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| Volume 5: Among the Stars, like Giants | Part II: Tales of Valen |
THE year 334 since the ascension of Shingen, one year to the day since the arrival of Valen.
Mount H'leya.
Derannimer shielded her eyes from the light as she looked up at the mountain, and the people standing there. There were five of them, although in two cases the word 'people' was not entirely accurate. The two were Vorlons, ancient, beautiful beings of light and primaeval wonder, Gods given flesh.
But they only drew her attention for a moment, despite their beauty, despite their power. She was not sure if she hated them or adored them. When she was a child, a Vorlon had prophesied that the man she married would rule the Minbari. She had loathed and feared that prophecy, just as she had loathed and feared the dreams it had brought, and the deaths.
Now.... things were different. Over the past year, she had come to understand. A part of her still hated them, but another part.... another part of her understood at last.
She turned her gaze to the person next to them. She had known Parlonn ever since she had been a child. Her father's greatest warrior, and ultimately his successor, Parlonn had protected her, fought for her, bled for her, trained her, and then had to watch as she grew stronger, faster and more skilled than he had ever been able to make her. She felt sorry for him for that, but she could not tell him why. He had never been the right teacher for her. His ways were the old ways, the ways of a warrior. She was a woman, and she had chosen the religious caste of her mother over the warrior's path of her father. He had always resented that, even if he did not show it. It was inevitable that his teaching of her would always have been.... flawed.
He wore the garb of a warrior. He had never joined the Rangers, and he never would. He did not explain his reasons, but she knew. He would never consent to be trained by an alien. He would never consent to fight beside priests and workers. He would never swear oaths that were different from those of a warrior. He would never be anything but a warrior.
Derannimer loved him, like a strange combination of father and brother and oldest friend, but she wished he could change, even a little.
Opposite Parlonn was another warrior who had refused to take the Rangers' oath. Like Parlonn, Marrain was a warrior of the old days, the old ways. He belonged to an earlier age, when one man's skill and one man's honour were enough to shake earth and sky, stone and firmament. That day was gone, and Marrain knew it as surely as Parlonn did. He did not let his anger dominate him, but he too would never change, never adapt, never be anything other than what he was.
Derannimer did not know if she loved him or not. He was a man of great honour and strong conviction. He was a man of power now, Warleader of the Wind Swords, where once he had been an outcast. But inside he was nothing but rock. A woman he had never loved had died horribly and it had destroyed him.
Sometimes, only sometimes, she caught a glimpse of something more in him, in his eyes, in his voice. Only when he was with her. She knew he was displaying a side of himself that no one but Berevain had ever seen. There was so much potential within Marrain, although whether for good or ill or - more likely - both, she was not sure.
And then there was Valen.
She looked at him, and her heart sang. She heard his voice, and it was music to her. She shared his convictions, she followed his path, she held to his beliefs. He was the man who had been prophesied for her, she knew that now.
The man who would rule the Minbari, not through force of arms, not through military strength, or terror, or bloodshed, but by conviction and belief and love.
She was relieved by his presence, for at long last the weight of the prophecy was lifted from her. He would rule the Minbari, and she would marry him. But she did not know how much of the love she bore him was her own, and how much was the prophecy.
Valen stepped forward, and she saw him looking down. The plains were full of his people, of her people. He had no lineage, no ancestors, no clan or fane or caste. Some people said that made him nothing. Derannimer knew that it made him everything.
A golden light seemed to radiate from his eyes, from his very being. Her hands shaking, Derannimer smoothed down the folds of her Anla'shok tunic, and listened as he began to speak.
* * * * * * *
"I did not come to you to fight a war. I did not come to you to win a war. The war is transitory. Wars always are. They bring death, they bring life. They bring heroism, and cowardice. They bring heroes and monsters. They bring light and they bring darkness.
"But they end. As all things end. This war will end.
"But the peace will endure. And it is the battle to win the peace that is the true struggle. Not merely for the warriors, or the Rangers, but for all of us. If we win this war but learn nothing from it then we might as well have lost. This is not a war for power, or honour, or revenge.
"It is a war for our future, and it is being fought within each and every one of us. Who are we? What do we all want? Whom do we serve? We must find answers to these questions. All of us. Myself included. I cannot answer them, not yet. Not alone. None of us can.
"But together....
"Together we will learn what we are, and what we must become. That will be the real fight. Not of weapons. Not of blood. Not of armies. But of hearts, of heroic zeal within all of us, of understanding, of knowledge.
"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.
"I have seen the times to come. I have seen the thousand years of peace. We will buy that peace at a terrible cost. It is for all of us to ensure that cost was worth the paying.
"All of us...."
* * * * * * *
They listened, and his words sang around the world. All who heard them or heard tell of them were changed. Some could explain the emotions running through them. Many could not.
Derannimer saw at last a way to help create a new future and undo the horrors that had brought her so much heartbreak. A'Iago Mar-Khan knew he would never see that future, but that those he trained would have a part in it. Kin Stolving was thinking of the mistakes her people had made and of how she would have a second chance to see they were never repeated.
Nukenn of Zir thought of his son, and his heart swelled with pride at the part the boy would play in this new world. Rashok of Dosh knew that such a new world would need defending, and it would not find him wanting. Ramde Zarwin of the Tak'cha saw at last a chance for his people to redeem themselves and find expiation for their sins. Nemain stood tall and proud in his Ranger's uniform and realised how fortunate he was to serve Derannimer and Valen, to have even so small a part in the new world.
Zathras was busily thinking about improvements to Babylon 4's defence systems, a little extra firepower here, clearing out parts of the hold, and that would make so much more room, and then.... and occasionally listening to the speech, and equally occasionally glancing at the faces of the two warriors by Valen's side.
Whatever Marrain and Parlonn thought, neither let it show on their faces.
* * * * * * *
The words echoed in the air, and in his mind, and on everyone's lips. The dying light of the sun touched Mount H'leya and those gathered beneath it, those who had come for one glimpse of their saviour, and for a chance to speak to him, to share his thoughts, to understand his dreams.
But for now, they could wait.
A clearing in the shadow of the mountain, silent and ancient and beautiful, rushing waters shining golden in the twilight. Valen sat in silent meditation. Mystics and leaders and prophets had been coming here for centuries to drink of the pure water and bask in the beauty. Valen would step forward to talk with his people soon, but for now he had to re-align himself. The speech had drained him, body and soul. The weight of future history had borne heavily upon him as the words rushed through him, water from the river of time.
Rangers guarded the entrance to the clearing. But there was only one other who waited here, a person he trusted, although he knew he should not.
Sighing, Valen opened his eyes. It was no good. Peace eluded him today. He wished Derannimer were here - with her he always felt at peace. But she had gone. She had wanted to talk to some people in the crowd, and Marrain had gone with her as a guard. Valen knew she would be safe. Marrain would betray him, but never her.
That left only Parlonn. He was standing on the other side of the clearing, his dechai always ready for combat. Valen had never wielded that weapon. He hated it, and he did not know how to use it. Each and every dechai was stained with blood, not just of its enemies, but of its owner. Every warrior who carried a dechai knew it might one day kill him.
That would stop. There was no sin in failure, no shame in admitting to weakness. No one would ever be forced to commit morr'dechai again. Never.
"What is it, Parlonn?" he asked. The warrior was projecting an aura of.... anger. Parlonn had seemed angry ever since the speech had begun. Marrain too.
"Nothing," came the reply.
"You will never need to lie to me, Parlonn. If I have offended you, say so. What is troubling you?"
Parlonn paused, as if considering this. Finally, he decided. "You have killed us all!" The words came out as fire, filled with rage and a boiling fury. "Every last one of us. You have killed us all!"
Valen stiffened, and rose to his feet. "What do you mean?" he asked calmly, keeping his voice level.
"Did you mean what you said, in that speech? Did you truly mean it, or was it all just.... a soothing balm for the masses?"
"I meant every word. You know that. Why do you ask?"
"A thousand years of peace, during which no Minbari shall slay another? Will that really come to pass?"
"Yes."
Parlonn shook his head. "Then you have killed us all," he sighed. "Every warrior living and breathing. You have killed us all. What will we do in this thousand years of peace? Who will there be for us to fight? We have grown stronger and nobler and wiser through war. It is who we are! It is what we are!
"Where is honour in peace? Where is glory in sitting alone, weapon unwielded? What is life without thoughts of death?"
"You will have a thousand years to answer those questions, Parlonn."
"No, I will not, and nor will any other warrior. We are at war now. I doubt that one in a hundred of us will survive this war. That is what you have done to us."
"I do not understand."
"No," Parlonn sneered, bitter sarcasm shining through. "Of course you do not. You would not. A glorious death in war and our clan will sing of it for centuries. Our ancestors will be honoured, and our descendants thrive on the memory and the example.
"A life of peace and contemplation? What glory in that? How can we honour our ancestors sitting in meditation for a thousand years? What great deeds shall our descendants sing of? How the noble warrior bravely sat and thought all his life?
"Every warrior capable of lifting a weapon will seek an honourable death in this war, Valen. Every one of us! Better a death in battle than a lifetime of peace.
"There, now do you understand? You have killed us all."
"That is the old way," Valen said, carefully. "Those days are dead. I am tired of seeing Minbari die for no reason but honour. Honour is important, yes, but not more than life! We have been losing writers and painters and poets for no better reason than that their honour demanded it. There are other ways than death, Parlonn. Other options, other paths to follow."
"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.
"If I am not a warrior, then what am I? I am nothing. Your thousand years of peace will have no place for warriors."
"It need not be that way."
"But it will be. We both know that. Are your meditations finished, lord? I have duties to attend to."
"Leave me, Parlonn. Inform Ranger Tulan that I am ready to greet those who wish to visit me now."
"As you command, lord."
Parlonn stormed away, and Valen leaned his head back in despair. It was Parlonn's nature. It was everything he had been raised and taught to accept. A warrior's way. A warrior's code. The old ways, and the old code.
Those ways were dead, and the next thousand years would be better. What wonders would be crafted without the ever-present thought of war hanging in the air? How much fuller would lives be in the knowledge that no one need die for the sake of honour?
How many would live to see those days?
Parlonn's words lodged in his heart. Some deaths were inevitable, he knew that, but the thought of a mass all-but-suicide of his warriors....
It was all so pointless!
"Pardon me, Holy One. Warleader Parlonn said you were ready to receive visitors now."
Valen looked up to see Tulan there. One of the youngest of his Rangers, but loyal and dedicated. Of the religious caste, he had taken readily to the Rangers' lifestyle. His father Nukenn welcomed his son's path.
"Yes, I am. Send them in." Most of the crowd wanted nothing more than a word of greeting or a chance to touch him. He would walk out amongst them later. But there were some who needed to speak in private, of important matters that must remain secret.
The first such visitor walked into the clearing, past the two Rangers. It was not Minbari. It was alien - shorter, thinner, with spindly arms and legs. A weapon that hung from its belt, a weapon that, a thousand years from now, any Minbari would recognise as a denn'bok.
"This one greets you humbly, Z'ondar," the visitor said. A cold finger touched Valen's heart. "I am known as Ramde Zarwin, of the Tak'cha. If I may be permitted to talk with you for some while...."
* * * * * * *
The world lay before them, out to the horizon, to the limits of perception. A world filled with stories and dreams and dreamers, with warriors waiting to die, with workers just beginning to learn what it was to live, and priests trying to understand both.
Derannimer felt as though she could throw herself from the top of the mountain and land wherever she wished in the galaxy. She felt oddly giddy, almost euphoric. Valen's words were still singing to her. A thousand years of peace. The idea seemed.... breathtaking.
Of course her companion did not react the same way. Marrain was standing calmly, arms folded high across his chest, looking almost a part of the mountain itself.
Derannimer turned to look at him. "You seem angry," she observed.
"No," he replied, calmly, flatly.
"Parlonn was angry."
"Yes."
She shook her head. "I understand why, but surely he can see this way is better. If this had happened earlier, Ashinagachi would never have been burned, so many people would never have had to die. That's what this is for. The dead. You see that...." She hesitated. "Don't you?"
"The dead are dead," he replied after a moment's thought. "Death reflects life, and life death. It is all a cycle. A young death in a fruitful life means much more than a long and lonely life filled with emptiness. Take away the fear of death, and how can there be true courage? Take away courage, and where is honour?"
"You don't see," she said, sadly. "My father spent the last years of his life crippled and broken. He needed someone to help him eat, to help him dress. Without war, he could be alive now. He could be writing, or sculpting, or doing anything at all."
"Your father was a fine man, and I was honoured to know him, however briefly. But it was war that gave his life meaning. Without war, what would he have been? Without war, what would his death have meant?"
She shook her head again, and sighed. "But you are not angry?"
"No. The words, the meaning.... they were all inevitable. Valen means to bring change. He wants order, stability, a new world filled with hope. In a thousand years people will no doubt hail his name and speak of him with reverence.... perhaps even worship. What matter those of us who live and die to follow him now?"
"That is unfair!" she snapped. "It is because he cares that he is doing this."
"I know. It is just.... galling to follow someone who does not understand us. He is a great man, perhaps the greatest I shall ever know, but he is not one of us. He does not understand us."
"One of us? You mean a warrior?"
"I mean a Minbari. Where is his clan? Where is his heritage? Where are his ancestors, the great deeds of his past? He came from nowhere to lead us. I follow him because I recognise his greatness, because he will win us this war, but I cannot deny that I do not feel the service I did to Hantenn. I will not betray him. I have betrayed one lord already, and I will not do so a second time, but sometimes I wonder about him."
"He is of all clans, and all castes. His heritage is of all of us."
"Or none."
"Does that matter?"
"No. It should, but it does not." Marrain paused, and looked at her. Battle-hardened warriors had quailed and trembled before his gaze of stone, but she felt no fear. She knew he would not harm her. "He is the one the Vorlons prophesied."
"Yes."
"The one who will rule all Minbari."
"Yes."
"The one you will marry."
Softly: "Yes."
"Do you love him?"
No hesitation. No doubt. "Yes."
He paused, then he nodded. His expression was unchanged. "Then that will have to be enough."
Then he was silent.
* * * * * * *
Cathedral.
"There was a brief period of quiet following the speech at Mount H'leya. It was a time of.... construction, not unlike what we are doing now. The Rangers grew in size and number as well as in skill, bolstered by many of the Tak'cha. They had sworn themselves to Valen through Zarwin, seeing a way to expiate the sins of their past.
"They had killed their God, you see, and they hoped to achieve forgiveness for that by serving someone their gods had chosen. It was ironic, and something they did not realise until far too late, that Valen was killing the Gods of the Minbari.
"The old Gods, the old ways. Gods called honour and morr'dechai and tradition. They might not have been the world-creating Supreme Beings that many races believed in. They were not even the ancestral sprits that the Vorlons pretended to be, but they were our Gods all the same. One by one, Valen killed them all.
"He did not abolish the rites of morr'dechai - he knew full well he could not. But he did discourage it. He did forbid any of the Rangers from wearing the crimson tears of shame. He did institute a new weapon for the Rangers. Not the dechai, not the ancient symbol of warriors stretching back a hundred generations.
"They used a new weapon, one he called the denn'bok. It was a more or less straightforward derivation of the Tak'cha weapon of choice, the barrken. Valen himself proved to be a natural at it, besting his tutor Zarwin after only a handful of lessons.
"How surprising was that, hmm?
"What must he have thought, as he learned from them, as he adopted into his culture and his society something that would endure for a thousand years, knowing that the people teaching it to him would take all the worst lessons from his teachings?
"I wonder.... sometimes I think of nothing else.... I wonder what he must have thought, knowing his allies would betray him, would do wrong when he so desperately wanted to do right. He would have thought about necessity. Some things had to be, however unpalatable, however uncomfortable or difficult or painful....
"Some things had to be.
"The war started again in earnest a few months after the speech, and this time there was to be no respite until the very end, many years away. We were bolstered by hope and salvation and unity, not to mention new allies. The Tak'cha....
"And the Vorlons, of course.
"Blindness is common amongst those who want to believe in dreams, it appears. Many praised the Vorlons for their aid. Few asked why they had not lent more solid assistance earlier. Need Markar'Arabar have happened? Or the fall of Giseinotoshi? Obviously they did, or the Vorlons would have prevented them.
"Valen was the inspiration all claim him to be, although there were rather more people dissatisfied with his rule than is now believed. Marrain and Parlonn.... they kept their differences with him to themselves, their unvoiced reservations always hanging in the air.
"When this is over....
"When it is all over.
"Something tends to intervene when promises like that are relied upon. Call it fate, destiny, karma, or simply blind luck, but something always happens.
"That something was Valen. Years of war were beginning to bear down on him - many years gone, and many more years still to come. After battle he would often spend time alone, mourning the dead. Not just Minbari and Tak'cha dead, but Shadow dead as well. He would not be interrupted during these times of meditation, not even by his closest friends and allies. His strange companion Zathras once physically forced Rashok of Dosh away from Valen's side during such a meditation, knocking the experienced warrior to the ground.
"Valen's dark thoughts of the future led him to try to intervene in other matters as well...."
* * * * * * *
The year 336 since the ascension of Shingen, the third year of Valen's arrival.
Babylon 4.
The stars stretched out into infinity before him. He felt as if he could reach out one hand and seize them in his closed fist. Their heat would not burn him, their power could not deter him. After all, was he not Valen, saviour of the Minbari, the One, he who would have lordship and dominion?
He could do anything, anything at all. He could make his people die for him, and they would, however hard he tried to turn them from that path. He could take the war to the Enemy and destroy them. He could create a new world and a new people and burn away so much of the old in the process that it hardly mattered whether he won or lost.
And he could create a thousand years of peace that he knew would end in war, a war whose result he would never know.
"For I am Valen," he said hollowly. "Behold my power."
The light emerged from behind him, but he did not turn. "You had no right to do that," he said angrily. He wished Derannimer were here. All the pains of his heart were less when she was around. But how much of that was her, and how much was Catherine?
<Some things are necessary. The dying leaf gives new life to the earth, but what does the earth think of the leaf?>
"I know that. I know all of that, but you still had no right to interfere."
<What you tried to do threatened all that will ever be. The future must be as you witnessed, or all will be as dust.>
"Hundreds of thousands are going to die, and that will only be the start of it. You are quite happy to let my words guide the future, to let me shape and mould it to your specifications, but you won't let me do that one little thing."
<Size is perception. Some large things look little, while little things seem to encircle the world.>
"I could have prevented it."
<No. You would have created something far worse.>
Valen turned to look at the brilliant creature of light by his side. He could look on the Vorlon without blinking, without flinching. He had not been raised on stories of the Gods as the Minbari had. To him Valeria and Varenni and Ra-Hel were just symbols, religious orders, names. It was ironic, but his presence had been responsible for that.
Besides, he knew this was not the Vorlon's true form. He had seen that many times in his dreams.
It was not Kosh. This was the one they called Ra-Hel. That could not have been his true name, but Valen did not care. He was in charge somehow, while Kosh was subordinate. Ra-Hel wore an encounter suit of pristine white that seemed to radiate purity and conviction. He preferred to appear as the God he was perceived to be, at least when he had the choice. It did not seem to tire him as it did the others.
"I wish Derannimer were here," he sighed. "Was that you as well? Did you make me love her?"
<No. That is beyond our power.>
"I have never known you admit that before." He was surprised. "How? I thought you could do everything."
<No. It is beyond our power because it is beyond our experience.>
"Then who is she? I know all about your little prophecy. Is she really Catherine?"
<No.>
"Ah.... then I am right, aren't I?"
<You created her. We did not. The ripples of your coming spread out far, long before you arrived. The time stream sent reflections to us, to all those who could read them. Images in a mirror, footsteps in the sand. We merely ensured what we saw in you would come to pass.>
"Hence your.... interruption this afternoon?"
<Yes. It was necessary.>
"I know," he sighed. "That does not mean I like it."
<Unnecessary. Look, she comes.>
Valen turned back to the window. A shuttle was approaching. He knew Derannimer was there, and his heart leapt. When he was apart from her, he questioned, he doubted, he wondered, but with her.... all his problems ceased. He knew that was not the answer, just as he knew that one day his greatest problem would have to be resolved alone.
But for now.... she was returning. Everything else could wait.
* * * * * * *
"The ways of the Z'ondar are not for us to understand." Parlonn had always been skilled at reading people. Warleader Shuzen had once said that the greatest warriors knew how to read their opponents, how to spot everything in their eyes - weakness, fear, doubt, anything a warrior could exploit to his advantage.
But try as he might, the utterly alien features of the Tak'cha remained illegible to him. Occasionally however, something shone through, and it would take a man much less skilled than Parlonn to miss the worry in Zarwin's voice.
"What happened?" Parlonn asked again. He had heard of a strange meeting earlier that day. Apparently Valen had summoned three of his servants together, to give them a special mission of some kind. By commissioning three, there was a greater chance of success. That was not a concept Parlonn had any trouble with. It made perfect sense.
But a mission he knew nothing about? And then to break it off, declaring it all to be a misunderstanding?
"The Z'ondar sent this one a message, summoning me to his side. 'Come to me, for there are important things I must discuss with you.' I was brought to him first.
"He said the three of us would be assigned a mission. He gave me a crystal, which he said contained a message, for one called Delenn, not of the present, but of the future."
"Delenn," Parlonn mused. He did not know that name. Some great leader of the future? A warrior.... no. Not in Valen's thousand years of peace. Every warrior alive would be baking flarn to survive two years after this war was over. "Continue."
"He spoke of avoiding a great misunderstanding, and that this message would help avoid it. And then....
"Then the Vorlon appeared."
"Which one?" Parlonn asked.
"The image was that of the Lord Tibor, the one you call Ra-Hel.
"Lord Tibor, Overlord of the Gods.... He merely hovered there. Neither he nor the Z'ondar spoke, but it seemed as though they were arguing. Finally the Z'ondar bowed before the Overlord, and said that he had only hoped to save the lives of many, but there was no choice.
"And Lord Tibor said there was a choice, but only one.
"The Z'ondar then apologised to me.... for wasting my time! Surely he realises that my time is his, just as everything that is mine is his! Then he left. Nukenn and Rashok arrived soon after, and they knew no more than I did.
"There is meaning here. I am sure of it, but the ways of the Z'ondar are seldom easy to understand."
"A misunderstanding," Parlonn said. "That was all?"
"Yes, but the Z'ondar has spoken to me of this before. He has said that he knew of a great war that would be caused by a misunderstanding, and that he could prevent that war. I have meditated on that problem many times, and yet I still do not understand.
"Why seek to prevent war? What greater glory can there be but to die in battle for a greater cause. I do not understand, but I am sure that comprehension will come in time."
"Thank you, Zarwin," Parlonn said. His words were cold, ashes in his mouth.
"Do you understand? You were the first to swear yourselves to the Z'ondar's side. Do you know what he means?"
"I think so," Parlonn replied.
"Ah," Zarwin said. "This one thanks you, Warleader. Understanding will come in time, with diligence and service and loyalty. I shall see to it that we are more devout in our service of the Z'ondar. My Ramdela has suggested that we build a shrine to him somewhere near here. Is there anything else, Warleader?"
"No. Thank you, Zarwin."
"We live for the Z'ondar. We die for the Z'ondar."
Parlonn only nodded in reply.
* * * * * * *
"What is it?"
Derannimer had been apart from him for months, travelling on a diplomatic mission to the Yolu. She had spent every moment thinking about him, about his words singing in her heart and in her mind. Her dreams were of him.
This was what love must feel like.
And yet she had returned, and she was with him again, and he was silent. He was still, staring into space.
"Are you angry?" she asked.
"Yes," Valen replied. He had not turned his head to look at her. He merely continued staring into space. "Yes, I am. Very angry. But not with you. Never with you."
"Then what? I did all I could. Perhaps.... perhaps you should have sent someone better."
"No!" he said passionately. He did turn to look at her. "No. That is not why I am angry. I could never be angry with you."
"Then what? Then why? Tell me."
"Have you ever wondered what it must be like to see the future? To know what will happen before it does. Does that not sound wonderful?
"It is not. Because I cannot change it. Not a single second of it. I know what will happen, I know when and I know why, and I can do nothing to prevent any of it. Footsteps in the sand. That is all I am.
"All I am."
"What have you seen? Did you have a vision while I was gone? What was it?"
"No. Not a vision. An understanding. The Yolu refused to help us, even merely to supply us with resources. I knew they would."
"Yes. They.... wished to remain uninvolved. They wished to be safe. I cannot say I blame them. Maybe.... someone more worthy than I."
"No," he said again. "You do not understand. It would have happened whomever I sent. They would refuse, and they are damned as a result. They have brought their own doom on their heads, and they do not realise it."
He sighed softly. "I tried to change things. I tried, but.... what good is it? There will be so many dead. So very many, and I could stop it. One word.... but the consequences of that...."
"What will happen? You said there would be a thousand years of peace."
"There will be. But....
"What do you think will happen after the thousand years have passed?"
Derannimer shivered. Suddenly, she felt very cold. "Forgive me," she whispered. "I.... I need to rest."
"I understand," he said, nodding. His face bore a expression of infinite sadness.
She went to the door, and stopped, looking back. "Who was Catherine?" she asked.
He looked up, surprised. Genuinely surprised. The first time she had seen that emotion on his face. But he said nothing, and merely bowed his head again.
So she left.
* * * * * * *
Two months later.
"This one does not understand." Zarwin made a strange steepling gesture with his long fingers in front of his face. "None of us understands."
"Nor do I," Marrain said. "I wish I did, but...."
Valen had gone, but his angry words still hung in the air. Marrain would hear them again and again, but one look at Zarwin told him that the Tak'cha would remember them a lot longer than he would.
Is what I am told true? That your people have once again attacked a helpless race?
"This one does not understand." Zarwin looked at Marrain, seeking reassurance, seeking.... something. Marrain had nothing to offer, no words, nothing. "The Yolu are not mighty, it is true, but they could have been of aid to us, surely. Everything counts. Why send an emissary to them otherwise?"
Marrain nodded grimly, his mouth set into a firm line.
"It was an honour to be asked to serve alongside the Z'ondar. A great honour, to be so asked by his most beloved. And yet they refused. An insult. A great insult, one that cannot go unpunished.
"We do know the Z'ondar's words. We have sworn, as you have sworn, as Anla'shok have sworn. We follow him into darkness, into fire, into death. Surely, those who will not do so must precede him."
How could you? Have you no compassion? Have you no care for the helpless?
"We do not understand. We have tried to follow his teachings, his ways, his words."
Get out! I will not have innocent beings slaughtered in my name. I will not!
Zarwin looked up . "What did we do that was wrong? You are the warrior of stone, the second to pledge to serve him. You know him as no other. What did we do that was wrong?"
"I do not know." Marrain spoke quietly, no emotion in his words. Derannimer would have shuddered to hear them.
"Nor do we. There is meaning there somewhere. We will find it. There is meaning.
"And when we have found it.... we shall serve him again. He will permit us to serve him again.
"Will he not?"
Marrain did not reply. There was nothing else to say.
Zarwin looked behind him, at the symbols engraved there. Marrain knew it had taken him many hours. A symbol of tribute to a leader who did not understand those he led.
Zarwin bowed before it.
"Through this shall we be remembered. Our monument to him will last until we return to his side. It shall keep us always in his thoughts, as he shall always be in ours."
Zarwin turned away from the shrine and walked towards the door. As he passed, Marrain reached out to touch the Tak'cha's shoulder.
"Valen was wrong," he said simply.
"No," Zarwin said, after a long pause. "The Z'ondar is right. It is only that we do not understand him."
Those were the last words spoken by Tak'cha to Minbari for a thousand years.
"No," Marrain said to an empty room, to a silent shrine, to a station filled with ghosts. "It is he who does not understand us."
He left as well. The air in the shrine seemed full of sorrow. He disliked that room. Something.... spoke to his warrior soul, of concepts he did not want to embrace.
Parlonn was waiting for him back in his quarters. He stood up as Marrain entered.
"We have a problem" he said.
"We have many," Marrain replied. "Which one are you referring to?"
"It is Valen.
"He has disappeared."