warrior, and I was nothing but a shadow in his shadow.
"Of all the things I have done in my life, child, you are what I am most proud of."
"What is going to happen to you?"
"I will be kept here, until I die."
"No...."
"Yes."
"No! There must be another way.... some way."
"I have no friends here, child. Nemeranth has done all he can, I think, simply by arranging for you to be here. I am grateful for that. I am not angry, little one. I have lived a long life, and I am happy. I am a relic of a forgotten age, and should be forgotten in my turn. Men like me will be needed again, but not for a long time, and I pity the fate of those like you when that time comes. War is a glorious and a terrible thing, and it breeds glorious and terrible acts, but it is only after that.... that people can truly understand what they are."
"There must be another way...."
"There is not." He rose, and came towards her. She was shocked to realise she was almost as tall as he was. He had seemed almost a giant in Shirohida. Gently, he kissed her forehead.
"Go, Deralain," he said. "Live your life for yourself. Remember me, but do not seek to become me."
She left then, tears in her eyes, fury and grief and countless emotions warring in her heart. She was oblivious to Lennann, escorting her back to her room, and to the comforting words he tried to speak to her. The next few hours passed in utter sorrow, until a visitor returned to her.
"How was he, Deralain?" asked Nemeranth slowly.
"Go and see him for yourself," she hissed bitterly.
"I would, but I am afraid. He always scared me, and now.... I am afraid to see him again."
"You are a coward."
"Perhaps, but there are many different kinds of bravery. Your grandfather would undoubtedly tell you that."
"Why are you here?"
"To help you."
"Why?"
"I have no children. My wife was barren. There was.... an accident not long after we began our courtship and she was unable to bear children after that. She urged me to choose another, but I loved her, and I would not. She died, and that left me alone. I have no nieces or nephews, no family at all. Not really.
"You could be the granddaughter I never had, but more than that. I owe your grandfather a great deal, and I know he would not accept any favour I could do for him. Even if I could free him from his cell, which I cannot, he would not want me to.
"But you.... I can help you."
"How? What can you do for me?"
"Have you ever thought about serving in the Guild of Glass Shapers?"
She paused. "I will not stay here, not on this world. I want nothing to do with this place."
The old man smiled. "We are opening a new Guildhouse on Tarolin Two, a new colony world. I think you will like it there, unless there is somewhere you would rather go. Family, perhaps?"
She thought about her parents, about her mother's reaction when she left. "No," she said. "Nowhere else." She could not go home. She had changed too much.
"Then, if you are willing, I shall see to your membership. Oh, one other thing. I believe you will have a friend there, at least. A group of Rangers has been posted to Tarolin Two. Their leader is a young man, who shows much promise."
"Oh.... Thank you."
He left soon after. She was alone. She would never see her grandfather again, never see her mother again, never see the majesty of Shirohida or the ugly beauty of Yedor. She would never know the secret her grandfather kept, that Nemeranth apparently knew.
Never know who she really was.
She straightened her bearing. None of that mattered. She would make herself who she was to be, and if she was to be a glass shaper, then so be it. She had control over her own destiny.
She glanced towards the door, and started. Lennann was standing there.
"My lady," he said formally.
"Yes?" she breathed.
He bowed his head. "Guildmaster Nemeranth has told me of your decision. I give my word I shall serve you faithfully on Tarolin Two."
"I thought you served the Grey Council."
"They command my loyalty, my lady. If you wish it, you could command something else."
"Oh...." She smiled dryly, and thought of Parlain, in his cell, waiting only for death. He had made bargains to secure her future, and to prepare her against what her future represented. She did not know what was to come, but she knew one thing.
She would be ready for it.
"I would like your company," she said, smiling. He smiled, too.
* * * * * * *
He said yes, of course.
They walked through the streets quietly, so close to each other that even a whisper could have passed between them, but they did not touch, and they did not speak. The shrine was behind them now, its long shadow falling over them both.
It was Jack who took the first step out of the shadow, but she who realised it first, a small, symbolic smile on her face.
Jack looked away, uncomfortable - not with her, and not with himself, but with the sensation that this was right, very right, and he did not want to do anything that might threaten that, or shatter it, or....
He saw Beys over to one side. He was about to call out a greeting, when he realised she was standing absolutely still, a statue, something held tightly in her hands.
He followed the line of her gaze and saw another Minbari, the man he had earlier glimpsed in the crowd. The man was staring back at her, and he also clutched something in his hand.
Jack laughed, and turned away, taking his companion's hand impulsively.
"Something funny?" she asked.
"Just.... do you believe in karma?"
"I understand the beliefs. Many races have something like it."
"And?"
She shrugged. "I haven't made up my mind. Why?"
"Something I saw, and something that's just occurred to me. Arrogance or big-headedness, or what, but run with me here." Blinking once, she nodded. "Everyone calls me Jack, but my real name is John. That's what I was called. After my father.
"You haven't told me, and nor has anyone else, but I think I've worked out what your name is."
With a sad, shy, lovely smile, she took his hand, and told him her name was Delenn.