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| Volume 5: Among the Stars, like Giants | Part II: Tales of Valen |
THE year 333 since the ascension of Shingen, the year of the arrival of Valen.
The Minbari space station Giseinotoshi.
Parlonn struggled to move through the smoke and the burning sulphur. His tunic was shredded and burned and the deep cuts on his back plagued him. He wanted so much just to stop and lie down, but he knew he could not. For all he had heard about Markar'Arabar, he had never really understood the true horror.
Now he did. And more.
The screams were the worst. Not the smell. Not the dead bodies of his companions and warriors. Not the horrifying sight of those monsters just appearing through the walls. Not even the sight of Minbari warriors fighting side by side with those things.
No, the screams were the worst. The screams of the dying, the screams of the black nightmares soaring around the station, the screams of warriors who thought they were brave discovering at last what fear truly was.
They filled his ears. They filled his mind. They filled his soul.
And still he struggled on desperately, trying not to think, trying not to surrender, trying not to dwell on the Wind Swords' betrayal, trying just to take another step. And then another. And then another.
A body lay in the middle of the corridor, or what had once been a body. To Parlonn's eyes it was just a mass of flesh and bone. One of the winged creatures that Kin Stolving had called Zarqheba was kneeling on top of the mass of flesh, feasting, its leathery wings covered with blood.
It looked up as Parlonn approached, red eyes shining. They were the worst. There was intelligence there. It was as though the universe had created a being with the body of a nightmare and the soul of a relentless animal, but then in a perverse joke had given it understanding of what it was. Kin said they had once ruled a great civilisation across many systems, but it had fallen and they had been reduced to this, to less than barbarism.
The Zarqheba's great wings rose into the air, the same wings that had once carried them through the vacuum of space propelling the beast through the air towards Parlonn. Blood-covered claws reached for his face, clawing at his eyes. Parlonn threw himself to the ground. He no longer felt his pain, not any longer, not now.
The close quarters of the station corridors did not allow the Zarqheba to use its manoeuvrability to the full, and Parlonn capitalised. As it swooped for its second attack, he leaped up to meet it in midair. It soared instinctively and its wing struck the ceiling of the corridor. Parlonn's dechai pierced its chest and the beast's head snapped back.
Parlonn landed awkwardly, his ankle bending under his weight, but the Zarqheba was dead. This was not their ideal environment, but it did not have to be. There were thousands of them, and they swarmed the ships, tearing apart the hull, sliding through the bulkheads and corridors, ripping apart whatever they encountered.
He checked to make sure that the beast was dead, and then hurried down the corridor. He did not look back at the piece of meat that had once been a Minbari. What would be the point?
The smoke and the noise and the damage to the station made orientation difficult, but he knew precisely where he was heading. He felt a pull, as if some force, something, call it destiny, made sure he reached that spot.
It was the station's prison. There was usually little need for such places. Minbari warriors operated under tight, flawless discipline and imprisonment was a punishment seldom employed. Anything serious usually merited death - morr'dechai, or more rarely execution.
But the war had changed a great deal. There were some alien allies who could not be expected to act like Minbari and whom it would not be politic to punish as Minbari. Also, there might be a need to imprison Shadow allies for questioning or study. So it was that Giseinotoshi had been built with a prison.
Few people could have imagined the single person who would be held there when the Shadow attack had commenced.
Parlonn stopped at the door. The sentries had been killed, ripped to pieces. The door had been shredded. Not a Zarqheba. One of the larger beasts. The Wykhheran. They could pass through walls, but something in their psychology made them take the path of maximum destruction. Some observers believed the Shadows activated something within them that made them insane before sending them into battle.
Carefully, Parlonn stepped through the devastation and entered the darkened room. The smell hit him first, and he reeled.
"Greetings, Warleader."
The body of the beast lay on the floor, with terrible dechai wounds to the face and eyes. Standing against the far wall, motionless as a statue, arms folded across his chest, stood Marrain. His eyes might have been stone.
Parlonn straightened. "Greetings," he replied.
In here, he could not hear the screams.
* * * * * * *
The Lady Derannimer was not afraid of the screams, not afraid of the smell, not afraid of the idea of Shadow monstrosities coming through the walls. She was not even afraid of the looks War Commander Magatsen gave her when he thought she was not looking.
No, the one thing she was afraid of was that the entire fleet would be destroyed, thousands would be killed, and that she would stand here the whole time and do nothing to stop it.
As soon as the attack had started she had been woken by two of Magatsen's honour guard. Both were Moon Shields, as was Magatsen himself of course. They had come to escort her to the imaging chamber, to watch the battle and to be safe should the station be boarded.
She had agreed, not truly liking the thought, but she had little choice. Parlonn was elsewhere, and whatever the official line about unity and cohesion, Giseinotoshi was run by the Moon Shields. Magatsen had spent the year of his leadership placing his own people in positions of power.
That was his right as War Commander after all, but Derannimer could not help but think he was War Commander more from a lack of suitable alternatives than through any virtues of his own. Magatsen was an experienced warrior, wily and cunning, and an expert in fighting a defensive war, but he was universally distrusted. There had been concerns over the untimely death of his father, and over his wife's accidental fall from the tower of their castle.
But who else was there? Not long after their arrival the Vorlons had revealed Warleader Hantiban's alliance with the Shadows, through an intermediary called Shryne. Shirohida had been besieged, until the Wind Swords had finally fled. Not long after this it came to light that Shryne had spoken to all the Warleaders. Some of them admitted to dealing with him, not knowing whom he represented. They were forgiven, if mistrusted. The Warleaders who had refused him had died.
Shryne himself was no longer a problem. He had tried to contact the new Warleaders, including Parlonn himself, and he had been captured, arrested and executed. That had not stopped several members of the religious caste heading for the Shadow homeworld to seek peace. They had not returned.
But even with Shryne gone there was still war, and it was going badly. The Wind Swords under Hantiban had apparently gone over to the side of the Shadows wholeheartedly, and it was believed he still harboured delusions of making himself Emperor. The key to that now, as it had been before, was Derannimer herself.
She had changed in the five years since the fall of Ashinagachi. She had grown a little, matured a lot, and become even more beautiful, or so the endless procession of suitors informed her. She had remained sceptical of them all, and had turned down all requests to leave the wandering life of the Fire Wings. Parlonn supported her every decision. He believed in her.
She remembered her announcement to the Imperial Court at Yedor of her intention to go with Parlonn and the rest of her clan warriors to the front line here, at Giseinotoshi. They had been outraged, disgusted and disturbed, but she had gone. There were some things a high-born maiden of the religious caste did not do, and Derannimer had done almost all of them.
Magatsen, however, did not let that prevent his pursuit of her, although he did so with a cold, calculating and very subtle eye. He flattered her without being obvious. He paid heed to her welfare without being condescending. He agreed with her opinions without being obsequious.
And he even informed her of the progress of the war.
"You see, lady," he was saying, seemingly oblivious to the sheer carnage taking place outside the station. "There. The Night Walkers have managed to drive away the Shadow ships in that area. The port side of the station is now secure. Your own Fire Wings are performing admirably in holding the line there."
"The enemy is already inside the station," Derannimer noted. "A'Iago and his recruits cannot hold them forever."
Magatsen sniffed. A'Iago was Markab, and therefore beneath his attention. All aliens were, to him. The fact that A'Iago had spent four years studying the ways of combat and honour practised by the Minbari warriors did not change that opinion. Some people had asked him why he was doing that. His reply had made little sense.
"Because one day I will be training you, and I will have to know all that you know now in order to teach you more."
The fact that every warrior alive would fall into an apoplectic fit at the thought of being taught by an alien did not seem to have occurred to him.
"There is no need to worry, lady," Magatsen said, as if she had not spoken at all. "Even in the impossible event that we fall, there is clear access to the escape ships from here. You will be perfectly safe, I assure you."
"And the soldiers?" she asked, a little angrier than she had intended. "Will they be safe?"
"A warrior's life was never intended to be safe. They are doing what they are bred and trained to do. Die for their lord."
Derannimer had not failed to notice that precious few Moon Shields were anywhere near the front lines. Of course they were defensive fighters, most adept in close quarters when outnumbered, but still.... They should have been doing something more than simply defending her and their lord.
She wondered where Parlonn was, and prayed that he was still alive. She also wondered about the other warrior here. Not least why he was here, but also whether he still lived.
Marrain had been intercepted a few days before, trying to enter the station. He had been detained easily, and Magatsen had ordered him imprisoned pending his return to Minbar to be questioned. He might have been a renegade from the Wind Swords for over four years, but he had been their Warsecond before that. Few believed he knew nothing about their dealings with the Shadows. Some even believed his entire disappearance from the clan was an elaborate charade. Why else would Warleader Hantiban not have sent warriors out to capture him?
Derannimer had seen him only once before, outside Ashinagachi. They had spoken briefly, but then the strange creature had attacked and everything had collapsed. She dimly recalled a man of honour, a man dedicated to the service of his lord. She had not believed it when she had heard about his exile.
It was strange, but she had been thinking of him a great deal over the past four years, following his exploits. Rumours of a clanless warrior with eyes of stone had occasionally reached her. When she had heard of his presence here she had gone to see him, against the advice of both Parlonn and Magatsen. She had not spoken to him. One look into his dead, passionless eyes had sent her stumbling away, confused and anguished.
She continued studying the battle, ignoring Magatsen's overenthusiastic commentary. As time passed she grew more and more concerned. The Shadow vessels kept coming, in seemingly numberless hordes, and they were falling at less than one for every ten Minbari vessels destroyed. And yet they had not overwhelmed the station. They could have torn it apart without trying, but they seemed content to launch a few slow attacks and repel any effort to drive them away. The same was happening inside the station.
She studied this for a few minutes and, unable to find any rational explanation, informed Magatsen. He looked surprised, and then he smiled.
"How are you able to read a battle so well, my lady?" he asked.
"My father. Parlonn. Both of them taught me a little. What does it mean?"
"Ah. Why either of them thought a woman as beautiful as you needed to be taught anything save how to serve a husband I do not know. Had you become a warrior, things would of course have been different, but....
"Anyway, to answer your question, there is one particular thing they need from this station. They dare not destroy it and destroy what they most need in the process."
"What do they want?" Derannimer asked, feeling that she knew the answer. On the edges of her vision she saw the guards move to cut off flight in any direction.
"It is strange, but that is what one of them asked me. Do you know what I said? I wanted to stay alive. I wanted a leadership who would listen to me, who would take heed of what I said. They were surprised. I think they assumed I would want to be Emperor, but where is the point in that? We are all bred and trained to serve a lord. All of us. Whom would I serve if I ruled everyone?
"But there is nothing more dreadful than to serve a lord who has no respect for your abilities."
"You found yourself a lord," Derannimer whispered, horrified.
"Precisely. Ah, lady, you are wiser than you perhaps should be. With beauty and destiny such as yours, stupidity would have been far better, hmm? I assume you can name my lord?"
"Hantiban," she said, softly.
He nodded. "His emissaries will be here to collect you soon. Then I and my Moon Shields will be permitted to leave here. All others will be killed. This time we shall all learn the lessons that should have been heeded after Markar'Arabar. We cannot fight the Shadows. We should not even try. With Warleader Hantiban as Emperor and me as his War Commander, we can take the war to the other races, all the aliens who are beneath us, fit only to be conquered.
"But there is one thing Hantiban needs."
"Me."
"You." There was the sound of footsteps, and Magatsen smiled. "Precisely on time." He turned to the figure emerging from the darkness. It was a warrior, the tallest Derannimer had ever seen. "Greetings, Warsecond. Here she is, ready for collection."
"So I see," said Unari.
* * * * * * *
Giseinotoshi was the finest war station ever crafted in our entire history, a masterpiece of design and precision and skill. It would be the ultimate base from which we would assault the Shadows. Unfortunately any army is only as good as the soldiers who comprise it, and ours were wanting.
The warrior clans were still divided, and the ultimate appointment of Warleader Magatsen of the Moon Shields did little to assuage this. The problem was that there was no one else fit for the rôle. The surviving Warleaders were all young, inexperienced or tainted by Warleader Hantiban's betrayal to the Shadows. Parlonn of the Fire Wings alone displayed any promise, but with the loss of Ashinagachi his clan no longer had the political power to make him War Commander. That, and his unfortunate bitterness and sarcasm to those he considered unworthy of his attention, meant that he was reduced to performing duties far beneath him.
Had he been in charge of Giseinotoshi the war might have gone very differently.
As it was, the divisions within the army produced some short term benefits, but far more long term drawbacks. Each clan strove to outdo the others in deeds of honour and courage. The hunting down of the rogue Wind Swords was a key aspect of this, as each warrior wanted to be known as the one who delivered the body of the treacherous Hantiban.
However, long-term strategy and cohesion became impossible. Many of the clans disliked taking orders from the Warleader of another clan, particularly one who had been over-cautious about sending his own clan into war. Few liked or respected Magatsen in the way they had Hantenn. Many, however, found themselves listening to Parlonn, heeding his views and listening to his opinions. His later rise to high office was little surprise, although his subsequent fall was unexpected.
There were others who found themselves becoming involved in the war, and they were treated with the utmost contempt. Some of the religious caste temple guardians formed regiments and joined the army, wishing to involve themselves in what they saw as a holy war. A Markab mystical warrior - the last teacher of the ancient Brotherhood of Kar Dratha - arrived on Minbar with little explanation. He spent several years studying our ways and our history, gathering a fair retinue of students along the way, both Minbari - clanless warriors, religious caste and even workers - and Markab. Finally, a few months before the fall of Giseinotoshi, he went to the station with his retinue, saying only that he had learned enough and a time was coming when he would have to teach.
And there was Kin Stolving, an official in the Ikarran Government and a former soldier in one of their élite regiments. She came alone and offered her services, claiming to be seeking someone. Most of the clans rejected her, but Parlonn admitted her to the Fire Wings and even took her into his own councils.
The war was progressing badly, a number of small skirmishes being won by individual clans, but all the larger battles being lost due to poor communication and mistrust.
Then, finally, the Shadows decided enough was enough. And they came for Giseinotoshi.
From Darkness, Fire and Honour: The Military Campaigns of the Shadow War,
by Sech Akodogen of the Star Riders, published in the Earth year 1848.
* * * * * * *
The dungeons of the Royal Palace, the Capital, Centauri Prime.
The Earth year 2263.
"Hmm.... interesting."
The room was dark and chilly. Shadows danced by the light of a single candle. The tall figure seemed formed entirely of darkness, its face invisible, its ghastly shadow on the far wall as of nothing mortal, but a foul creature sent from nightmare.
In fact he was human by birth, although mortal no longer, and if he was aware of the irony he did not seem amused, but neither did he seem disturbed.
It was he who had spoken, although to whom was unclear. There was another being in the room, but he hung limp and broken, perhaps dead, perhaps not. Either way, he did not seem to be listening. There was no one else here, and the figure did not seem the type to speak to himself, even just to voice his thoughts aloud. He spoke and acted as if someone were watching him.
And perhaps someone was.
He held up the bloody item in his hand. A tiny flicker of orange light shone from it. Another man might have smiled, but then he had known what that flicker meant for some time now. This was merely confirmation, and not one he wanted. The other being could not die. Not yet, at any rate.
Blood, or something that might have been blood, dripped from a large cut on the hanging being's forehead, as if something embedded there had recently been torn free.
The once-human held the gem up to his face and looked at it. He concentrated for a moment, trying again to unlock the power within it. He had tried a number of times already, but patience was a virtue, and several hundred years of life taught nothing if not patience.
He doused the candle and continued staring into the gem, still concentrating. He seemed to have little difficulty seeing in the complete darkness.
Finally a tiny beam of light shone from his right eye, which glowed golden for a second. The beam struck the centre of the gem and refracted outwards, not as colour, but as memory.
So many memories, and among them the one thing he most wanted to know.
"Ah," said Sebastian, Special Investigator of the Vorlon High Inquisition. "There it is."
He turned and left. There was something to do before he could return to the Soul Hunter. He would not let it die just yet.
* * * * * * *
Giseinotoshi.
The Minbari year 333 since the ascension of Shingen.
Sometimes at nights when Marrain was sitting alone staring at the stars, he realised that he was luckier than most warriors. He had achieved the ultimate ambition of his caste: perfection. He was free of anything that might detract from his skill in battle. There was no emotion, no desire, no fear, no regret, nothing.
If anyone were to ask what he had done to achieve this state, he was not sure they would believe the answer. Legends spoke of years of meditation and fasting, of dangerous and hazardous quests with no thought of reward, of selfless service to a lord over many lifetimes.
Marrain had done none of these things. All it had taken for him to achieve perfection was the murder of a woman he had never loved.
But he could not explain that to anyone. No one would believe him. Or worse, they would believe him, but they would not understand.
He still thought of Berevain constantly, but not with regret for her death, not with desire for her beauty, and not with fear for her loss. He knew it would be better if he never thought about her at all rather than imagine her in such clinical, sterile terms, but that was one link to the past he could not break.
He looked at the man in front of him, and knew that he would not ask. That was the first way to perfection, he knew. He knew that now.
Not to seek it.
Without saying anything, Parlonn stepped over the dead body of the Shadow Beast and stood before him. It was a duelling position. He was silent as he looked into Marrain's eyes. Marrain returned the gaze, seeing strength and steel within the deep blue.
There seemed to be nothing else. Just the two of them. Marrain realised that Parlonn had no need to ask how to obtain perfection.
Finally, time slowing around them, Parlonn nodded, then stepped back over the body of the creature. It had come for Marrain, tearing apart the walls of the cell to reach him. Marrain had killed it. Remove fear, remove desire, remove regret, and it was impossible to lose any fight.
"You are free," Parlonn said. "As free as anyone is on this station. It is dying."
Marrain nodded. He knew that.
"You can go where you wish. You can fight, you can die, you can try to flee if you want."
Marrain waited. A question was coming.
"Why did you come here?"
"Why did you come here?" he repeated
Parlonn's eyes narrowed. "You are a warrior, and I know better than to imagine you had a part in Hantiban's dealings. I could not leave you here to die."
"The rest?" Parlonn stiffened. "Truth."
"Derannimer insisted. She says there is a.... purpose to your presence. She wanted me to use whatever political influence I have to set you free. The attack made that a little unnecessary. I have to get her away from here, and I knew you could help.
"I do not like you. I will never forget that you led an army to abduct her and to capture my home, but I know you are a warrior, and I know she believes in you. That will have to be enough.... for now.
"So tell me again, and be quick.
"Why did you come here?"
"To find the only person I ever met who considered me a man of honour."
Parlonn nodded, satisfied. "Come, then. I know where she is. She is safe.... for the time being."
"No," Marrain replied. "Nowhere is safe.
"Nowhere."
* * * * * * *
The man this child marries shall have lordship and dominion over all Minbari.
Derannimer had never heard those words spoken by the being who had uttered them. She had never seen the entity who had made the prophecy that would destroy her. If she could have seen it, she would not have known what to say to it. She knew only that those words had touched her always. As a child. As a woman.
As the daughter of a lord.
As the daughter of a warrior.
Magatsen was there, standing calmly. His two Moon Shield honour guards were there, ready for any threat. Unari was there, looking at her with something that might have been disdain or might have been pride. Unari's two Wind Sword guards were there also, standing beside their Warsecond.
None of them seemed especially worried. Why should they? Derannimer was only a woman of the religious caste. Without warriors to command she was nothing. She was shorter than they were, slighter than they were, weaker than they were. Her guards were elsewhere
She looked up at Unari, tilting her head. She wondered if the being who had made that prophecy cared about the people who would die seeking to fulfill it. She wondered if Minbari lives meant anything to the Vorlons.
The two Wind Swords stepped forward. She knew all about the Wind Swords. They were fearless and ruthless, trained on the cold, hard mountains around Shirohida. They liked to boast that they were as rock. But their ruthlessness would have to be tempered. They would have to take her alive. Hantiban did not want her dead. That gave her an advantage. Also, they believed themselves superior to everyone else. She was a daughter of the Fire Wings who had inflicted on the Wind Swords their greatest defeat. That would cause anger. Given enough provocation, they could kill her. That was an advantage too. Better death than to be the slave of a man she did not love.
They were arrogant, and that led to complacency. She was a woman, a priestling, weak-willed and weak-bodied.
But she was the daughter of Warleader Shuzen, the descendant of Emperor Shingen, and she had spent her whole life in the company of Parlonn, who would one day rise almost as high as she would.
She looked into the eyes of the two Wind Swords. They were not afraid, not even concerned. She wanted to remember their faces. Someone would have to, and she had the greatest responsibility.
She was the one who would kill them.
The dechai hidden against her side was cold and heavy. Parlonn had insisted she should wear it always. He had trained her in drawing and striking in one smooth motion, practising for long nighttime hours until her arms burned, her muscles ached, and her body trembled.
She kept her gaze on the eyes of the first Wind Sword. She wondered if Marrain knew him. She wondered if Parlonn had found Marrain. She wondered if either of them was still alive.
There was no thought, no concern, nothing but the draw and the strike. The Wind Sword did not even blink as the blade of the dechai sliced across his throat. He fell, and she turned instantly to the second. The others were moving now, with equally instinctive speed, but apart from the other Wind Sword, they were too far away.
She gripped the handle of her weapon tightly as she swung at the warrior's head. He drew his blade and raised it to parry her attack. She ducked, twisted the blade, and struck under the parry, slicing into the warrior's chest. The razor-sharp blade did its work and he too fell.
She knew she was not strong. She knew she did not have the raw power that warriors such as Unari had, but Parlonn had trained her well. Finesse, skill and speed defeated raw power.
But they achieved little against overwhelming numbers. There were four of them and only one of her. Unari and Magatsen she knew to be better than she was. The best she could hope for was death. Unari's eyes were blazing, and she could see the anger there. She remembered five years ago, at Ashinagachi, looking into his eyes as his blade was at her throat and his grasp tight around her wrist.
Her resolve was as iron.
Then there was a blur of motion and two beings descended from nowhere, blades flashing. Their clothes were torn, their bodies scarred by cuts and wounds aplenty, but they were the warriors of the age, the two who would lay their mark on this time and shake worlds with their tread. They were Earth and Fire.
And as Marrain and Parlonn fought to defend her, Derannimer knew that she was Air, and she moved forward to fight beside them.
* * * * * * *
Unari's blood touched the cold floor, and for an instant he could see the mountains of Shirohida above him. He could see his ancestors walking there, hands outstretched, welcoming him home.
He had betrayed no one. He had served his lord as a warrior should. He had died in battle as a warrior should. He had fought, and lived, and died, with honour.
His one wish was that he could have died beneath Shirohida, beneath the mountains of his home, rather than here, countless miles into space, among alien stars and alien worlds.
The stone warrior stood above him, and he had known from the instant of his arrival that he had lost. One look into his eyes had sealed that.
"Ah," he sighed. "Why did you ever leave us? Why?"
"You know why," the man of stone replied.
"Her.... you never loved her."
"No."
"Then why?"
"She deserved better."
"Look at you.... look at yourself now. You are stronger with her gone than you ever could have been before. She.... weakened you."
"It was a weakness I could accept."
"You never.... never should have left. All he did.... all he talked about.... was you.
"I stayed. I served loyally and honourably. It was right that I do so. All I ever wanted was to serve. I stayed and served and....
"And you were all he ever talked about.
"How could I defeat you? How could I ever destroy you? How could I prove myself better than a....
"A memory.
"I thought that if.... if I brought her to him, then.... then he would finally accept me.
"And now....
"Now I am dying. Here. Among alien stars.
"You know what I want. Give me that much at least! I served when you left. I served when you abandoned us. Even in exile, I still served when so many did not.
"You owe me this much at least."
"Can you kneel?"
"Yes."
He struggled up, feeling the warmth of his blood flow over his hands. He looked up at the stone warrior and reached out to grasp the blade of the dechai as it was placed over his heart. The edges of the blade were sharp against his skin, but he did not care.
Unari saw the understanding in Marrain's eyes as the blade slid home, and then he was beneath the mountains again, and his ancestors were there to welcome him.
* * * * * * *
Cathedral, on the edges of perception.
The Earth year 2263.
Sinoval paused, looking far into the distance, seeing things beyond the reach of mortal eyes.
"Few survived Giseinotoshi. The station was destroyed, torn apart by the Shadows. Few remember that now, just as few remember Markar'Arabar, or any of the other early battles.
"And even fewer know all the stories of the war. Individual stories of the courage of people whose names are long forgotten. There are billions upon billions of beings in this galaxy and each of them has their own story. That is perhaps what is so evil about what the Vorlons are doing. They are taking away our stories.
"Many died there, but some survived. A'Iago Mar-Khan survived, carried to safety by some of his students, but he was badly wounded. Kin Stolving survived, her faith in her Gods carrying her through.
"And of course Marrain and Parlonn and Derannimer survived. Had they fallen, many stories would have been shorter, and we would all have been diminished. Some say it would have been better if Marrain or Parlonn had died there, but not I. We learn far more from stories of failure and betrayal than we ever could from those of victory or loyalty.
"But they survived, fleeing through space in a lonely flyer, with no jump engines and little hope, but they were warriors and they knew better than to let fear overcome them. There was always some hope. Always.
"Giseinotoshi is not a part of most stories. In fact the true tale was just about to begin, when Marrain and Parlonn set foot on what you call Babylon Four. That was a beginning of sorts, but only if we forget everything that happened before.
"Besides, there is never a true beginning.
"Never."
* * * * * * *
Somewhere adrift in space.
The year 333.
The smell of blood was everywhere, filling him, filling his mind, filling his senses. Marrain knew better than to offer assistance. It was not the warrior's way. Besides, it would cheapen both of them. He knew that Parlonn would survive. He was strong enough.
Parlonn was leaning against the wall, hands pressed tight against the deep wound in his side. Magatsen had been a more-than-capable warrior and the fight had been harder than either of them had expected. Marrain had been surprised by Derannimer's contribution, but he supposed he should not have been. She was the daughter of warriors, and she had a warrior's soul.
But she could not hide the fear in her eyes as she looked at Parlonn's injuries. She was pressing a cloth against the cut, cloth torn from her own robe, but it was doing very little.
"You are not going to die," she whispered. "You are not going to die."
"Of course he is not," Marrain said. She started, as if only just remembering he was there. "Not from that." It was true. The wound was serious, and might have been fatal to a lesser man, but Parlonn was not a lesser man. It would take someone better than Magatsen to finish him.
It would take someone like Marrain himself.
"Enough," Parlonn said gently. "There is little we can do here." He spoke with grim determination, allowing no hint of his pain to taint his voice. "Leave me to meditate. It will slow the blood flow and gain us time. A ship should be passing soon, looking for survivors."
Derannimer might have a warrior's skills, but not a warrior's ruthlessness. Marrain realised that she had taken Parlonn's words at face value. But there would be little help from any ship coming this way. They were hours away from Giseinotoshi. Ships had scattered in all directions, most of them bigger than the small flyer they had taken. It might be many hours before the first scouts would return to regroup, even if they could avoid the Shadow vessels.
Besides, the returning ships would probably be Moon Shields or Wind Swords, and they would simply kill him and Parlonn and take Derannimer.
Marrain met Parlonn's eyes with a glimmer of understanding. A silent message passed between kindred spirits.
If they take us, we will end it for her. Quickly and painlessly.
Parlonn limped into the small sleeping compartment, while Marrain led Derannimer back to the control room. They could see everything from there, but he knew there would be nothing to see but empty space. There was nothing out here.
Nothing but an empty, pale, honourless death. This was no way for a warrior to die.
Parlonn knew it too. The moment had come and gone.
The fight had been over. The blood of the morr'dechai had still been on Marrain's hands, and he had turned to face Parlonn. There was an issue to be decided, an issue that had been unresolved for too long. Parlonn had raised his dechai, adopting his stance, and Marrain made ready to meet him. Then Derannimer had moved forward, and Parlonn had collapsed from his wound, and the moment had passed. Without words, without thought, both of them knew what had to be done. Get her to safety.
They had done that, but the chance for an honourable death had been lost, perhaps forever. Strangely, Marrain did not hate Derannimer for her unwitting rôle in that. He did not think he could hate her for anything, even before he had become as stone.
"We are going to die, aren't we?" she said softly. He turned to look at her. There was no self-pity in her voice, no agonised pleading, just rational acceptance.
There was no thought of lying to her. "Yes," he said.
"You don't sound afraid."
"I do not fear anything these days, lady."
"No." She shivered, and held herself tight. It was cold here, although Marrain doubted that had anything to do with anything. "No. You have changed. I saw it in your eyes. I...." She paused, as if deciding whether to continue with what she was saying. "I feel sorry for you," she whispered finally.
He said nothing. He had not expected that. Fear, yes. Revulsion, envy, anger.... He had experienced all these things from others in the five years since Berevain had.... died.
But never pity.
"You feel nothing," she said. "What is life worth without feeling? That is not living, that is just.... existing. One day after another. An endless stream of.... of nothing. Did you love her so much that you would destroy the rest of your future without her?"
Marrain stiffened. "How did you...?"
"I heard the stories, of course. I heard about her death, and I saw the way she looked at you - just that once, when you were at Ashinagachi. I envied her. To look at someone that way, to know that.... there was one person you had found who meant so much to you. You were lovers, weren't you?"
"Yes, but we were not in love."
"Maybe you weren't. Would she have liked you as you are now?"
"No."
She nodded, then fell silent for a long time. Usually he liked silence. Not now. Something about her made him feel very uncomfortable, all the more so when she was not speaking.
"What did you mean?" he said at last. She looked at him. "You said you envied Berevain."
"She loved you. It was so.... obvious. I wished there was someone I could look at like that. Even when I was a child, my father promised me he would never force me to marry a man I did not love. I used to dream of falling in love, but now.... No man can think about anything but my dowry. I must be the most sought-after maiden in all history. I bring not only a clan, but an Empire."
"The promise of an Empire, only."
"No. It is true. I can.... feel it sometimes. I look behind me and for an instant I think I see someone there, a man who will shake worlds with his voice. And then.... I always feel so angry."
"Angry?"
"Who are these people? How dare they ruin my life like this? Why me? What do I have that is so special as to be worth an Empire? Why would such a man fall in love with me? But no, the Vorlons have spoken, and I will pay the price.
"Would you have come to Ashinagachi were it not for that? Would my father have died without that prophecy? Would Magatsen have turned traitor and Parlonn lie dying if I were not promised to be an Empress?"
"Sometimes things simply are," Marrain said.
"Of course," she whispered. "Some things simply are. Why me? Tell me that." Her voice was flat and hard. Marrain had heard warriors speak with less determination. "Why me?"
"I do not know," he heard himself saying, but that was a lie. He did know.
Because she carried the blood of Shingen. Because she had a beauty to make monks tremble, and a soul to match. Because she knew no malice, no hatred for any living being, even her enemies. Because any man worthy of winning her heart would be worthy to lead armies and compel men to die in his name. Because any warrior would be proud to die in her name.
He did not say those things of course, but he thought them, and the thoughts troubled him.
"We are not going to die here," she said. "I know that. The Vorlons are not going to let their daughter of prophecy die."
"You have a greater faith than I do."
"It is not faith," she replied. "I do not know what it is, but it is not faith."
A few minutes later, a few minutes of comfortable, companionable silence, their sensors detected the ships. Minbari. Two warships and several fighters. Not near. Perhaps not near enough to have detected something as small as the flyer. But they would.... soon.
"What are they?" Derannimer asked, her voice very quiet. "They are here to help us, yes?"
Marrain looked at her, his hand brushing lightly against the hilt of his dechai, remembering his pact with Parlonn. They could be Moon Shields or Wind Swords. They could be ships that had been taken over by the Shadows or their minions.
They could be any number of things other than safety.
If they take her, we will end it for her, quickly and painlessly.
That was when their sensors detected the space station.
* * * * * * *
"You have killed us all! Every last one of us."
Darkness blanketed the earth and the sky. The world was dead, and soon they would be dead too. Marrain's solid presence was at his back, but they were both only mortal and soon one of them would fall, and then it would all be over. Then came the light, and his lungs filled with blood.
"Some time, before the end, we will find each other. And then we will know."
"Of course! Other options, exactly. I shall grub in the dirt like a peasant, or perhaps make little pieces of pottery for baking flarn. Wait, I have it. I shall beg on street corners for a pittance. That is your brave new world."
"Listen, at least. We lie, yes, and we have lied, but we do not lie now. Listen, and if you disagree you may leave, but at least hear us. Well, will you listen?" "I will hear your words."
The heat of the forge burned his skin, but he did not flinch. He stretched out his hand and the fire consumed it, but he plucked his blade from the heat and both he and it were stronger than before.
"Till shade is gone, till water is gone."
It was the end, and the time had come. The dark walls of black stone loomed over them and there was no light - but neither of them needed light. They fought by the power of their souls and the ties of their honour.
And on Babylon 4, voices both his own and others' ringing in his ears, Parlonn ignored the wound in his side and raised his weapon, and Marrain raised his to meet him.
* * * * * * *
The place was strange and alien, but they all seemed to recognise it. Derannimer paled, and began to pray under her breath. Parlonn emerged from his meditation, the pain from his wound now less. And Marrain said nothing and did nothing, just continuing to stare.
They docked, helpless to do anything else. Call it fate, destiny, coincidence, Vorlon manipulation, it does not matter. They were there.
And if this was the beginning, then the visions they all saw there were the end.
* * * * * * *
"I live for the One. I die for the One."
"I hate them." His voice was hard and unforgiving, but his eyes revealed the truth. "So do I."
The still water of the pool reflected the dying sun. He was standing there waiting, always waiting. Waiting for her.
"I stand on the bridge and no one may pass."
"Are you afraid?" "Yes." "So am I."
She held the baby in her arms and looked into his eyes, marvelling at the creation of new life, of a new people, of a new world.
"There will be peace. A thousand years of peace, during which no Minbari shall slay another, during which we shall learn again to be what we always should have been."
"You will die! You do not have to do this!" "We all die, Nemain. And I have to do this. I believe in him, even if no one else does, even if no one else ever will."
"Then do this in testimony to the One who will follow, who will bring death couched in the promise of new life, and renewal disguised as defeat."
"Catherine...."
"I will not allow harm to come to you here, in my great house."
Derannimer knelt, tears streaming from her eyes. The room was still and silent and empty, but without knowing why, she wept, bitterly and painfully, for a future she did not yet know.
* * * * * * *
The very instant they set foot on the alien station, the visions came. Derannimer began to shake, tears sparkling in her beautiful eyes, and then she ran, not knowing where.
Parlonn made to follow her, but then he stopped, an expression of infinite sorrow passing over his face.
Marrain reached for his dechai.
* * * * * * *
"There is still time." "Time for what? They will never forgive me for what I have done. You know that." "That is not what I was referring to."
"To the last flame of honour, to the last fading breath...."
The fire was all around him, touching his skin without burning it, burning his soul without touching it. He was ready to accept death after all, when he saw the alien.
"I hate them." She raised her head, her eyes filled with tears. "So do I."
"Where are your dreams now, Anla'Verenn-veni? Where are your glories, your triumphs, your holy places? Lost and scattered to the three winds, all of them. Dead, dead, dead...."
"I did not love you then. Perhaps I should have done. Perhaps I should love you now." "Only perhaps?" "Perhaps more than that."
"They are dead. All of them." He was covered in blood, some of it likely to be his own. His tunic was torn and ragged, his eyes dull and heavy. "Parlonn?" "Dead. All of them."
The light was above him, shining and burning and searing. He looked across and saw the terrible serenity in his face, the understanding, and worst of all, the forgiveness. An arm was outstretched, and he screamed.
"May they forgive him his choices, just as they will surely never forgive mine."
"You did not tell her the truth? The whole truth?" "No. Should I have?" "No." "Do you regret it now? What you did?" "No. Should I?" "No."
"Is she pretty, do you think?" "How should I know? Perhaps." "Hmm.... that is what I was thinking."
It was the end, and the time had come. The dark walls of black stone loomed over them and there was no light - but neither of them needed light. They fought by the power of their souls and the ties of their honour.
And on Babylon 4, voices both his own and others' ringing in his ears, Marrain spun his dechai in his hands, blocking Parlonn's attack. He leapt backwards, and let Parlonn follow him.
* * * * * * *
And then came the voice.
"Stop it! This is being not good! No, not good at all! You listen to Zathras! Everyone listen to Zathras."
* * * * * * *
"They're here, aren't they?"
<Yes.>
* * * * * * *
"If Valen can listen to Zathras, you can listen to Zathras."
* * * * * * *
"There are other ships too. I can feel them. Close, and coming closer."
<These fugitives are but the first. There will be others. Regrouping, searching.>
* * * * * * *
"Zathras says stop fighting. This is not right. Not to fight!"
* * * * * * *
"I know what is going to happen. I know what they are going to do."
<Yes.>
* * * * * * *
"<Click, click> That is better."
* * * * * * *
"I can't stop it. I can't stop either of them betraying me."
<No.>
* * * * * * *
"Who are you?"
"Zathras told you. Zathras is Zathras."
* * * * * * *
"Why not? Would things not have been better if both of them had stayed loyal?"
<No.>
* * * * * * *
"What are you?"
"Zathras has told you. Zathras is Zathras."
* * * * * * *
"It is easy for you to say all these things. It is easy for you to tell me I am to do nothing when I know they will betray me. I can prevent the war. I have the one thing everyone throughout history has always wanted. A second chance. And you tell me not to use it?"
<Yes.>
* * * * * * *
"Why are you here?"
"Ah. That is better question. Zathras is here to lead you to Valen."
* * * * * * *
"I can save your life. I can tell you something that would save your life."
<I already know. It is not for any of us to alter fate. What is, is.>
* * * * * * *
"Who is...?"
"You know. See, Zathras knows you know. You have been waiting for him, and he has been waiting for you. A very, very long time."
* * * * * * *
"And if I can do better, make a better world? Is that not the point of all this?"
<And if the world you make is worse, and not better?>
* * * * * * *
"Where is this.... Valen?"
"This way. You be following Zathras now."
* * * * * * *
"Who is to say?"
<Precisely.>
* * * * * * *
"Derannimer! Where is she?"
"We have to find her."
"No, no. Is no worry. She is safe here, in his great house."
* * * * * * *
"Ah. I understand. I wish I did not, but I do."
<Understanding is a three-edged sword.>
* * * * * * *
"She is safe?"
"As safe as.... Zathras does not know how safe, but she is safe. No harm here. Not to her."
* * * * * * *
"Ah.... Ah."
* * * * * * *
"<Click, click> Good, good. Zathras knew you would come.
"This way. This way."
* * * * * * *
"I welcome you, and present this place to you as a gift.
"I am called Valen, and we have much work ahead of us."
* * * * * * *
Cathedral, on the edges of perception.
The Earth year 2263.
"It is.... hard to explain. You aren't a warrior. You didn't.... have the right training. There is an aspect of it, beyond the physical, beyond the mere art of killing someone. There is the spiritual, the mystical, the sense of.... wonder.
"Without that, we would never have been anything more than simple murderers. With it, we were warriors. A tiny difference in words, perhaps, but a massive one in meaning.
"Somewhere along the way, we lost that sense of wonder, that.... understanding of what it means to be a warrior. I have known a very few who still preserved it, and they were.... they were giants. Varmain was the last, I think, and she died when I was only a student.
"She told me something, once. 'Fight to save the world but once, and it shall reward you every single day.' I still remember her dying words. She saw all the marvels of her life, and all the glories and opportunities and wonders it had afforded her.
"We have lost all that now, and very few of us had it even then. But some did. Marrain.... I think he did not. He was too blinded by honour and by duty and by Berevain's senseless death. He may have recovered it later, but only for a short time, and by then it was far too little and far too late. I think that may have been his greatest tragedy.
"Parlonn.... he still had it. I am sure of that. He could be a cruel man at times, and his biting sarcasm was legendary. He had no time for those he considered worthless, but for a comrade, for someone he truly respected, there could be no greater friend.
"He was a romantic, even as Marrain was a cynic. Parlonn still looked for beauty everywhere - in combat, in space, in nature, even in pain. He found it there on Babylon Four, on Anla'Verenn-veni. He found it with Valen, and with the Vorlons. How majestic they must have seemed, the Gods of old. They can be impressive, I will grant them that. Evil, manipulative, uncaring monsters they may be, but they know how to make an entrance.
"As on the Day of Light they used it to full effect, though they hardly needed to.
"That day became known as the First Day, and it was all Valen's."
* * * * * * *
Babylon 4, Anla'Verenn-veni.
The First Day, the year 333 since the ascension of Shingen.
Neither of them moved, not for a long time. The light of the Gods above them bathed their faces and burned their eyes, but neither of them turned away. Valen's presence sang to them, but neither of them stepped forward.
They were simply still, feeling the weight of destiny upon them, feeling the universe turn around them. Both knew that this was a place and a time that would be remembered always. Everything that had happened before this was as nothing. Markar'Arabar, Ashinagachi, Shirohida, Giseinotoshi, the Day of Light, all of it. Nothing.
In time that would become galling, but not today.
Parlonn finally stepped forward, walking through the light cast by the Vorlons to stand before Valen. He did not blink, but merely knelt in one smooth motion. His dechai was in his hands, outstretched before him. Valen looked at it, and then at Parlonn's face.
"Till shade is gone," he began.
Marrain stepped forward beside him and knelt in the same way, holding out his dechai. "Till water is gone."
The ancient oath of a warrior to his lord, not spoken in centuries. There were many rituals and many oaths of fealty, but this one alone held the power. This was the oath by which the defeated warlords of Minbar had sworn fealty to Shingen at Ashinagachi.
"To the last flame of honour, to the last fading breath...."
Valen watched impassively, no expression in his eyes. Parlonn had begun the words first, just as Parlonn would betray him first.
"My service is yours to call, my blade yours to wield, my life yours to take...."
Their lives belonged to no one but themselves. They would have to learn that in time, or they would lose everything. They could choose to give their lives for a greater cause, yes, but he could not take them as of right.
"My day ever in your service, my night ever at your guard...."
It was ironic, and irony was not something he liked. There was no point in them serving him unless they did so of their own free will, and yet that same free will was what would drive them away from him. These were the mistakes he would make, the mistakes he knew he would make, the mistakes he was powerless to alter.
"To stand at the bridge on the last fatal day."
The words stopped, their voices rang hollow, and a grim silence fell over the chamber. He could refuse their service, he could force them along a different path. He could find out why they would betray him, and change things so that they did not.
But no. He could do none of these things. Kosh's sacrifice a thousand years in the future had released him from the Vorlons' mental commands, but he was as trapped as he had ever been when they were still in his mind. Bound by history, by destiny, by necessity.
He stretched out his hand and touched Parlonn's blade, and then Marrain's.
"Rise, Parlonn, Warleader of the Fire Wings. Rise, Marrain, Warleader of the Wind Swords. Rise, and serve me."
They did so. Marrain looked.... not confused, but surprised. It was hard to be sure. Very little emotion showed on his face.
"I am not...." he began.
"You are now," came the reply. "There is someone else here."
"Derannimer," Parlonn said. "A lady of my clan. She.... fled when we arrived. Your.... creature said she was safe."
"She is, and Zathras is no one's creature. He is my companion and my friend, and will be addressed as such."
Parlonn bowed his head. "By your command, lord, so shall it be."
"And there is no need to call me 'lord'. I am Valen. No more. She is coming now. She will find her own way here."
"What was it that we saw?" Marrain asked. "Omens, or nothing more than illusions? Are they real?"
"They were visions, encompassing this place. Signs and portents of the destiny that surrounds us all."
"Are they real?"
"They are what will come to pass. However, they may not transpire as any of us expect. They will fade soon."
Marrain's dark eyes became darker still. He looked at Parlonn. "Very well."
The sound of footsteps caught his ears, and he looked past the two warriors. A woman was entering the chamber. He straightened. He knew who she must be, just as he knew what would come to pass between them. But despite all he knew, there was much that he did not. He had never known what Marrain and Parlonn looked like. He had never known how it felt to touch a dechai. He had never heard their voices pledging fealty to him.
All he had known were facts. Cold, sterile facts.
Derannimer moved forward, and Marrain and Parlonn stepped aside to allow her to reach him. She had found this chamber easily. She looked at him, and his heart almost stopped.
"Catherine...." he whispered.
She started, and made to say something, but then she stopped and knelt, exactly as Marrain and Parlonn had knelt. She began to speak, but he walked to her side and gently touched her chin. Her skin was so soft, and so warm, and he could feel her pulse beating beneath his fingers.
Her eyes were so beautiful. They were not Catherine's eyes. She did not have Catherine's figure, or her voice, or her eyes, but she had one thing that made all those irrelevant.
"You will never need to kneel before me," he said. "Never."
She had Catherine's soul.
He took a slow step back, not wanting to tear his eyes away from her. He looked at them all. Marrain, the Betrayer, the man of stone. Parlonn, the warrior, the leader, forged in fire. Derannimer, the lover, with the heart of purity and the voice of air.
And Zathras, companion, friend. Always.
"The others will come soon," he said. "The army will reform, and our people will be made new. We will be strengthened by loss and struggle, and we will be as one. We will take the war to the Enemy, and we will destroy them.
"And then...."
He looked closely at Marrain and Parlonn.
"And then we will make a better world, a finer, better world to live in."
* * * * * * *
And so they came, one by one they came and knelt before him, swearing their lives to his cause. Kin Stolving, who would teach them compassion. A'Iago Mar-Khan, who would teach them discipline. Rashok of Dosh of the Moon Shields, who would learn mercy. And Nukenn of Zir, who would learn war, and the price of war.
The first months passed swiftly. Valen called together the heads of the castes, the clans, the fanes, all of them. Most came to him. Some did not. Marrain and Parlonn convinced many by their very presence. Valen spoke to them. Most listened. Some did not.
But few were prepared to bend. The warriors, Marrain and Parlonn amongst them, objected to permitting the religious and worker castes to fight in the war. And so it was that Valen formed the Rangers. A'Iago Mar-Khan at last found his purpose in the galaxy, and he began to train them. Neither Marrain nor Parlonn joined, but Derannimer did. Valen denied his Rangers the right of morr'dechai, and strongly dissuaded its use amongst the warrior clans. In any event, few chose the honourable death. There were now few causes of dishonour that would justify morr'dechai.
The warrior clans were as divided as they had ever been, but now those who wanted unity at least had a leader to rally behind. As one, the Fire Wings fell behind Parlonn and their Lady of Ashinagachi - Derannimer. A few of the Wind Swords chose to die honourably by morr'dechai, where Valen could not see, but many knelt before Marrain, pleading for forgiveness. He granted it. Hantiban remained missing, as did a few of his closest honour guard. After Magatsen's death the Moon Shields chose a new Warleader. They dedicated themselves to fighting the war, but did not accept Valen as their leader.
Valen destroyed rules, he destroyed traditions, he destroyed rights and privileges dating back thousands of years, but the mass of the people followed him. A few did not, and there were many attempts to kill him, but they all failed - prevented by his Anla'shok, or the Vorlons, or his strange companion, Zathras.
Valen moved through Minbari society and the worlds trembled at his footfall, as they had to Shingen's three hundred years earlier.
And with him always were Marrain and Parlonn, as close to him as his own shadow.