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| Volume 5: Among the Stars, like Giants | Part II: Tales of Valen |
THE Yamakodo Mountains, Minbar.
Three months after the end of the Shadow War.
Rashok pulled the cloth tighter over his face. It did little to shield him from the biting snow, but then he doubted anything really would. Between the blood and the blizzard and the pain from his wounds, there was little a single piece of cloth could do to help him.
For a moment he prayed to his ancestors for salvation from the storm, but then he regretted it. Try as he might, he could never seem to purge the old ways from his mind. Still, he tried. He turned his mind to more pleasant thoughts. Valen had asked him to contribute to a record of history, to voice his thoughts and memories of what he had seen. It was a great honour. A great archive was to be created, so that future generations would know of what had happened. Rashok had been preparing his piece just as Rashok and the others had left Tuzanor.
Of course, Rashok was the only one alive now. The Wykhheran had been swifter and more intelligent than any of them had believed possible. The sudden snowstorm had hidden its usual heat haze and it had struck with startling speed, tearing apart his companions and nearly killing Rashok himself.
It had carried off three villagers from the nearby area, and so a contingent of Anla'shok had been dispatched to deal with it. Sadly, this was not an isolated incident. The Shadows might have been defeated, but their minions and creations remained. Some things were never easy.
Rashok shielded his eyes with his hand as he tried to look up the slope. There had to be somewhere to rest, out of the storm. He couldn't stay out here forever.
He pushed his head down and pressed forward, reciting his Ranger oath in his mind, and reflecting on the honour of having being chosen for the record. He would not die here, not after the entire war. He would not die here.
A tiny speck of light caught the edge of his vision and he hastened his stride. As he moved closer he risked opening his eyes more often, just enough to confirm he was not hallucinating. He was not. A cave mouth, and a fire just inside it.
He stopped just outside the entrance to the cave. A silhouette flickered in the firelight. A Minbari form, familiar.
Marrain looked up. "Come in out of the cold," he said simply.
Rashok staggered into the cave mouth, shaking the snow from his clothing. The cave was not large, but it was adequate shelter, and the fire provided ample warmth. He slid gingerly to the ground, wincing at the pain in his side.
"Have you been in a fight?" Marrain asked, a trifle mockingly.
"A Wykhheran," Rashok whispered. "It's still out there somewhere."
"Its body is over that way," Marrain replied, gesturing with his head. "I had heard one of them was in this area. I came looking."
He didn't seem even slightly injured. Rashok watched in wonder for a moment, and sought to repress the blasphemous thoughts in his mind. Marrain had been born into the wrong time. He should have lived centuries ago, raising armies and soaking the earth with blood, standing proud over a battlefield of his defeated enemies, with true warriors at his side.
Rashok sighed. Sometimes it was not easy being both a warrior and a Ranger.
He began gently probing his wounds. Wykhheran claws were sometimes poisonous. Still, the gashes seemed clean. They were painful, but should not be fatal. He glanced up at Marrain.
"You will either live or you will die," the former Warleader of the Wind Swords said. "There is little good looking at me."
Rashok looked down. Marrain had not been seen since he had appeared at Parlonn's funeral, after the battle at Z'ha'dum. Many people had been scandalised that Valen would give an honourable ceremony to the one who had betrayed him, but Valen had not answered those critics. He had not even taken action when Marrain had appeared, bitter and bloody and haunted. He had taken his place at the front, staring at the mourners with a dark gaze that made them avert their eyes. When the ceremony was over, he disappeared. It was rumoured he was dead, or turned traitor. A new Warleader had been chosen for the Wind Swords.
Some of the Rangers, mostly of the religious caste, had been calling for him to be hunted and executed, citing his assault on the Rangers, his murder of a prisoner and even his attempt to attack Valen himself. Neither Valen nor Derannimer had spoken on the subject, and no official decision had been made. Both of them were probably too busy.
"I will live," Rashok replied firmly.
"A warrior's spirit," Marrain noted. "I had thought life among the Rangers would have leached that out of you. Perhaps I was wrong."
"Do not insult the Anla'shok," Rashok hissed, surprised by the anger he felt.
"It is a warrior's prerogative to speak as he wishes. Thus it has always been."
"Those days are gone."
"Taken from us. Taken by traitors and allowed to be taken by cowards."
"I am no coward, and Valen is no traitor! Take those words back!"
Marrain regarded him with a wry smile and a complete absence of fear. "How will you make me? Even if you could defeat me in denn'cha, Valen has decreed that no Minbari is to slay another."
"I will fight to defend the honour of my lord."
"Valen has no honour, and nor do those who follow him. Cowards, traitors, workers and priestlings. There are no true warriors left any more."
Rashok suddenly understood in a blinding flash of clarity. Marrain wanted him to kill him. Still, the insult could not go unregarded. "I am Anla'shok," he said calmly. "Our names and our lineage will continue for a thousand years. So says Valen."
"And after that, what then?" Marrain chuckled. A stranger sound Rashok had never heard. "Sometimes I wish I could be around in a thousand years to see what will become of his precious Anla'shok when his millennium of peace has ended."
"You will never find out, traitor. And Valen will live on through his descendants. I suppose you have not heard? Lord Valen and Lady Derannimer are to be married in two weeks in Yedor. The lady is with child already. Lord Valen will have an heir."
Marrain stood up, and for a moment Rashok saw a terrifying range of emotions in the Stone Warrior's eyes. He saw anger and sorrow and pity and fear all commingling as one, and he feared for his life.
Then, without another word, Marrain stormed from the cave out into the snowstorm. In seconds he had disappeared from view.
* * * * * * *
The Temple of Varenni in Yedor has been a holy place for as long as can be remembered. It was said that the earliest chieftains of our age, in the days when we were scattered and tribal, would come to this place to pray to their primitive Gods for strength to smite their enemies. Single combats were held here, in a specially-created ring. A building was erected around the site, but there was always an opening to the sky, that the fight might take place under the very gaze of heaven.
Over time, the trial began to vary. We became more spiritual and more philosophical, and we looked to our leaders to have other merits besides mere physical strength. Were our leaders truly willing to give their lives for their cause? Would they accept victory at the price of their own deaths, and thus allow their followers the fruits of triumph that would be denied them?
Thus was the Starfire Wheel created. None of us knew the mechanics of its operation even then. It was crafted by Shichirob, called 'the Silent', the legendary craftsman from countless thousands of years before the time of Valen. This Shichirob was said to have been chosen by the Gods themselves, and the mysterious nature of his passing testifies to that. Some, however, still believe him to be a myth.
Over the millennia, as Yedor grew around the Temple, warriors and leaders and priests endured the trials of Starfire. Some passed and died. Others failed and lived. One leader even refused to undergo the Trial when challenged. Shingen said that he had nothing to prove and if his warriors doubted him, then they could simply leave his side. None did.
The Starfire Wheel had not been used for over twenty years prior to Valen's arrival. Many had forgotten about it, or regarded it merely as a curio of olden days. In the days of Valen and the beginning of the 'thousand years of peace', many openly doubted that it would ever be used again. The Temple would be preserved only as a memory of the older, less enlightened days.
There was certainly no possibility of anyone challenging Valen for the right to lead. His power was absolute, his love universal. He was the prophet, the messiah, the saviour.
All Minbari loved him.
And thus the choice for the location of his marriage to Lady Derannimer of the Fire Wings was more than appropriate.
From The First Shadow War, and the Times Before Valen ,
by Sech Turval of Tuzanor, published in the Earth year 2234.
* * * * * * *
Turon'val'na lenn-veni,
Outside Yedor.
The wedding day.
Valen had never seen a place so peaceful, so serene, so beautiful in all his life. The water of the lake seemed as still as glass, a perfect blue that he had doubted ever truly existed on any world. It was as if the land itself were dressed in its finery for this day.
He himself was wearing his simple Ranger's uniform, modified slightly to display his rank as Entil'zha. In a fashion probably characteristic of every would-be bridegroom in any society anywhere in the galaxy, he was pulling and tugging at his clothes, trying to make them comfortable, and failing. He had a momentary vision of a Pak'ma'ra bridegroom in full morning dress pulling at his collar, and stifled a laugh.
Images blurred in his head as he contemplated the events of the day. This was unlike anything else. Leading an alien race, going to war, creating a new society - these were all things that seemed.... ethereal. A sense of unreality had hung over everything, only exacerbated by the knowledge that it would all have to happen as ordained, as fixed. There could be no deviation from history.
But this! This was a wedding. The fact that there was no best man, no Here Comes the Bride, no 'man and wife', no throwing of the bouquet.... none of that made any difference. It was still a wedding and that was something real, something tangible.
It was strange, but his memories of his human life had almost all faded. A couple still remained however, and one of those was acting as best man at his brother's wedding. Everything else in his life could have happened to someone else, or to a fictional character, but that one day he still remembered. He had danced with Catherine at the reception, to some song he could not remember the name of, but that he found himself humming under his breath.
He reached for the collar of his tunic again, and jumped when he felt a slap on his hand.
"Stop pulling at it," Derannimer said, with mock sternness.
He turned. "We're not supposed to see each other before the ceremony," he began. "It's bad...." He stopped.
She looked beautiful. He had not been sure what she would wear, and his old human instincts forbade him from trying to find out. He was glad of that. Her gown was purest white, with little streaks of blue around the neck, sleeves and bodice. A hood hung back around her neck. Modestly cut, and long and trailing, it did not look even remotely Minbari in design. It looked a little....
.... human?
"Do you like it?" she asked. The combination of a sly smile and a hint of worry in her eyes only served to make her look even more beautiful.
"It's...." He stopped. "Yes," he said finally, every other word having left his head.
"It looks strange," she admitted. "But it does feel good. Zathras helped with the design. He thought you would like it."
"I do," he said, looking at Zathras, who was standing beside her. Even he seemed to have made some effort with his appearance.
Zathras nodded. "Zathras know many things," he said, the only piece of explanation he was likely to give. "Zathras not as stupid as people think."
"I never thought you were stupid. Never."
"What were you saying?" Derannimer asked him. "We are not meant to see each other? Would that not make the wedding a little difficult?"
Some bridegrooms might have thought that would make it easier, said the treacherous human part of his brain. "Old tradition.... where I come from," he said. "It's meant to cause bad luck if the bride and the groom meet each other before the ceremony starts."
"There can be no bad luck to affect us today," she said, smiling, one hand gently resting on her stomach. "But perhaps you think there might be?" He looked at her, and she pointed to his side. "You are wearing your denn'bok."
"A symbol only," he whispered, trying not to meet her eyes. "It goes with the uniform."
"Ah," she smiled. "Are you afraid?"
He breathed out slowly, trying to formulate an answer. It was extremely difficult to find something appropriate. Finally, he settled on the shortest.
"Yes."
She smiled, and gently touched his face.
"So am I," she whispered.
* * * * * * *
Are you ready?
Zathras always ready. Zathras know what to do.
Are you afraid?
Zathras not know the meaning of fear. Actually, Zathras do know the meaning of fear, and it not very nice. Yes, Zathras a little afraid, but Zathras has seen brave warriors, brave leaders. Zathras will do what needs to be done.
As will I.
Yes. We do this together.
Yes.
Good. Zathras thinks so. This is good. .... Very good.
* * * * * * *
The chimes rang softly as they entered the Temple. Taking slow, measured steps, they walked past the quiet assembly. Her hood was pulled up over her head, shrouding her face in white. His eyes were empty.
Each had chosen retainers. Behind him walked Rashok of Dosh, Ranger and warrior, and Zathras, alien and advisor. Behind her trod Nemain of the Fire Wings, Ranger and acolyte, and Kin Stolving of the Ikarrans, alien and friend.
They divided to circumvent the boundaries of the Starfire Wheel. It was still and silent. This was not a day for the death of flesh. They reunited on the other side of the circle, standing before Nukenn of Zir, and the soaring, majestic, angelic Ra-Hel, lord of the Vorlons.
The ceremony would be different, as was expected. It would be new, a new joining for a new age. The very presence of aliens demonstrated that. This was not just a marriage, not just a joining of two souls in love - it was the joining of a people, of a world, the healing of the wounds of war.
Nukenn spoke first.
"Will you follow me into fire, into storm, into darkness, into death?"
They both said;
"Yes."
"Then do this in testimony to the one who will follow." Nukenn looked at the lady as he said this, and at the new life growing within her.
"Who will bring death couched in the promise of new life.
"And renewal disguised as defeat."
The words were strange, but they had been written by their leader, the One himself. There was meaning there, but the meaning did not matter. The joining did.
The bells began to ring, the chimes singing a song of joy. Rashok stepped forward to his lord, Nemain to his lady. Each handed over a small red fruit.
"From birth, through death and renewal."
The lord and lady took the fruit, and their followers and friends stepped back.
"You must put aside old things, old fears, old lives.
"This is your death.
"The death of flesh.
"The death of pain.
"The death of yesterday.
"Taste of it."
The lord reached forward and held the fruit to his lady. She did likewise.
"Be not afraid, for I am with you to the end of time."
Each ate the fruit from the hand of their beloved.
The lady pulled back her hood. Her eyes were shining. She whispered the words along with Nukenn.
"And so, it begins."
* * * * * * *
"And so, it begins."
The voice was cold and hard and harsh. Valen's hand, which had met Derannimer's, tightened as he turned. She gasped softly as she saw who was standing there.
Marrain walked forward slowly. He was dressed formally, carrying his dechai, every decoration and title he was entitled to shining on his uniform. He looked like one of the legends of old, stepping out from history. While Valen and Derannimer represented the new, he was a classic image of the old, of the warrior-kings of history.
"And so, it ends," he snapped.
"Welcome," Valen said. "Join us. This is a day of celebration."
"This is a day of betrayal," Marrain hissed. "I call you betrayer, Valen! I call you murderer and traitor!"
Nemain moved forward, drawing his denn'bok. He was young and skilled, one of the finest of the Rangers. But to Marrain he might as well have been swimming in mud. Marrain moved in a single instant and Nemain fell, blood spraying from the top of his head.
"This is not for him," Marrain said. "This is between you and me, Betrayer."
"You do not have to do this!" Derannimer cried, moving forward to cradle Nemain's head in her lap. His blood stained her dress, just over her heart.
"Whom have I betrayed, Marrain?" Valen whispered. "Whom have I murdered?"
"You have murdered every warrior you sent out on this war of yours, and you have betrayed every one of them who died in your cause. You betrayed Parlonn. You betrayed the memory of Hantenn and Shingen and warriors stretching back to the dawn of time.
"I call you betrayer!"
"You swore to obey me, Marrain," Valen said coldly. "'Till shade is gone, till water is gone.' You and Parlonn alike. He betrayed me. Will you do the same?"
"I break my word to save my people. Explain to me why you live while better men than you have died on countless forsaken rocks."
"Do not dare to question my conviction! I grieve for everyone who died in the war, of whatever caste."
"It is easy for you to say that. When I fight, it is at the van of the battle, knowing that I may die just as those who follow me may die. You.... it has been easy for you to send others to die, harder to risk death yourself."
"What are you saying?"
Marrain pointed at the Starfire Wheel. "You know what I am saying, Betrayer. I should have led! I was worthy, more worthy than you! I challenge you, as our people have always settled our differences. Here.... in the heart of the Wheel."
"No!" Derannimer screamed. "That will not happen! Marrain, surely you can see that...."
"This must happen."
"This is our wedding day," she whispered. "This is our wedding day...."
"I am sorry, my lady."
She bowed her head, shaking, then she raised it again, a newborn fire burning in her eyes. "This will not happen!" she cried. "I will not allow it."
Valen gestured towards the Wheel. "Very well."
"No!" Derannimer screamed. "I will not allow you to throw your life away like this. Either of you. What were we fighting for if not for life?"
"Ah, my lady," Marrain answered. "I was fighting for death. And your husband.... he was fighting for power."
"That is a lie, and you know it. Let me prove it." Valen stepped into the circle of the Wheel.
"I love you!" Derannimer cried. "I love you both, and neither more or less than the other. Surely that is enough!"
"No, my lady. That was never enough." Marrain joined Valen inside the Wheel.
It slid open. Both of them were bathed in light.
Weeping, Derannimer fled from the temple. No one else moved.
* * * * * * *
There was pain, but Marrain was used to pain. He hardly felt it. Nothing could compare to the pain he had felt when Rashok had told him about the wedding.
He looked across the circle at Valen. The Messiah looked calm and at peace. Marrain hated him for that, as he hated him for so many other things. He had killed Parlonn, he had won Derannimer, he had destroyed everything Marrain had ever fought for and lived for.
He had arranged things so that future generations would not even retain their names. Marrain and Parlonn would be forgotten. Their names would never be praised or remembered or revered by their descendants.
They would have no descendants. No warrior would inherit their blood or their courage.
He had taken that from them, from the people he intended to save in his thousand years of peace. Where would be their dreams, their goals? They would live and die never knowing war, never knowing fear, never knowing achievement.
And he had won Derannimer. For that, Marrain hated him more than anything.
His skin was tingling now. The light was burning him. He ignored it, looking at Valen. Still, he was calm.
By Shingen, did the man feel no pain at all? Shingen himself was reputed by legend to have felt no pain or fear, but he was a warrior. He was the greatest of warriors. Valen was nothing but a priestling and a rabblerouser.
"You could not listen, could you?" Marrain said, breaking the silence at last. The light was growing uncomfortably hot. "You had to have your way. Parlonn was right. I only wish I had seen that earlier.
"You have killed us all."
"We all make our own choices, Marrain. I have made mine, and they have been harder than you can possibly imagine. You have made yours, and they have led you here. It shall be you who is called Betrayer, not I."
"There could have been another way."
"Yes," Valen said sadly. "There could."
The light was above him, shining and burning and searing. He looked across and saw the terrible serenity in Valen's face, the understanding, and worst of all, the forgiveness. An arm was outstretched, and he screamed.
Understanding dawned.
A thousand years of peace. Words of the future. Prophecy and power and knowledge.
Valen had known this would occur. He had known what would happen. He had known he would be drawn here to the Starfire Wheel.
And still he had brought Derannimer to this place, to see this.
"You are not worthy of her!" Marrain screamed. His clothes were smoking now. The heat was almost unbearable. "You do not deserve her!"
"Perhaps," he acknowledged. "But that is her choice - not mine, and not yours."
"You do not deserve her!" There was no moisture in his mouth now. His throat and eyes were dry, almost ashen.
"I hate you!" he cried again.
"And I hate you," Valen replied calmly. Still he did not seem to notice the heat. "I hate your code of honour and your way of life. I hate the way you treat death as something laudable, something to be revered. I hate that you regard as a hero a man who killed tens of thousands for nothing but his own ambition.
"I hate that you throw aside those of your number who made just one mistake. I hate that you look down upon everyone who isn't you. I hate that you feel so threatened by the prospect of peace that you seek to sabotage it.
"How many people have you killed? Each and every one of them had their own dreams, their own loves. These will never be achieved now. How many grieve for those who fell beneath your blade? Lovers, children, parents, siblings, friends.... How many tears have your and your kind caused to be shed simply because you can see no other way?
"There will be a thousand years of peace. In that time, we will see dreams and ambitions and hopes and loves. And all those things will be possible in spite of everything you can do, of everything your kind can do. There is no place for killers in our society. Not any longer!"
Marrain laughed. "You do not see far enough. You never have!" He was screaming now, over the deafening sound of the blood pounding in his head. "There will be a thousand years of peace, and after that, I pray there will be ten thousand years of war! Everything you have ever built will come crashing down around you, and we will emerge again. You will need us, and you will cry out for us, and then you will realise that you cannot live without us."
For a single moment, Valen looked puzzled. "And when that day comes," he said slowly, "there will be another like me to bring peace where people like you try to bring war."
The light was so bright now that Marrain could see nothing else. He could hear Valen's words as if they were spoken inside his mind, and he knew that he had lost. Valen could see the future. He knew what would happen. But he could not see far enough.
Nothing would ever last forever.
Reeling from the pain, reeling from the knowledge of his defeat, Marrain stumbled backwards. A wash of cool air consumed him and he fell, collapsing on the hard, cold, stone ground.
He looked up, almost blinded by the light that consumed Valen.
It was over. Dead. Dead, and eight years too late.
"Die, you bastard!" Marrain screamed. "Die!"
The light faded. The Wheel was still. Valen stood there, hands raised high, his denn'bok lifted over his head. He looked down at Marrain, pity in his gaze.
* * * * * * *
Derannimer had stopped crying now. The anger had faded. The fear had receded. All that was left was a dull ache. Her dress was stained and dirty, her face was streaked with the memory of her tears. Even the water of the lake seemed duller and dirtier now.
She heard footsteps, but she did not turn. The sound brought back all her anger. She shied away from his touch, shaking. She did not want to know which of them had won, who had lived and who had died. Valen and Marrain, she hated them both now.
"I will never understand you," she hissed finally. "I will never understand either of you."
"I am sorry," Valen said. "I am sorry I hurt you. I am sorry your wedding was ruined. I am sorry for so many things."
"Is Marrain dead?"
"No. He has gone."
"I love him. I meant what I said. I love you both, and sometimes I cannot decide which one I love more."
"I...."
"You cannot dare say anything to me! You look at me sometimes and I know you are thinking of this.... Catherine. You are comparing me to her, looking for the ways in which we are similar, and the ways we are different. I am honest, at least. I love you both for what you both are, and now I hate you both for what you both are. I do not try to force either of you to be a.... memory."
"Zathras is dead."
She turned to face him now, and saw the grief in his eyes. "What?"
"And Ra-Hel. Both of them are dead."
"How?"
He shook his head. "I am sorry for everything I have done to you. If you want to leave, I will understand."
"I do not want to leave you," she replied. "I wish I did. I wish that would make matters easier, and I do not. I do not know what I want."
He sat down. "Can you forgive me, my lady?"
"I do not know. And never call me that. Ever."
He nodded, and there was silence. The water was still, and the sun set behind them.
* * * * * * *
There had been a hush over the chamber, broken only by the harsh gasp of Marrain's breath. He could not believe it. He knew what they would say, he knew what they would believe. He did not know how Valen had survived. It could be trickery, Vorlon intervention or even a simple miracle, but none of that mattered.
They would hold it to be a miracle. They regarded him as a saviour and a messiah, and this would just be one more little piece of proof for that.
Valen stepped forward, looking at him. He obviously pitied Marrain. Pity! How dare he?
The priestlings and the workers would fall in behind him, and the days of the true warrior would be gone.
Everyone had died for nothing. Parlonn had died for nothing.
Marrain would die for nothing.
He no longer cared.
His dechai was in his hand. For a single moment he thought of the last way to save his honour, to show these people what it meant to be a true warrior, but no. Valen had forbidden morr'dechai and there was no one to serve as his kaishakunin. He had performed that duty for Berevain and Unari and Hantiban, but there was no one to perform it for him.
During his training, there had been one very special lesson. The last lesson he had ever been taught. It concerned what to do when he knew he was defeated, when honour or victory or survival no longer mattered, and a small victory would be enough.
He looked at Valen, and saw the pity in his eyes. He saw Parlonn and Berevain and Hantenn and Hantiban and Shuzen and all those who were dead and would be forgotten. He saw Derannimer and felt her breath on his cheek.
He moved forward and threw his dechai, hurling it like a spear. Valen actually looked surprised. The throw was faultless, aimed directly at the heart. A killing blow, instantly.
What happened next blinded and stunned Marrain.
There was a flash of light and the sound of angelic wings beating. Valen's absurd alien companion threw himself in the path of the dechai, light surrounding him, wings seeming to flow from his back. The blade tore into his chest, and he fell. Valen was untouched.
Marrain felt a burning in his eyes that eclipsed by far the burning of his skin in the Starfire Wheel. He saw Ra-Hel, Lord of the Vorlons, fall from its flight high in the rafters of the Temple. But in his mind's eye he saw the fall as much farther, through the universe itself, down into a sea of fire. And all the Vorlons fell with Ra-Hel.
There were screams and cries and shouting, but Marrain heard none of it. He turned and fled, running with a speed no one had thought him capable of. Valen said nothing, but some of the Rangers shouted orders for him to be detained, or even killed. None of them caught him.
And no one in that Temple ever saw him again.
* * * * * * *
See? Zathras not afraid.
You did what was necessary.
You tell truth. People remember Zathras now?
People will remember your life, but not your death. They will not even remember my life. We live far longer than Minbari, or humans, or even you, and so it is easier for us to forget. It does not matter. We have a destiny to fulfill, and my people will never be all they can be whilst I live. They will remember this place, and they will remember these people. That is what our sacrifice has bought us. When the Shadows return, the Minbari will have the Vorlons to fight beside them. They will not face the Enemy alone. My people will have to remember the Minbari now. I gave my life to save one of them.
And Zathras?
Zathras.... you have saved Valen. You gave your life for his. They will remember. An alien saved the life of their leader from one of their own. They will learn.... they will all learn that they cannot fight alone.
If you say so. Zathras sleep now?
Yes. Zathras can sleep now.
* * * * * * *
Cathedral.
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"What happened next? That can't be the end."
"Are you actually interested? Wonders, it seems, do not cease."
"I've spent the last God alone knows how long listening to this pointless story of things that happened a thousand years ago. Tell me there's some point to the ending."
"Sometimes things simply are. Sometimes a story is nothing but a story. And then sometimes there are lessons to be learned."
"You were thinking about something."
"Yes. That is.... a part of the point, I suppose. It reminds me of things I had once known differently. Now I can see them in a new light. Ra-Hel's sacrifice...."
"To make sure the Vorlons kept in touch with the Minbari. They'd have to, if one of their greatest leaders died there."
"Hmm.... I could almost say it is a pity he died."
"Is this a 'not all of my enemies are evil bastards' thing?"
"I do not know. A thousand years is a long time, even for the Vorlons. A lot can change in that time. Something to think on. There is a great deal to think on."
"You spend far too much time thinking. So?"
"So?"
"Were you planning on finishing, or leaving me in suspense?"
"Ah. Where would you have me finish?"
"What happened to Marrain?"
"Ah. That."
"He's dead now, yes?"
"Everything dies."
"A good job at not answering the question. Very well, I'm listening."
* * * * * * *
Yedor, five years later.
Derannimer rose early, as she always did, to watch the sun rise. The rest of her days were often lonely, but the sun rising at morning always calmed her mind. The warmth touched the bare skin of her arms, the colour of the water gladdened her eyes, and she was content.
The day was busy, filled with duty and responsibility. There were people to meet, things to do, places to visit. All the more so since Valen had announced his plans for a new Government, one that would outlast him. He was calling it the Grey Council, and it would consist of nine members - three from the warrior caste, three from the worker caste and three from the religious caste, with one set above the others.
Derannimer closed her eyes as she remembered the furore that had caused. Some believed the worker caste should not be allowed any power at all, let alone an equal voice. Others held that the warrior caste had outlived their usefulness and should be disbanded. The warriors themselves were divided into two camps: those who followed meekly, without word or argument, for fear of being seen as traitors, and those who plotted darkly, remembering old glories and promising that their leader would return one day.
Anyone who might have thought the conflicts would end with the Shadow War had been sorely deluded, she thought. But things were better, and she believed Valen when he spoke of unity and peace. It would just be a long time coming.
But it was coming, she was sure of that. Gently, she rested a hand on her belly. Valen had left for his diplomatic mission before she had been certain, and so for the second time she was expecting a child he did not know about.
She had told no one else. This time she would tell him first, and none other. She had hated him for a long time, but she had never stopped loving him, and the love had eventually won out over the hate. Neither of them had spoken Marrain's name since their wedding day.
Not that she never thought of him. She did, a lot. Especially when she saw her son. He had Marrain's eyes, stone and cold. He was thoughtful, and even as young as this, she knew he would be a leader. He had a calm and a control that Marrain had once had, but had lost.
She could feel a tender heartbeat under her fingers and she knew somehow that this child would be a girl.
For a long time she sat there, still and silent, longer than she usually did. She could see again the images of her life - the heartbreak, the joy, the sorrow. Her decision was not made that day, nor the day after. But it was continuing, and eventually, it was made.
She could see the future. She believed in the future and she wanted to create it.
To do that, she first had to undo the past.
The one last piece of it she could never forget.
* * * * * * *
Iwojim.
The memorial was not finished. Valen was not surprised. How could it be finished, when he had no idea what to write on it?
The idea had been sound. Something to remember the war, something to remind his people of all those who had died on forgotten worlds. And this was the most forgotten world of all. Most people could not even remember its name. The battle here had not been for territory or strategy. It had been for him.
All the people who had died here had died for him.
No one even lived here.
Still, he had insisted on coming. His escort was.... concerned, to say the least. Shadow allies still existed, and still wanted him dead. Assassination attempts were less frequent, but they still occurred occasionally. There was no garrison on Iwojim, no pre-existing defence structure. In fact, nothing at all.
But he had come here anyway.
Someone had to remember when he was gone, but what would they remember? How could he explain to future generations the necessity of what had happened here?
Simple. He could not.
He missed Zathras, more than ever. His homespun wisdom would have made some sense out of this.
He looked back, not realising he had outdistanced his Ranger guard. That was unusual. They always made a point of keeping up with him. He could not see them. They were nowhere.
He was not afraid - he had nothing to fear. But he was.... concerned. He tried to trace with his eyes the route back to the camp, but he could not see any landmarks he recognised. He could not have wandered so far, even as deep in thought as he was.
"Where are you?" he said softly. "There is no need for such trickery."
"You are quite right," said a voice, in flawless Minbari. There was no appreciable accent, no dialectical shifts, nothing but an impression of sheer age. It was a voice that had spoken over the deaths of planets, of suns, of time.
A figure walked into view, quite literally from nowhere. He was humanoid - tall, and regally dressed in a fashion that seemed to combine priest and emperor. A jewel was embedded in his forehead.
"You know me, I suppose," he said.
"I know you," Valen said to the Primarch Majestus et Conclavus.
* * * * * * *
Delphis.
"I knew you would come. I have known it as long as they have. They came to me at your urging. Why did you not come then?"
"I was afraid."
"Afraid of what?"
"Of what you might say to me."
"And you are not afraid now?"
"Yes, I am, but I must do this."
"You would not conquer your fear to find your future husband, but you would for the man who tried to kill him. What does that say to you?"
"It says that I cannot be truly happy until this is resolved. I must finish this. I must.... see him, one last time."
"Why do you persist in following a path that will lead only to pain? All of you. Do you know what he asked me, when he was here? He wanted to know if you would ever love him."
"What.... what did you tell him?"
"The truth, of course. That you already did, but you would never love him more than you loved the other, and you would never love him as he needed you to love him."
"I do love him."
"I never said you did not."
"Where is he?! Tell me where he is. That is all I came to you for."
"And what will you do when you find him? What can you say to him?"
"I do not know."
"No. Then I will tell you this. You will not listen, but I will tell you anyway. Leave this place. Return to your home. Give birth to your daughter, and raise many others. Drown your firstborn son in the lake, and forget that he, or the Stone Warrior, ever existed."
"Where is he?!"
"You are truly the daughter of warriors. Do you know what you are doing in this quest of yours?"
"I do not care."
"I could tell you how many children you will bear, when you will die, what will happen to your husband, so many things. Just do not pursue this path any further."
"Why will you not answer me? What do you have to gain from this?"
"I have seen his future. All of it. Not just this year, or the next, but a future stretching far beyond anything you can ever imagine. Whatever he has done, he does not deserve that much pain. If you truly love him, spare him that."
"Where is he?"
"He will forget you. If you find him, you set in motion events that will see him forget you to love another. Can you truly bear that?"
"Where is he?"
"You have no idea what you are doing! You foolish, stupid little girl!"
"Where is he?!"
"You are a fool.... such a fool. Where else could he be? He is haunting a desolate and forgotten stronghold of stone and ice and memories. Your husband sought the ends of the galaxy for him, but he never thought to look so close to home."
"Shirohida, of course."
"A burned and ruined wreck, testimony to the treachery of the last two warriors who led there. Now you have your answer. I curse you for making me say it, and I curse your children as well."
"What do you mean?"
"Your name will haunt them forever. Yours and his. They shall know no home, but be scattered throughout the galaxy like seeds on the wind. They shall know love and be denied it. They shall know joy to feel it torn from their fingertips. They shall live under their father's shadow all the days of their lives, and they will hate both of you for it."
"Then they shall make their own destiny and follow their own path. They need neither your curse nor your blessing. Goodbye."
"I know what you will name your daughter."
"So do I."
* * * * * * *
Shirohida.
Nemain was waiting for her when she arrived.
"How did you know?" Derannimer asked him.
She hated the expression on his face. He had always displayed such optimism and hope. Even the long years of war had not changed him much. He had always worshipped her, and she admitted uncomfortably that she liked seeing that adoration in his eyes. She hated seeing such disgust there now.
"You think you could just disappear without us knowing about it? I've had Rangers following you, and they told me where you were heading. He is here, isn't he?"
"I have to talk to him."
"After what he has done?"
"Because of what he has done."
"No." Nemain's face was hard. He looked nothing like the young boy who had sworn to protect her after the frantic flight from Ashinagachi all those years ago. "I will not let you."
"You will not let me?"
"I will send the Rangers in, and we will flush him out. He must pay for what he has done."
"I command you to leave, now."
"I cannot do that."
"I am your superior, and I command you."
"No."
"Please, Nemain. I have to do this."
"Why?"
"Have you ever been in love?"
"You dare ask me that? You, of all people? I've loved you as long as I can remember. I knew that you would marry a man of greatness, a man worthy of you, and that was enough. How dare you ask me if I have ever been in love!"
"Would you...." She swallowed. In some way she had always known. "Would you still love me if I hurt you, if I abandoned you, if I.... betrayed you?"
"You would never do that."
"Please," she whispered. "Answer me."
"Yes! I would not want to, but I would."
"Then you have your answer. I must see him, one last time."
He bowed his head, shaking. She thought she heard the sound of crying. "One hour," he whispered. "There are enough Rangers here to take even him down in a fight, but I will give you one hour. Then we come and find him."
"Thank you," she mouthed, not having the courage to speak the actual words.
She turned and began the long walk up the cold, treacherous, stone path to the dark castle, shadow-cast in the twilit sky. Nemain raised his head and looked up at her.
"He will kill you," he cried. "You will die! You do not have to do this!"
"We all die, Nemain. And I do have to do this. I believe in him, even if no one else does, even if no one else ever will."
Shirohida grew taller and darker with every step she took.
* * * * * * *
Marrain looked thoughtfully at the cold fire flickering and dancing in the cold stone hall of Shirohida . He had been thinking about fire a great deal recently. Parlonn had been Fire, it had been said. Violent, aggressive, but when controlled capable of protecting and sheltering those who needed it. Marrain himself had always been Earth, hard and resilient and silent.
But when he had hurled his dechai at Valen that day, when he had challenged him in the Temple of Varenni, all he had felt in his mind was fire.
And when the Starfire Wheel had scourged the flesh from his body, he had felt the wrath of fire once again. Punishment from Parlonn for his victory? Some victory, this.
He should have died at Z'ha'dum. He should have died long ago, before ever he saw Valen or Derannimer or the Vorlons. He should have died long ago.
The hall was cold, but then it had always been cold. Valen could never understand that. He never would understand that. He sought to bring warmth to places like this, but the Wind Swords had constructed their ancestral stronghold here precisely because there was no warmth. They wanted to create an army of warriors who would not fear the cold.
He looked at the shadow in the corner of the room. Five years it had been there, having appeared shortly after his arrival. Just one of many ghosts haunting him or Shirohida or both.
"Look at what they have done here," he said to his shadow. "Thousands of years of loyal service, thousands of years of great deeds, of heroes, of battles won and lost, and they destroy it and forget everything for the treachery of two of its leaders. Not even Shingen took Shirohida. Do you understand that? Not even Shingen!"
His shadow said nothing. His shadow never did.
He turned to Hantiban, sitting proudly on the throne. The barbs did not discomfort him any more. The dead felt no pain, after all.
"You were right. You did make me stronger." He glanced at Berevain, her body nailed to the wall, bloodstained eyes looking at him across the darkened room. "He made you stronger as well. He made us both stronger."
Berevain did not reply. But she understood. He knew that.
He thought he heard footsteps, but that could not be. No one came to Shirohida now. No one at all. No one wanted to, and those who did were already here.
Derannimer passed beneath the vast archway, through the blackened and fire-damaged doors, and walked into view.
"Ah," Marrain said. "Of course. Enter, lady. It has been some time."
She walked forward, slowly, one halting step at a time. "Marrain," she whispered. "It is you."
"Who else could it be? I am Lord of Shirohida, after all." He spread his arms wide. "Behold my subjects. Behold my castle. It has been some time since you came to me. Your new husband keeps you busy, I have no doubt. Where is Parlonn? Have you seen him? He has not come here."
"I.... I have looked for you."
"You must not have looked very hard." He passed his hand into the fire, watching the fabric of his glove begin to crack and blacken. "I have thought about you. I have spoken to you sometimes, when I saw you walking in the shadows. You did not answer." He paused. "Berevain never answers me either."
"Are you.... are you well?"
"As well as might be expected. You are talking to me now. I thought perhaps you were angry with me."
"I was."
"Ah, that is only to be expected. Have you forgiven me then, to talk to me at last? How long has it been? Have the thousand years of peace passed at last? Is it time for me to go to war once again?" He began looking around. "I cannot seem to find my dechai. Berevain, have you seen it anywhere?"
The fire reflected in her tears. "I love you," she whispered.
"It is kind of you to say so," he acknowledged, still trying to find his dechai. By his ancestors, it must be here somewhere! "It would have been kinder had you said it back to me on any one of the many occasions I said it to you these past months, but.... better now than never."
"I have a son," she whispered. "I am carrying a daughter, but I have a son already."
"I am glad for you. Unari! Where is my dechai?"
"I named him after two of the men I loved most. Before I met Valen. Before I became a Ranger. I called my son Parlain."
Marrain looked up. He started to say something, but the words faded. "A son?"
She nodded, tears streaming down her face.
He wished he could cry, but he didn't seem capable of it.
"Parlain?"
She nodded again.
"He will be great. He will shake the world beneath his footsteps and empires will tremble before the swing of his blade. He will be great."
"Yes," she whispered. "He will. People are coming."
"Did you bring guests?"
"They will try to kill you."
He smiled. "Ah. I see. I think I have been waiting for this. The thousand years of peace are over, then. It is about time. I feel as though I have waited ten thousand. Time for the galaxy to swim in blood again. I always knew. I always knew the galaxy would need those such as me. I was right, was I not?"
"Yes," she breathed. "You were right."
"Good. I cannot find my dechai, but a true warrior is never without a weapon." He reached into the fire and pulled out a small brand, fire dancing on its tip. For a brief moment it caught his shadow in the corner of the room, and the reflection of a blood-red jewel flashed in the darkness. Marrain twirled the brand, making it dance in his hand, and the image was gone.
He could hear the sound of footsteps. There were many of them.
* * * * * * *
Derannimer later acknowledged that was the hardest fight of her life - not against Shadows or assassins or Unari or the Wind Swords, but against the upsurge of anger and sorrow and fear she felt watching Marrain talk to shadows, unaware that people were coming to kill him.
As he picked up the flaming brand she turned away her gaze, desperate not to see his face, and she saw the jewel shining in the corner of the room.
And she understood.
Death.
The Stealer of the Dead.
The Stealer of Souls.
Shagh Toth.
Nemain and the Anla'shok reached the entrance to the hall and moved forward to face Marrain.
"It is time for you to face justice," Nemain said. "You have evaded us for too long."
"There is a word," he said, as if he had not heard. He seemed to be addressing his silent ghosts more than those who had come to kill him. "A word Shingen spoke once, but then discarded. It speaks of a man who rules with majesty and terror, who casts a shadow over his land with the motion of his hand against the stars.
"That word is 'king'. This is Shirohida, home of the Wind Swords since time immemorial, blackened and burned and shattered. I was the last Warleader of the Wind Swords, and thus, in Shirohida, I am king."
For the first time he seemed to notice Nemain.
"Rush in and die," he spat. "I was a man before I was a king."
* * * * * * *
Derannimer broke the silence that followed, as she had to. "A thousand years of peace," she cried. "During which time no Minbari shall slay another!
"Has the peace not begun yet? I thought the War was finished!"
"He tried to kill our lord," Nemain said. "We bargained for this, you and I, my lady."
"I know. But please, there must be another way."
"What other way is there?" Marrain laughed. "Come, rush in. Kill me, but know that this hall will be drenched with your blood, and your ashes. None of us shall know honour in death. That is just one of the things he has taken from us."
"It need not be this way," Derannimer whispered. "Please! What else did we fight for?"
"Everything he would try to take away from us," Nemain hissed.
"There is still time," Derannimer cried.
"Time for what?" Marrain said, looking at her. His gaze made her want to cower and hide. "They will never forgive me for what I have done. You know that."
"That is not what I was referring to. There is time for you to forgive yourself."
"You are fools," Marrain laughed. "Ghost or flesh, you are all fools. I have been dead ever since I took up my dechai, and there was only one night in all that time I ever felt truly alive. I have betrayed you, and you have all betrayed me, but I know which of us shall be called Betrayer.
"Thus does the shadow lift from my eyes, even as it falls on your own."
He dropped the brand at his feet, and his tunic went up in flames.
* * * * * * *
Every breath of air inside the hall seemed to explode with heat and fury. A thunderclap burst in Derannimer's ears and she recoiled, reeling from the pain. Heat assailed her skin, and she stumbled.
The first sensation that was not pain was Nemain's hands pulling her back. "No!" she screamed.
"We must!" he cried in turn.
She raised her eyes and saw an inferno of flame and fury engulf the great hall. Marrain was lost to view within it. She cried out his name, but there was no reply.
Then she saw something move within the flames and she ran forward. Her hopes died when she saw the sparkling jewel on its forehead.
"Shagh Toth!" she heard Nemain cry.
The alien smiled and raised its hand. Something formed from nothingness there and a brilliant light and a million voices filled her mind. Derannimer rushed forward again, half-blind, half-choking, praying for the health of her child, praying for Marrain's soul.
She touched the thing in the alien's hand.
Its smile faded. She screamed as she felt the skin of her hand melt and the bones shatter.
Then the heat overwhelmed her and she collapsed, her last thought that of her daughter's name.
* * * * * * *
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.
For a moment he was puzzled, recognising it as his shadow, just another of the silent ghosts that had haunted him and Shirohida.
Then he saw the light on its forehead and in its hand, and he realised what it was. For five years it had waited for him to die, and now its wait was over.
Marrain screamed.
But by then it was far too late.
* * * * * * *
Derannimer woke to cool air on her face. She started, screaming, and came to painful wakefulness in an instant. She sat up, crying Marrain's name.
Shirohida was above them, consumed in fire, in the dying flames of its last lord.
"He cannot survive that," Nemain said to her. "See, he crafted his own funeral pyre, his entire castle burning to escort him from this world."
"Just like my father," she whispered, then she remembered the pain in her hand and lifted it tentatively to her face. She was expecting hideous burn marks, even a withered stump.
All she could see was a tiny white circle in the centre of her palm.
"A mark," she whispered. Then she looked back at Shirohida. "Her name is going to be Cathrenn," she whispered to the dying fortress. "I wanted to tell you that."
* * * * * * *
None of them ever found his body.
Or that of the Soul Hunter.
* * * * * * *
Iwojim.
Rashok knew better than to worry. He knew better than to be angry. He knew better than to ask the heavens how Valen had apparently disappeared while in plain sight of two Rangers.
The fact that he knew better did not, of course, stop him from doing exactly those things.
He organised the search patterns, he prepared the camp for an assault from any direction, including above and below. He communicated what had happened to the orbiting ships.
And then he watched all that preparation come to nothing as Valen just walked out of the sand and dust to stand before him.
Such is the life of a Ranger.
"We were worried, Entil'zha," he said.
"I apologise," Valen replied. "There was.... something I had to do."
"There is no need for apology, Entil'zha. I am, as always, your servant. Have you decided on an appropriate memorial yet? I am sure you do not wish to be away from Minbar for long."
"There is to be no memorial. Leave this world for the dead. I do not even want to hear its name spoken."
"As you wish, Entil'zha."
It was not for Rashok to seek to understand his lord's words. It was only for him to obey.
* * * * * * *
Turon'val'na lenn-veni.
Six months later.
"I waited for you here."
"I know. I am sorry."
"Do not be sorry. I understand."
"I had to think about something. I had to.... travel. There was something I had to see."
"You went to Ashinagachi."
"How do you know?"
"Just because I understand, does not mean I am not worried."
"Ah. Of course."
"I will understand if you ever leave again. I will understand that we must sometimes be apart. But I will always wait for you here. Always."
"I love you."
"I have always loved you."
"There is someone you should see. Her name.... her name is Cathrenn."
"Oh.... oh.... Thank you."
"I love you."
"She is beautiful. So are you."
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.
Neither of them ever spoke Marrain's name again. Or Parlonn's.
* * * * * * *
Cathedral, the present.
Susan stood up. "And?"
Sinoval looked at her. She stretched, yawning, but she still managed that irritatingly superior stare. "And what?" he said, still seeing that hill, that lake, in his mind's eye.
"What happened next?"
"Oh. Valen and Derannimer had several more children. They kissed, they fought, they made love, they were in love. Valen formed the Grey Council, and Derannimer led it after he stepped down, and Nemain after her.
"Rashok died fighting a Faceless assassin. Kin Stolving fell to an Ikarran war machine that found her eventually. Zarwin died alone, never understanding what he had done that annoyed Valen so much. Nukenn's heart burst. Derannimer succumbed to an illness. Nemain died in an accident. Valen passed beyond."
"Very morbid," she said drily. "That's not what I was asking."
"All stories end with death, eventually. It all comes down to knowing when to stop."
"Passed beyond?"
Sinoval sighed. "The Well of Souls knows the answer to every question ever asked, save one alone. It speaks with the voice of countless past worlds and peoples. I am the link to it, the means through which it achieves voice and meaning and existence. Through me, it lives, and I know all that it does.
"And still I cannot comprehend you at all. A complete sentence, please."
"All you had to do was ask nicely. Valen 'passed beyond', you said."
"Yes, I did."
"What does that mean? Did he die?"
"All things die."
"Do you know what happened to him?"
"Yes."
"And?"
"Some things are never meant to be known. Content yourself with that."
"I really, really hate you sometimes."
"Most people hate me all the time."
"That's it. I'm going to sleep. I need some rest, and some vodka, and some coffee, and probably some vodka coffee. I don't suppose.... No, of course not. Good night."
"There is no night here."
"Whatever."
She left, passing into the blackness that was this place. Everywhere and nowhere, just like the Well, just like Cathedral, just like Sinoval himself.
"It is the stories that make us great, that make us special, that make us remember. Without memory, what are we? Without the past, where is the future? People do not remember, nor do they even care to remember. Who will know me in a thousand years, hmm?
"What do you think....
".... Marrain?"
The warrior came into view.
He had changed, and not merely in the obvious way. The body he now wore was not his. His soul had been transplanted into the body of a slain warrior. He had looked uncomfortable at first, but that had been almost two years ago. Now he carried himself with the same arrogance and power and determination as in the days before Valen, when he was a warrior and the whole galaxy a battlefield.
"It was.... interesting," he said slowly. "Listening to my story like that. I had forgotten so much of it, and misremembered a lot more. Is that truly how it was?"
"Perhaps. You can never know. Tell a thousand people the same tale and you will hear a thousand different tales back. It is how I see it, if that matters."
Marrain picked up the dechai hanging at his belt, and began twirling it in his hand. "I was watching the woman. A strange sort of alien. She is a human, yes?" Sinoval nodded. "Valen was one of those. Will be one of those.... whatever. Is that their natural form?
"More or less. Apart from her scars."
"Is she pretty, do you think?"
"How should I know? Perhaps."
"Hmm.... that is what I was thinking."
Marrain paused, deep in thought. "There was something else, something else I remember. Something I am sure happened. At Z'ha'dum. Something that did happen. You did not tell her that. You did not tell her the truth? The whole truth?"
"No. Should I have?"
"No."
Sinoval looked at him. The body might have changed, but the eyes had not, and nor had the soul they reflected. "Do you regret it now?" he asked. "What you did?"
"No. Should I?"
"No. The galaxy works in unusual ways."
"I do not think I understand. I do not think I ever will. But I do understand this. I am ready. We are ready. Call us to war, and the Tak'cha will come. All of us."
"Once before they killed one of their Gods, and now they will have a chance to destroy the entire race of Gods. Ironic, is it not?"
"If you say so." Marrain looked at his dechai again, and laughed, an odd little sound. "I have taught them all how to use a dechai. None of them will touch a barrken these days. I knew Valen after all, their Z'ondar, and so my words must carry the weight his once did. None of them uses a barrken any more. That is ironic.
"I must go."
"Fare well, my friend."
Marrain turned back to look at him before the darkness engulfed him. "When the time comes, call for me. It has been a long time since I rode to war."
"I will. Be sure of that."
Marrain departed, and Sinoval was alone again. Just him, and the million voices of the Well. Alone....
.... save for one little whisper at the back of his mind. He had felt it before, and he could feel it again now. Watching, waiting. It seemed louder in the silence.
"Who are you?" he whispered.
"That is my question," came the reply. "Who are you, Primarch Sinoval? Avenger, warlord, betrayer, redeemer? Who are you?"
"A Vorlon agent? How did you find me?"
"I am so much more than you can imagine, especially now. My name, Primarch, is Sebastian, and I am the Inquisitor. I am the light that forces back the dark, and there is no place darker than the mortal soul. I know where you hide, and I know those you touch. Run from me all you like, you will only find me beside you when you stop."
"I am not afraid of you."
"I know. Such a.... weakness."
Then came pain, pain such as Sinoval had never known before. The Well was screaming. The million souls screamed as one. A Soul Hunter, one of his, was screaming, mutilated and dying, with no hope of release either side of death.
Oblivion, blessed oblivion, welcomed him.
And then there was silence. True and unbroken.
* * * * * * *
Z'ha'dum, a thousand years ago.
The thing unspoken.
Marrain went on in silence. He might have been a dead man walking. He had not yet received the terrible blow that would ruin his soul forever, but he was teetering, hovering on the brink, staring at the two paths head of him, too consumed by anger and hatred to know which choice to make.
He could see light ahead, but he did not care. His dechai was bloody and heavy in his hand. With each step it seemed to grow heavier still.
He was a warrior. His life was nothing but burden and duty. There was nothing more.
The tunnel opened and he saw the heart of Z'ha'dum laid before him. A chasm falling far beyond anything his mortal eyes could see. Above him, the darkening sky.
Before him stood two beings. One was a Shadow, bigger than any other he had seen, its carapace mottled white. The other was humanoid, infinitely old and infinitely wise. It nodded to him as he entered, and then it stepped backwards and disappeared into the abyss.
Derannimer lay still on the edge of the precipice. Marrain did not even notice her.
"Your guards are dead," he said to the Shadow. They had attacked him, and they had died. This day there was nothing he could not defeat. Nothing. "Your war is over. Your race is over. Thus it ends."
<We do not fear death,> said the Shadow King. <Strike, and be done.>
"I am not here to kill you." The Shadow King's head turned slightly, perhaps a gesture of surprise, perhaps an indication to continue. After long seconds, Marrain did so. "I am here to save your life.
"I am a warrior. I have trained my entire life for the perfection of combat. I am the best warrior of my generation, perhaps the finest there ever was or ever will be. I have proved that today. Do you know the ultimate goal of every warrior?
"To serve a lord worthy of his skill.
"He offers us a thousand years of peace. What good are warriors in peacetime? What use is strength where there is no fear? Where is courage when there is no danger? He would have us become philosophers and diplomats and spineless priests.
"I say this.
"Let him have his thousand years of peace. Then, when it is over, come back. Bring a thousand years of war where once there was peace. Bring a million years of war! Bathe the entire galaxy in blood!
"Bring back the days he will destroy, when everything depends on skill, on strength, on wit. A day when if a warrior is not good enough, he learns to become better or he dies.
"Bathe the entire galaxy in blood."
The Shadow nodded again, its eyes flashing.
<You chose the wrong side, warrior.>
"Yes, I did. But now I am doing what is right. I will tell him you are dead. I am sure you can flee, or hide, or do something. I do not care how. I only care that you return."
<We shall return. It shall be as you say.>
"Good." Marrain pointed at Derannimer, and for a single moment the anger in his heart was a little less. "She is mine."
<As you say.>
He walked forward and knelt down beside her, pulling her to him gently. "I love you," he whispered. "I have always loved you."
"And I love you," she replied, the words scarcely audible.
"I have always loved you, Valen."
And that was it.
* * * * * * *
After going beyond.
As we agreed. You see? We hold to our promises.
This is it, then? This is death?
There are many faces of death. This is the one you have chosen. This is the final death, no return, no resurrection, no salvation, not even a soul. Your ashes shall become a star, your whispers a memory - but your soul shall become nothing. Not even we can return you to the world of the living now.
I thought this would have gone against everything you believe in. Why are you not trying to save me?
My reasons are my own. Let us say simply that immortality is a gift that no one deserves. And what the Vorlons would do to you.... No one deserves that.
What will they say?
The Vorlons will know. One First One to another, they will know. Your people, they will whisper and speculate. They will search, but they will never find your body. They will search, but they will never find your soul. They will say only that you have passed beyond, and so it has proven to be.
Good. I'm so tired. I'm so very tired.
And now you can rest.
Yes.... now I can rest....
....
Forever.