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| Volume 5: Among the Stars, like Giants | Part VI: A Great Hand Out of the Sky |
THE great events of the galaxy always seem to the onlooker, and even sometimes to the historian, to be sudden, drastic things. The tide of history appears to move in sharp, sudden upheavals. The truth is of course nothing of the kind. Behind every great change are hundreds of little ones. Behind every crucial, world-shattering decision, there has been doubt and planning and proposals and advice.
And Councils, of course.
Nowhere is this clearer than the Council of Sinoval, held in the symbolically appropriate and resonant hall at Golgotha. The Council was a gathering of his allies, his agents, his 'threads' as he called them. It was there that the course of the war to come was planned.
And fortunately we have an account of that Council, in fact more than one. The most telling, as well as the most accurate and powerful, is of course that of L'Neer of Narn,¹ but there are other accounts; principally those of Commander Ta'Lon,² Lord Kulomani,³ and the never-finished memoirs of David Corwin himself.4
As a result there is a wealth of information concerning that meeting, and of course its chair and master, Primarch Sinoval. An endlessly complicated individual, whom no one could be said to have known well. Of all of them, maybe the Blessed Delenn came closest.
This Council provides a fascinating view of him at a time when his emotions were raw, his plans approaching either fruition or disaster, and his time of concealment over.
It was also the time for his secrets to be unveiled, and for those present to learn what he had spent all this time preparing to fight against....
¹ Learning at the Prophet's Feet, by L'Neer of Narn.
² As related in One Eye to the Future by G'Dan.
³ Broken but Unbowed, the autobiography of Lord Kulomani.
4 Unpublished manuscript held by the University of Proxima.
GILLESPIE, E. (2295) The Beginning of the End. Chapter 10 of The Rise and Fall
of the United Alliance, the End of the Second Age and the Beginning of the
Third, vol. 4, The Dreaming Years. Ed: S. Barringer, G. Boshears, A. E.
Clements, D. G. Goldingay & M. G. Kerr.
* * * * * * *
There were seven of them, including Parlain himself. They had many names. Officially they were the Silver Council, an arm of the Grey Council itself. Officially they were a special unit of the Minbari military, aimed at furthering relations with alien races and promoting order and stability in dangerously unstable areas.
Unofficially of course, they had only been granted some semblance of respectability by Derannimer. The rest of the Grey Council had been aghast, but none of them had been able to refuse her, and anyway, it was generally agreed that the further away from Minbar these individuals were, the better.
Parlain expected things to change very quickly.
Not that he cared. He, all of them, would do what they did with or without the backing of the Grey Council, or anyone else. But it would be painful nonetheless. Renouncing their ties to the Council would mean renouncing their status as Minbari. They would become renegades, clanless and kinless, without root or branch or home to call their own.
It would hurt, but they would accept it.
They had many names, but Parlain himself had coined the one that tended to stick.
They were the Company of Chaos.
And every one of them was an outcast of some kind. Tamekan had wanted to be a magistrate before his denn'bok had broken in a fight and he had been disgraced. Innaken had been driven to become a healer, until the woman he loved had gone missing and his long search to find her had cost him a little too much of himself. When he eventually found her, he had grown apart from her without hope of return.
Tadanakenn was a mystery as always, lithe and graceful and anything but the exiled Wind Sword she proclaimed herself to be, but that did not matter. Her reasons were her own. Tetsuken had always been a little too violent for his father, a famed scholar, to accept, and with his father's death nowhere else would tolerate him.
Takuen was haunted by the actions of her grandfather during the war. He had followed Hantiban, and later Parlonn, and no one would ever believe that she was not every bit as treacherous as they were.
And Rekaiji. She had once been a priestess, and a close friend of Cathrenn's. One day, without apparent reason, she had simply walked away from her meditations, burned her white robe, and donned the black and silver of a warrior. No one knew why, not even Parlain, although he had his own thoughts as to why she stayed with the Company.
And then there was Parlain himself. Named for the two greatest traitors of the war. A dark shadow on the most famed and beloved bloodline of the Minbari. He was forgotten - unwanted, unneeded.
No one needed him except the six of them.
The Company of Chaos.
There had been others, but they had died or fallen or succumbed to injuries. Now there were just seven, and that was all that was required.
As soon as he returned, Parlain went looking for Rekaiji. He found her in the training room of course, with the others. Their warship was really too large to crew with only seven, but it also served as a home, a training ground and a means of transport. Most of their combat was carried out on the ground.
He saw her instantly. She was sparring with Takuen, moving slowly and precisely, working through the forms and motions. She was not the only one who had not been born a warrior - Innaken had been and still was a healer, and Shingen alone knew what Tadanakenn had done before she had joined them - but Rekaiji had always been driven to perfect herself, and then advance beyond even that.
Parlain loved that about her.
There was a stiffness in her right arm where the Zarqheba had bitten her. She was compensating for that by trying to master the forms with her left arm, but it was harder than it looked. It meant shifting her whole bodily awareness to the other side. Parlain had been blessed with complete ambidexterity, but he appreciated how hard it must be for her.
He remembered the fear he had felt when she had been wounded. He had been afraid that she would die, and then afraid that her arm would have to be amputated and she would be unable to fight. Afraid that she would leave them.
He should have known better. Whatever happened, she would always be with them.
"Behold our fearless leader," said Tetsuken, rising from the spot where he had been meditating with Innaken. Like Innaken he had changed his name slightly upon joining them, adding the martial '-ken'. It was the old title given to one of another caste who had joined the warriors.
Rekaiji turned slightly from the forms, although she took care to maintain her balance. Her every movement was a dance.
"How was it?" Innaken asked.
"How else?" he replied. "A parade. A performance. You should have heard the things that were said. She would have hated it." He sighed bitterly. "But I suppose I am fortunate. If it had been another day, I would have been challenged half a dozen times at least."
"Concerned about your mortality?" asked Tadanakenn with a smile.
"No. No desire to have six families expressing blood feud with me for killing their favoured children. But then, maybe I should have accepted one or two. According to Cathrenn, the Grey Council is to step up enforcement of the ban on denn'cha."
There was a genuine mutter of disapproval. Valen had discouraged the ancient right of duel to the death and on the creation of the Grey Council had officially made it illegal. He had hoped to let it die out naturally, and for the most part it had, but there were isolated areas where it still existed. Tamaken's disgrace was related to a denn'cha duel.
"How long until they try to outlaw companies like us?" asked Takuen.
"There are no companies like us," Tadanakenn intervened.
"No," Parlain said. "We are the only one. We will be the last."
"Morbid."
"Truthful. Seeing her body.... I did not want to believe it before that. Until the very moment I stood before the pyre I wanted to believe it was not true, but then.... It should not have happened that way. She should have died in battle, not in bed."
"No one dies in battle any more," said Takuen. "There are no battles to die in."
"Except for us," Tadanakenn said, with a wry smile. "Are we not the fortunate ones? And speaking of fortune, a message came in, requesting a meeting regarding a task."
"Who?"
"No name, just a price.
"And this."
She handed over a circle of rock, elaborately carved and exquisitely crafted. There was a pattern there, a badge of olden days. A white mask, trapped beneath a web of thorns.
"Well?" Tadanakenn asked.
"Has there not been a vote?"
"We decided to leave this one in your hands. None of us has the slightest idea what that means."
"I do," he said. "We accept." There was nodding and smiling, except from Rekaiji. She merely watched him, her sky-blue eyes sending messages for him alone.
Later, in his arms, warm against his body, she asked him about the funeral. He might have lied to the others, but not to her.
"Angry," he replied. "I felt so angry. Less than a handful were worthy of being there. Rashok. Nemain, Cathrenn, one or two others. But there were thousands, and that was only one memorial of many. She would have hated all the show, all the hypocrisy, all the lies."
He thought deeply, and then closed his eyes.
"I hate them all. I wish I had been born a hundred years ago.
"I wish I could have killed them all."
* * * * * * *
"All of you know who I am. Those of you who have not seen me will have heard of me.
"And I know what you will have heard.
"I have been called a monster, and a murderer, and a warmonger, and to an extent they are right. I am a warrior and a leader, but I have changed - greatly. I am no longer truly Minbari. Just as Delenn has changed to become a bridge between races, so have I, although my change was less willing and less painful than hers.
"I am a link between the Minbari and the Shagh Toth, whom some call the Soul Hunters. Our.... their.... true name is impossible for you to pronounce, their history long and profound. There is much that is required to be hidden, and that has been kept hidden for too long. This Council is about information, about the revealing of secrets, about the placing of trust.
"I know that none of you are Vorlon agents. They may be able to hide in some places, but not here. Never here.
"I also know that many of you doubt me, some with good reason. You may continue to dislike me, and you may continue to mistrust me, but I trust all of you. The history of my order is important, and has some bearing on our current.... situation. I shall tell it in full, but later.
"The United Alliance was created for both a short and a long term goal. The short-term was to rebuild a shattered world, and to fight and win a war against the Shadows. The long-term was to pave a pathway into the future, to provide stability and peace.
"Yes, it failed, but that is not the fault of the dream, nor, truly, that of the dreamers.
"This Alliance has only one goal, although I think it will be lofty enough to occupy us all.
"You are to drive away the Vorlons, indeed all the First Ones, and bring about the ascension of the younger races. It may be that something solid and permanent will emerge from all this, and if so, then that is a bonus. But this is an Alliance of war.
"I know or know of you all, but you do not know each other. I made a conscious choice to keep my activities private. The Vorlons are wide-ranging and skilled in the gathering of information. If someone were to be captured then they could not reveal what they did not know. Indeed, more than one of my agents has fallen to the enemy.
"That concern no longer applies. The Vorlons know about you now, as they know about this place. There can be no more hiding. This war is now very real, and for the most part it will be fought in the open, in the light.
"So, all of you, speak. Introduce yourselves. Look around. The people you see sitting here with you share your struggle, some have shared it for a very long time. If we are to be an alliance, then there must be trust. Say as much or as little as you wish.
"But speak.
"And share.
"All things begin with a single act. Let this be yours."
And they did.
* * * * * * *
Elsewhere III
As her father used to say, 'If you cannot play the Game properly, do not play it at all.'
Timov could play the Game properly, and she played it very well. That did not mean she took pride in it. She regretted it in fact, and wished her society and her childhood could have seen fit to give her something more constructive to learn and master. But as it was, she had little choice. Someone had to play the Game to save Centauri Prime.
And all the other major Players were dead.
As she walked in the damp, murky tunnels a step behind Captain Durla, she pondered them. The other Players.
Malachi. Londo thought she didn't know his motivation. She knew a lot more than he thought she did. Timov approved, as she approved of Londo's promise to his dying friend. One of the most stupid tragedies of this whole nightmare was the time it wasted. Londo could have been doing something truly magnificent, truly memorable for the Centauri Republic, but he had wasted all that effort on saving the planet from attack.
Well, that would have to wait. Timov hoped that when the time came, she would not be too old to do anything about it.
Refa. Poor, poor, dead Refa. He had once been Londo's oldest friend, but his ambition had always been too grand for his competence. He had been out-Played by a master.
Daggair and Mariel. Ambitious, yes. Dangerous, particularly in Mariel's case. Petty, vengeful. And both too blind to see that someone was watching them. Both too arrogant to realise they could be seen.
Valo. A military man, not a Player at all.
Marrago. Ah, now that was a pity. He was not a Player and he had never wanted to be one. Timov had always liked him.
Durano. Another pity. He Played almost as well as anyone Timov had ever seen, but he had a streak of nobility about him that kept him from true greatness. There was a line he would not cross, although he could have chosen to cross it at any time.
News of Durano's death had reached them a few days ago, as well as the decree that those who had fled from Babylon 5 were traitors and were to be treated as such. The Centarum had voted to enforce that decree and lend the Alliance - what was left of it - any aid they could in tracking down the renegades. They had also accepted the official line that Durano had been tragically killed in the attack on Babylon 5 by forces loyal to Sinoval.
Timov knew better, but she could hardly blame the Centarum for being weak, spineless and cowardly. All the truly great men were dead, and their even greater wives as well. It had suited many leaders, Londo and herself included, to keep the Centarum neutered. Morden had only taken advantage of the aftermath of the deaths of Valo, Jano, Kiro, Refa and Durano. It did little good blaming the Centarum for that. Timov herself would have done exactly the same.
But it made resistance a trifle difficult, hence the journey. No one would miss her. Few people ever did. Besides, she had devised a cover story about feeling ill and retiring to her room to meditate and recover her spiritual balance. She had such a reputation for eccentricity that it was easily believed.
Durla stopped, and the light from his torch revealed a ladder leading upwards. Timov looked up and found that it was too dark to see far.
"You should go first, lady," Durla said. "If you should slip and fall, I will be able to catch you."
"I have no intention of falling," she said primly, "least of all into another man's arms. But I accept your kind offer." She walked to the ladder and grasped the rungs. They were wet and more than a little slippery. She hmmed softly in displeasure.
"You have me at a disadvantage, Captain Antignano," she said. "I will rely on your discretion not to look up."
"Of course, lady," he said, a trifle embarrassed.
She climbed, and it was not as hard as she had expected. The feel of the rungs on her hands was simply revolting, though. She would need hours in the bath to rid herself of the smell, and her dress would be ruined. But there were few secret ways out of the palace that were not known either to Morden, Londo, or everyone and anyone. She comforted herself with the thought that Mariel would never have done this.
The ladder led up into a dark room, and she clambered out with a glare of disapproval. She was looking down to call to Durla, when she suddenly felt a cold pressure at her throat.
"Not a move, your ladyship," snarled a voice in badly accented Centauri. "Or I'll slit that scrawny gullet of yours wide open."
"I am Timov, Lady Consort to Emperor Mollari II, and you, sir, will show me the respect due to my position. I expect efficiency and manners from those who seek to provide me with a service, and neither is more important than the other."
There was a lessening of the pressure, and then a harsh, rasping voice came from somewhere in the shadows. "It's all right. Let her go. I was warned she'd be like this."
The man pulled back, and Timov brushed down her dress, turning around. The room filled with a dim glow as the cloth over a light globe was removed. A human was sitting in the corner and another was standing just a few feet away from her, holding a knife.
"You have to forgive my associate, Mr. Harris," the seated human said. "He has quite extraordinary dark vision."
"You would be Mrs. Trent, then. I do not think much of your manner of greeting potential customers."
Durla emerged from the hole, and swung himself up quickly. He placed his light globe on the floor and stood close to her, one hand on the hilt of his kutari.
"I think you will find that Mr. Harris' abilities are telepathic in nature, and have nothing whatsoever to do with his eyes," Timov said. "And I still think very little of your welcome."
"It pays to be careful," the woman replied. "And you are very well informed. It's Ms Trent, by the way."
"It pays to be well-informed. And my apologies. The titles given to human women are, in my experience, very confusing and mostly unnecessary. Now, in order to start negotiations off properly, I have access to the Republic's entire treasury. The staff are so blind that they will never notice a little embezzlement here and there. Now, I grant you the contents are not what they once were, but I believe there is sufficient to make you very rich indeed. Your name was recommended to me by certain individuals who are aware of your dealings with a Thrakallan crime-lord named n'Grath, dealings that predate your hurried departure from Proxima Three on charges of corruption, knowledge of Shadow-related activities and generally being inconvenient.
"Now, what I need from you is extensive, and long- term. If you enter my employment, I will demand your absolute loyalty. You will take no other missions and supply no other buyers until I release you from my service. I also demand the utmost confidentiality, and if word should get out to any other parties I will personally see to it that you are killed."
"You make it sound very tempting, lady."
"Sarcasm does not become you. What I offer in return is the lifelong friendship of the Centauri Republic, and enough money to see you dead in great splendour of dubious excess within two years."
"That bit sounds nicer."
"Understand me, Ms Trent. I do not care what you have done in the past. It is what you do in the future that matters. The fate of my people rests on what you and I can agree to here. But understand that if you turn me down, I do have other opportunities."
"And I do not leave here alive, I take it? There is no one hiding nearby, lady. All you have is one guard."
"Yes, it will be frightfully boring for him, I'm sure. Ms Trent, the most important lesson I ever learned was to never judge by appearances. You, for example, look like the sort of slimy, debauched wharf-rat I would not permit to beg outside my house, and yet I am placing a great deal of trust in you."
"You have a way with words, lady."
"Yes, I do. Do you accept my employ, or not?"
"I accept, lady."
"I always knew you would. Now, let us begin to talk business."
* * * * * * *
Dexter had watched and listened intently, hardly aware of Talia by his side. Sinoval fascinated him. He was the first person he had met who did not look like someone about to die. There were a few strange people around, several of whom seemed to know a lot about death. The old Minbari warrior had a parasite animating him, and the younger male Minbari somehow felt too old for his body. The human woman, Susan, also seemed to have been touched in some way.
But Sinoval was the first person he had seen since.... he had seen it.... who was not about to die.
He listened as they introduced themselves. Some faces he knew. Some names he knew. Many were completely strangers. The name 'Marrain' was unfamiliar to him, but as he listened to the warrior's story he understood why he had seen what he had in him. Some people did not appear to believe Marrain's tale of having died and been restored to life, but Dexter did.
He was the last to speak. Most of them had been quick, giving just their name and any former position they might have held. Some, like Marrain and G'Kar, had spoken in more detail. Talia had spoken after that, and then he realised that left only him remaining.
He sat forward and breathed out slowly, resting his elbows on the table. He liked the table. It felt.... solid, stable, eternal, somehow alive.
"My name is Dexter Smith," he said, taking it for granted that everyone would understand him. After all, he had understood them, and he doubted the Tak'cha Ramde spoke English any more than he spoke.... whatever language they did.
"I was a Senator of the Proxima Government. Before that, I was a soldier in the service of the Resistance Government. I was Captain of the Babylon, the second captain actually, after.... after General Sheridan.
"Now I guess I'm just a renegade, like most of the rest of you."
He looked up at Delenn. She met his eyes, and he felt himself falling into them. Once he would have given everything for another look into those green eyes, but now he saw the flaws beneath her flawless skin, and he shivered. He had not thought it would have mattered, but it did. Seeing Delenn dying hurt.
Then he looked up at Sinoval. "To tell the truth, I wasn't sure why I was here. I know it wasn't whatever status I had. I doubt it was anything I've done. Then I thought it might have been something I saw."
There was a slight, almost imperceptible nod from Sinoval.
"It was an alien, something I'd never even imagined before. I'm not sure if what I saw was the way it really looks. I doubt if something like that is restricted to one form anyway. It might have been an illusion, or.... a projection of some kind.
"What matters is the way it made me feel. It was ancient, I know that. Of course that was before I'd seen this place, but I still think it was ancient. It was.... terrible. And it was powerful. I think it could have been a God. Maybe it was.
"It looked at me, and to it I was.... nothing. I was living matter put together and given some rudimentary sentience but beyond that I was a cosmic joke, nothing more. I was a dead man walking.
"It touched me somehow, and I've been dreaming ever since. There was a...."
"A city," Talia breathed. She took his hand carefully. She felt warmer than he remembered recently, and less clammy. She almost felt alive.
"A city," he said. "I've been dreaming about it. It was somewhere far away, black, with a tower, and.... the sky was beating. Everything was dead. They'd killed everything that wasn't them.
"I've seen the Vorlon network, and I've seen their Bloodhound units, their.... Hand of the Light. They revolted me, but this thing....
"I've never believed there's any shame in admitting to being afraid, and that thing terrified me. I thought for a long time I might be going mad, but now I'm here.... I know I'm not. I can't explain it, but I know now for certain they're real."
Sinoval nodded. "Indeed they are," he said. "All too real, and you understate your own involvement, Mr. Smith. You have seen the network, and your lady has entered it. If we are to defeat the Vorlons we will have to destroy all their sources of power, and that includes the network."
"Network?" asked Marrain. "What is this network?"
"Souls," he replied. "A collection of souls, bound together by portals into and out of hyperspace."
"Telepaths," Talia hissed. Sinoval looked at her, and Dexter caught the surprise in his eyes, that anyone would dare to interrupt him. He waved a hand, and allowed her to continue. "They take telepaths. I suppose it could be any race, but I only know for sure they take humans. They trap them in a.... a shell of some kind, and open a hyperspace portal around them. The portal is a tunnel to another node, and another telepath, and another after that.
"Telepathic powers are stronger in hyperspace, you see. The telepaths are all connected and their power can be channelled to any point through the network. The Dark Stars have telepaths trapped within them. It's why they were able to beat the Shadow ships. The Shadows were vulnerable to telepaths."
"That was why the Vorlons created telepaths in the first place," Sinoval added. "They have always possessed these powers themselves."
"The Vorlons helped with my project to breed telepathy into my race," said G'Kar. "It would not have worked without them."
"It hardly worked anyway," Na'Toth added. "Every one of them burned out and died."
"But as they served their purpose, what does it matter?" Sinoval said. "That is the way the Vorlons think. Everything exists for a purpose, and once the purpose is fulfilled, it is no longer needed. Originally the telepaths were bred to fight the Shadows, true, but there was another purpose, a secondary purpose that would be fulfilled when the first was completed."
"And that was?" Talia asked, angrily.
"To give strength," he replied. "To them. The Aliens.
"The Lords of Death."
* * * * * * *
Parlain stepped into the ruined hall of Shirohida without fear. He was alone. None of the others would come here. Even Rekaiji had paused at the gateway, hesitating, shaking. He could sense her fear, and she knew it. He had told her to remain behind on guard, trying not to shame her.
He did not blame them at all. They were his friends and companions, the only people he was sure would never betray him. Rekaiji was his lover, and he trusted her as he trusted no one else. Her injury had filled him with grief and a terrible rage, and he had silently resolved to end it for her himself should she be left unable to fight.
He did not blame them for not wanting to enter Shirohida. Many people believed the place was cursed. It had never been resettled in the decades since Marrain had perished. It was said that his ghost was here, wailing and screaming, as insane in death as he had been in life.
Parlain suspected the truth. He had asked his mother one night, and she had looked at him intently, perhaps frightened by the resemblance that was even then beginning to appear. Valen had been away on a diplomatic mission, Cathrenn was studying, and Vashok was asleep. It had been just the two of them.
She had told him. The truth. Everything. How she had chosen to come to Shirohida, and how she had confronted Marrain that one last time. How he had been mad, but had regained some grasp of his sanity before he died in the fire he had started, the fire that had consumed the hall.
It was only many years later, after the first of his dreams, that she had told him about the Soul Hunter.
He had been here many times. When he had come of age he had been granted one year to spend in service as he wished. He could have chosen any regiment, any order of the priesthood, any Ministry or Guild or trade. His siblings would later be offered the same choice, and their decisions had never hurt either of their parents. Cathrenn had chosen to be attached to the Grey Council as an acolyte, Vashok had gone to the Order of the Light Omen at Tuzanor, Zathrenn had gone to the Rangers, Nemeranth to the guild of glass-makers, and the others had made similar choices.
Parlain had chosen to serve alone, to wander his world and learn its history.
That had disappointed Valen, he knew. Parlain had refused the honour guard offered to him and had walked out into Minbar alone, disappearing from sight. He had kept his name and his identity secret and had posed as a scholar or a pilgrim.
In a village in the foothills of the Yamakodo Mountains he spoke with an aged warrior who had fled Ashinagachi with Parlonn. In a farm outside Yedor he spoke to a hired hand who had fought alongside Marrain during the early stages of the war, until an injury had crippled him. He had listened to a roadside bard sing of the war. He had spoken with the grandson of Unari, born to a daughter the tall warrior had never known. He had dug in the earth at Sekigahara and found a dechai from that battle. He had meditated on it all night, and then buried it beside its owner. And he had spent a week at Shirohida, sleeping in its massive stone hall.
The rumours were true. The keep was haunted. Parlain had watched the ghosts and talked with them. He had seen them dance and sing. He had stood where Berevain had been nailed to the wall and seen her ghost there, as silent as a ghost as she had been in death. He had sat on the throne and cut himself in four places. He had stared up at the colossal stone forms of the Wind Sword leaders and knelt before Hantenn, knowing that Marrain and Parlonn had regarded him with respect.
He suspected later that everything he had seen had been a delusion, merely fever dreams, a residue of the illness that had incapacitated him for two weeks after being caught in a rainstorm at Sekigahara. He might almost have believed it, but for the two thin scars down his face that he bore upon leaving Shirohida.
Marks of a warrior with a task as yet unfulfilled, or a shame unatoned-for.
Marks of a dead man walking.
From that day on he had taken to calling himself a Wind Sword. He had no legitimate right to that title - but he had slept and meditated at Shirohida. He lived the life of a Wind Sword, fought as they did, thought as they did. Any of them could have challenged the unauthorised use of their name, demanding satisfaction for the dishonour, but no one had. There was no courage in them now. They were broken, nothing, a shadow of their former selves.
He had returned to Yedor not long afterwards. His mother had almost collapsed on seeing him, and Valen had actually shouted at him. He had always known that Valen felt no great affection for him, but to hear him shout....
"Our people died in their thousands!" Parlain could still hear him cry. "And they died to create the world you know, a world where no one has to die needlessly, where no one should wear marks like that!"
He had wanted to speak, but he had not. He had known then that there would never be any common ground between Valen and himself. He had heard his mother cry that night, and that had hurt him, but not as much as the knowledge that he did not belong there, and none of them understood him.
Cathrenn came closest. She at least wanted to understand him. She had asked him hundreds of questions about his journey and listened to his stories with avid excitement. He had hoped she might accompany him the next time, but then in the morning he knew she never would.
After that, Parlain had sought out the best trainers and warriors alive. Rashok had trained him as a child, grudgingly, but as Parlain had grown older the begrudgingness had become more and more obvious. Rashok flatly refused to teach him any more.
So he had sought other warriors. They were available. Rangers banished in disgrace, who spoke of A'Iago Mar-Khan and Kin Stolving. Old warriors who had fought beside - or against - Parlonn and Marrain. He read their texts and the histories and the stories, and he knew he would never be able to return home.
He had not even been present for Valen's funeral service, although he had marked the month-long period of mourning in his own way. Whatever he felt for him, his mother had loved him. He had to respect that.
These thoughts hung heavy on him as he walked deep into the hall at Shirohida. His past always seemed ten times as heavy here. He had returned often, to meditate or think or train. He had even slept here. He had tried to persuade Rekaiji to come with him, but she had never been able to cross this threshold.
"This is our place," he said to the ghosts. "Ours and ours alone."
He walked deeper in, trying to hide his excitement. This was something special, and he knew it. No normal employer would seek to meet him here. Innaken had voiced fears of an ambush, but Innaken was an irrelevance. Parlain doubted that an enemy would come here, and it wouldn't matter if they did. Be it an army, a horde of Wykhheran or Zarqheba or even Shingen himself, nothing could kill him here.
He walked up the steps to the throne and sat down, feeling the satisfying prick of pain as the stone thorns dug into him. Hantiban, it was said, had hated this chair, which cut him every time he sat on it. Hantenn had rarely sat here, and when he had he had felt no discomfort. Marrain had never once sat on the throne.
Parlain felt the discomfort, he felt the pain, but he accepted it as part of himself and who he was. The Wind Swords would never return here. They had moved to a new stronghold nearer Yedor, one built as much for beauty as for function, elegance over strength.
In this hall, Parlain felt immortal. He felt like a Warleader. He felt like an....
Emperor?
"Come out," he said to the shadow beneath Hantenn's shadow.
The figure moved forward. "I am glad you came, scion," it said. "You look.... fitting, on that throne."
Parlain sat forward, steepling his fingers in front of his face. He had been fairly certain before, but as soon as the flicker of moonlight caught the jewel in the figure's forehead, he knew who had called him here.
It was a Soul Hunter.
* * * * * * *
"Cathedral is old. As an order, we Soul Hunters are even older. We are the children of the First, the first race to be born with sentience.
"The First of the First were born immortal. The universe made them that way for a purpose, although if even the Eldest himself knows what that purpose is, He will not say."
"He never would," Susan said. "Lorien." Delenn looked up sharply, and nodded.
"But the children of the First were mortal. They were long-lived and at first they thought they were as endless as their parents, but then they started to die, and not of illness or accident as their parents had on a very few occasions.
"They began to die of old age. Of entropy.
"They were angry, and sought to find a way to change this. They could extend the life of their physical shells, but not indefinitely, and so they turned to extending the life of the soul. They identified it as an entity in its own right, a force animating the shell that was the body.
"They managed to transfer a soul from one body to another. And again. They could take the soul at the death of the body and restore it in a new shell.
"They had become immortal.
"But they had forgotten one vital thing. Entropy is everywhere. It cannot be stopped, it cannot be avoided. The entropy that was destroying their physical bodies eventually consumed and corrupted their souls as well.
"They became mad, fixated on the moment and experience of death. They committed suicide over and over again, just for the rush of emotions it brought, and the corruption became greater and greater.
"And eventually, inevitably, there was war in the heavens, war between the races of the age, the very oldest of the First Ones. The war lasted immeasurable millennia. The Shadows and the Vorlons were then no more than you are now, but they fought also.
"Many of your races have an ancestral memory, an instinctive hatred of my kind. That time is the reason. We walked the worlds where you lived only as bacteria, and we reaped the souls of all we saw. We worshipped death incarnate, and we spread its black cloud over everything.
"Eventually we were defeated - destroyed, as ever, from within. The Well of Souls was created from those we had saved, and its souls were pure, unaffected by the madness. Those too far corrupted were destroyed without rebirth, and we disappeared, seeking to atone for what we had done. Once we had destroyed, now we sought to safeguard, to hold and to keep the wisest and the noblest and the most insightful of this existence, to prepare for the end of all.
"That is the history of the Soul Hunters, although to tell everything in detail would take such time as for your grandchildren to die from old age. I said that this was a time for secrets to be revealed, but I would not have dared reveal that, were it not absolutely necessary for you to understand it.
"I have seen that madness through the eyes of the Well, and I know it is my duty to prevent it from ever happening again. To bring back the souls of the dead in the bodies of the living is the greatest sin we can commit. I have done so once, with Marrain, because it was necessary.
"But death is no longer something we worship. We have no temples, no altars to Death's name, and the one holy place we have is dedicated to something altogether different.
"For a time we were the most terrible and terrifying creatures in existence. Such was our power that even now you still fear us instinctively, remembering a war fought before your races had begun to evolve.
"But we have amended our ways. We have sought atonement. We have worked to undo what we did."
Sinoval paused, and his voice became very heavy, thick with foreboding.
"Now," he said. "Imagine a universe where we never did."
* * * * * * *
Elsewhere IV
He was listening, watching through the eyes of those he had touched. He was proud, almost like a father in a way. He did not know what that concept really meant to these people, but he knew what it meant to him.
It is a terrible thing when your children fight.
And they were all his children. Narn and Minbari and Shadow and human and Vorlon and Soul Hunter and Z'shailyl and Szanqeta and the others. Races who had lived and died alone, never leaving their isolated worlds. Races who had never achieved sentience, let alone space flight, but who had existed and thus enriched the galaxy.
He had often wondered if the universe itself was sentient; if there was some great mind, some great purpose, or if everything was just chance. He had thought he knew, but then he would cast his mind back to debates with his brothers, and everything became less clear.
The last of them was gone now, had been gone for almost five hundred thousand years. He had left to explore the dark places of the galaxy, promising to return, but of course he never had.
Half a million years is a long time to be alone.
He was not truly alone, of course. There were some at least who could understand him. The Soul Hunters. They pleased him. Their very existence was proof that sometimes good things could come from bad, that joy could rise from sorrow. These were bad times, but he had known other bad times, times that made this era look simple and joyous.
Times always became better, as they always became worse again, but he hoped that every rise was a little higher than the fall. He could see it in the Younger Races. It was a pity that they needed help from those older than themselves, but this was only temporary, he was sure.
Besides, Sinoval was not born of the older races. What power he had acquired he had gained himself, through determination and ruthlessness and sheer luck.
There, that was a good thing.
One day they would all learn what he knew, and they would learn it by themselves, through work and toil and accomplishment. It would not simply come to them by instinct.
Yes, he felt very proud indeed.
It was lonely sometimes, on Z'ha'dum. He had often thought about leaving, but he could never leave while the Shadows were there. They had worshipped him and prayed to him, and he had hoped that maybe they could be made to see reason. Some had, one or two, but right at the end all of them had seen, which was what mattered.
He remained there still, because he hoped the same thing for the Vorlons, although there his hope was fading.
He remembered their slow, faltering steps towards sentience, and then to intelligence, and then to purpose. He had watched them carefully, knowing that they would be special.
But the higher anyone climbs, the further they have to fall, and it seemed as though the Vorlons would fall very far, fallen beneath a power greater even than himself.
He was not worried for himself, nor even for the younger races. Oh, some specific, individual members would probably suffer and die, and that hurt him, but that was the trouble with mortals. They tended to die a lot. He would rest and think about something else and look at another world, and by the time he looked back their great-grandchildren would be dead.
But in the larger scale, in the bigger picture, he had faith in them.
It was just as well, for they would have to act without him. If their victory was to mean anything, it would have to be won without him.
The soft, undulating ribbon of light flowed into sight, and the figure who went sometimes by the name of Lorien rose from his meditation, still in his humanoid form.
"Welcome," he said to the approaching Vorlon. "I have been expecting you."
* * * * * * *
"They come from elsewhere, a place far from here and from all that we can understand.
"There are many such places, more than can ever be comprehended by mortal minds. Some may resemble our home, some may be completely different. This galaxy alone is such a small place compared to the entire universe, and yet look at the richness and diversity of what can be found even here.
"Their place is elsewhere, connected to our universe through portals and gateways and by a bridge. The dimension you call hyperspace is the bridge. It is a river, running and weaving between dimensions. We called it 'The Bleed'.
"These creatures evolved in their own dimension, as we did. They were the firstborn, and there, as here, their children railed against their mortality. They sought to extend their lives, and they searched for the understanding we found.
"They mastered the arts of death, as we did, and, as we did, they embarked upon a war against the races of the time, against their own immortal parents and the races they were sworn to protect. They were as terrifying and as majestic as we were.
"But there, things went differently. They came to worship Death, to revere it with a passion and a madness that swamped everything else. They were the chosen of Death, the Holy, and it fell to them to carry the touch of Death across their entire universe.
"And they did, but there was one thing they had to do first.
"They found their father, the First of the First Ones in that dimension.
"And they destroyed him.
"Immortality was a sin against their God. Not just their God, but their Purpose. None but they could be denied Death's touch, and they themselves lived always with death.
"Then they systematically, efficiently and brutally destroyed all life in their dimension.
"Not just sentient life. Not just intelligent life.
"All life.
"They destroyed plants. They destroyed bacteria. They destroyed planets. They turned everything they encountered into a charnel house.
"And once that was done they built a temple to honour Death, a vast graveyard for everything they knew, a mausoleum.
"And they built it on their homeworld, beneath a black, beating sky."
There were moans and cries. The city. The city. Dexter closed his eyes and touched the cold surface of the table reverently. L'Neer shook and clung tightly to G'Kar. Talia felt a chill run through her.
"But that was not enough for them. They knew that there were other universes than theirs. They knew of hyperspace, and the other islands the river fed. They cast their eyes elsewhere.
"And they found a door opened to them.
"Here.
"It was the Vorlons of course. Arrogance and power are a fatal mixture. Believe me. The Vorlons of the time believed themselves invincible, indestructible. They had mastered many of the secrets of hyperspace, although the entirety of their knowledge was no more than a drop in an ocean.
"They knew of other dimensions. The had created scrying devices - orbs, mirrors, boxes - and they knew that universes lay beyond. They were determined to find such a place and conquer it in the name of Order.
"They built a jump gate. It took them decades, but they had time. They opened it and amassed their fleet, ready to storm Heaven.
"Instead, Hell came out to meet them.
"The Aliens were seductive, and first came the whispers. Already they had infiltrated this dimension through the orbs and the mirrors, fuelling the curiosity of the Vorlons. With the gate open they could move in reality, sending dreams to those in power, impelling the Vorlons forward to serve them.
"That was always the way they had behaved, spreading the worship of Death, encouraging worlds and races to destroy themselves.
"The Vorlons were influenced and almost controlled, but the cult played their hand too soon and were exposed. Bloody and terrible civil war followed, the only time the Vorlons have ever made war upon each other. Their capital filled with blood, and became as much a charnel house as anything the Aliens had ever created.
"But the uncorrupted Vorlons eventually triumphed. They closed the jump gate and destroyed as many of the channelling devices as they could. Some were hidden by the cult, and others were lost. The cult threw the jump gate itself into hyperspace, hoping to retrieve it later.
"The Aliens retreated to their temple, and waited.
"Time passed - millennia, longer. The cult grew and advanced and became influential. The real Vorlons were beginning their telepath programme, to create their weapon against the Shadows. They built in the danger signal, in case the Lords of Death returned. But the cult blinded some of the telepaths, drawing them to the artifacts that had been hidden."
"Like the Apocalypse Box," Talia whispered in horror.
"The war with the Shadows has been a terrible thing for the Vorlons, and they have suffered heavy losses. Some of their leaders have died, including Kosh. That has left a vacancy, and the cult have filled it.
"To all intents and purposes the Cult of Death now rules the Vorlon Empire. They have been waiting for millennia for a chance to bring their masters through, and now is almost their time."
Sinoval paused. There was silence.
Then:
"How do you know all this?" asked Kulomani.
"Many places. The Well, mostly, but there are other sources." He reached into his robe and pulled out a globe, dark and cloudy, flashes of light visible within it. It seemed much too big to have come from a pocket. He placed it gently on the table and they could see a form moving within it, angelic and golden and crafted of light, and screaming.
"This," he said, "is the only Vorlon soul my people have ever taken. It was claimed at a great price, but it has proven to be worth the cost.
"This was a member of the Cult of Death. I have questioned it and bent it to my will, uncovering answers I would rather had been forgotten. It was not easy, but it was done."
"And it's taken this long?" asked Talia. "How many millennia, and they've never tried to act before now?"
"More millennia than you can count," Sinoval replied. "And yes, they have tried to act before. Indeed, some of them have manifested fully in this world.
"Where?"
He smiled, and spread his arms wide.
"Here, of course."
* * * * * * *
Parlain had never seen a Soul Hunter before, but he knew unequivocally what it was. It was tall, with a domed head and a jewel embedded in its forehead. It moved with a simple arrogant grace that a warrior like Parlain could appreciate. It never tripped or stumbled, it simply arranged matters so that it was never where any obstacles were.
Despite the crawling of his skin and the chill that swept through him, Parlain found he admired this creature - almost liked it.
It had occurred to him that this might be an ambush or a trap. If so, then he would die fighting, and there are worse ways to die than fighting a creature one admires. He did not think about his soul, did not think about the possibility that it could be captured.
He was a warrior. He showed no fear.
"The throne suits you, scion," the Soul Hunter said.
"I like this place," he replied.
"You feel content here."
"I belong here."
The Soul Hunter smiled. "Of course you do," he said. "Parlain the Warrior, eldest son of Derannimer, rightful heir to the throne of Minbar."
"Conceived out of wedlock, of doubtful parentage," Parlain said bitterly. "Cursed and damned and spat at from the moment of my birth."
"Cursed? No, say rather that you have been blessed. Damned? Perhaps. The glory of your heritage goes to your sister instead, and is denied to you."
"I have refused it," Parlain said, sitting forward on the throne. "And what do you know about my sister?"
"She has a great soul. She is strong and beautiful and talented, and she could bring about an era of peace and wonder, consolidating what your mother and Valen began. I know a great deal about souls."
"And what about my soul?"
"You show no fear. I am Shagh Toth, the monster that haunts the dreams of your people. I stand here in the burned hall of ill omen as you sit on the throne that has scarred and maimed its owners for centuries. When last did one who sat there die peacefully in his bed?"
"Three hundred and sixty-nine years ago," Parlain said automatically. "Tsunen, at the age of one hundred and eleven."
"And everyone since then succumbed to madness, or morr'dechai, or war, or treachery. You are very brave, to claim that seat for your own."
"No one else wants it, and I do not fear madness. I would welcome morr'dechai if I had been shamed enough to deserve it, I see death in war as a true and noble end for a warrior, and to be betrayed, one must first trust, and there is no one that I trust."
"You lie well, Parlain the Damned. All true bar the last. You are like your father in that way."
His eyes widened. "You knew my father?"
"I have had.... dealings with him. Of a sort."
"And now you want to have dealings with me. Of a sort."
"Of a sort, precisely."
"You want to hire us."
"You are a mercenary company, are you not? Your.... Company of Chaos." The Soul Hunter seemed to find that name amusing.
"We are, but we do not accept just any job. I will need to know what it is, where it is, and how long you expect it to take. We can then discuss the payment.
"But first I need to know who you are. Not what you are. Who."
"Who am I? An interesting question. You know, scion, you are the first person I have met since Valen that I find I admire, and he was the first in a millennium. You ask the correct questions, and show none of the incorrect fears. I admire that."
"Who are you?"
"I am the Primarch Majestus et Conclavus, leader of my order. I am come to hire you and your company to defend a place under siege."
"The battle has started?"
"No, but it will. Soon."
"Where are we to defend? Your castle?"
"Say rather, everyone's castle. It is a place a long way from here, but if I say it is of the utmost importance to all races, yours and mine included, you will know that I do not lie."
"And what is this place called, this.... castle of everyone's?"
"Golgotha."
* * * * * * *
"It was called the Enaid Accord, and it was perhaps the most important step ever taken in this galaxy. Think of it as a forerunner of your Alliance, although on a much wider scale.
"Valen began it, or rather he provided the inspiration. The last Great War against the Shadows had been fought largely by the Minbari. They had help - the Markab, the Ikarrans, the Tak'cha, a few others.... they all fought where they could.
"And the Vorlons, of course.
"There were other races in the galaxy at the time who were then at the technological level most of you are at now. Some, like the Dilgar, who were then just beginning to crawl out from their own planet, are dead and gone. Others, like the Narn, were not then at spaceflight level. Some, like the Drakh and the Z'shailyl and the Zener, joined the Shadows, willingly or not.
"But for the most part the war was just the Minbari, particularly after Valen banished the Tak'cha."
Haxtur bowed his head and began to pray in a soft, crooning voice.
"The.... incident with the Yolu put paid to them joining, and most of the other races Valen approached refused to join. They were content to safeguard their own worlds and systems. Some arrogantly determined to fight by themselves, and they were destroyed, either wiped out entirely or crippled to such an extent that it took them centuries to regain status and technology.
"Valen, it was said, knew that a time would come when the Shadows would return. He set preparations in motion for that time. Most of these are visible on Minbar - the Grey Council, the Rangers, the prophecies.
"But he made other preparations as well. This place was one of them.
"Valen did not build Golgotha. It was already here, immeasurably ancient. We built it, a lookout post on the edge of the galaxy to cast our eyes beyond the Rim.
"And to be ready for anything that should come this way. There is life beyond the Rim, dark and impenetrable by our standards, but there is life.
"Besides, if life from this galaxy can cross the vast darkness between the stars to the next galaxy, as the Shadows and other First Ones have done, what is to stop life from other galaxies from coming here?
"So we built this place to watch. It is near the ancient homes of the First Ones, near to Z'ha'dum of course, but near to other such worlds. We built other lookout posts. One was deep in Vorlon space, and is now lost. The others have been destroyed or abandoned long ago.
"This was felt to be the place to begin the Enaid Accord.
"We had been observing Valen for some time, aware of the flux of souls that had accompanied his arrival. We could sense that the Vorlons were manipulating him in some way, and that his actions were.... preordained. We were watching, but not too closely. The Vorlons and we were not friends. Our actions in the First War had turned them against us, not surprisingly, and they envied our knowledge and power.
"The first opportunity came when Valen was on a pilgrimage of some sort to Iwojim, a world that thereafter remained nameless, at his command. He was lost there for a long time, and it was there that he brought light to the darkness, there that a great battle was fought."
"I remember," Marrain whispered. "Parlonn died there, the first time. They covered the desert sands and blacked out the skies and it was just the two of us fighting back to back. They wounded him, and he fell."
"He returned to supervise the construction of a shrine. I think Derannimer pressurised him. It was meant to be a shrine to everyone who died there, but in fact it was for Parlonn. As far as Derannimer was concerned, Parlonn had died there."
"Yes," Marrain said. "Yes."
"That was the first opportunity we had to talk with Valen. The Primarch Majestus et Conclavus.... the first Primarch, met Valen there. They disappeared for days, and then Valen emerged from the desert and announced that there would be no shrine, no memorial, and the world would be left for the dead.
"And for the Vindrizi, but I am getting ahead of myself.
"The Primarch and Valen talked for days. The Primarch knew of Valen's desire to use the war to build something more permanent. Valen distrusted us, not surprisingly, but he accepted the Primarch's proposition that not just the Minbari should emerge stronger. Together they worked out the details of the Enaid Accord.
"It was to be a link between the younger races and the elder.
"Between the Minbari, and through them the others, and the First Ones.
"And it was to be based here.
"Valen allocated funds for the foundation of the Accord and set up a small cell of Rangers, the élite and the fearless. He siphoned them off from the others during training. His old friend Rashok knew nothing about it. Derannimer.... I am not so sure, but I doubt that he could have hidden much from her.
"These Rangers became the Warriors of the Accord, and he sent them here to provide the infrastructure and the defence.
"Meanwhile the Primarch contacted the other First One races, including the Vorlons. Some declined to join, remembering their ancient wars with my people. Some accepted and came gladly. He even invited the Shadows, hidden and disguised as they were then. They sent an emissary, cautiously.
"The Vorlons joined, glad that things were going according to their wishes. The Accord must have seemed to them a symbol of Order and discipline, all these disparate races coming together as one.
"Oddly enough, things did not work out that way. There was division of course, divided loyalties and policies, but progress was made. Many of the races who had remained insular for millennia were becoming aware of the wider galaxy around them. Treaties were proposed and drafted. The Vindrizi recorded the meetings and decisions of the Accord. Under the agreed terms they were given the planet of Iwojim, a name only they were to remember, to serve as their home and the repository of their knowledge.
"The Accord was working, slowly, and it was hoped that under its guidance the younger races might be shepherded and permitted to achieve their full potential. The Shadows began to play a greater part, although there was internal friction at the compromise to their ideology.
"But if the Shadows experienced internal friction, the Vorlons were furious. Bad enough that their Enemy was permitted to sit and talk. Far worse that the proposals for guiding the younger races were in the hands of others. What they saw as their sacred and holy duty was being given to those who did not share the view that Order and discipline were all that mattered.
"Action had to be taken.
"The Vorlons were content to wait, although not forever. They waited until Valen had passed beyond. They thought he suspected nothing. They were wrong. He suspected something, but not enough. Unfortunately for them he had already taken steps, and struck a private bargain with the Primarch. Theirs was.... a very strange relationship.
"No, I will not say what that bargain was. It is not material to this, and I have told far too many secrets already.
"So the Vorlons waited, but then they charged one of their generals with the subversion of the Enaid Accord, or if that proved impossible, its destruction.
"The general they chose was a member of the Cult of Death. Not surprisingly, his approach leaned towards destruction. He had a mirror, a device that penetrated into the realm of the Aliens. He brought it here and opened the gateway.
"First came the nightmares and the madness. Many of the First Ones possessed strong psychic powers, abilities that would overwhelm the strongest human or Minbari telepath. They were driven insane, filled with the lust for death. There was war, and blood was shed even here, in the Council Chambers of the Accord. The Rangers of the Accord tried to maintain stability, but they failed - driven insane themselves, or murdered.
"When everything was almost in ashes, ruined and crippled, the Vorlon opened the gateway fully, and one - just one - of the Aliens emerged.
"Eventually it was driven back, destroyed, but it had done its work. The Vorlon was exposed, but no action was taken. The Accord was in ashes, and the surviving First Ones scattered, returning to their own worlds and systems and their isolated lives. Some departed beyond the Rim.
"All of them remembered the Vorlons and what they had done, and they hated them.
"And so this place was forgotten.
"Except by us.
"The Vorlons wanted Golgotha and the Enaid Accord buried, and so they returned here when everything was finished. They sent it spinning into hyperspace, hoping it would never be found. They know as much about hyperspace as any race not born there can comprehend. Golgotha was almost lost forever.
"I found it. It was not easy, and it took time, but I found it.
"Some two years ago, when I was recruiting you all, I contacted the First Ones and sent them an invitation to meet me on the planet. Not many remain now, a mere handful of races in all. The last thousand years have been hard for them.
"But some came, and they listened, and they left. I had hoped some of them would attend this meeting, but it would appear not. If we are to be on our own, then so be it.
"I was moving in secret then, and it suited me to leave Golgotha where it was, lost amidst the folds and warps of hyperspace. But the time for secrecy is done. In preparation for this meeting I have brought Golgotha out from its hiding place, back to where it once was. That too was not easy, but everything is possible if one has the will and the power and the knowledge.
"I wanted the Vorlons to know what I had discovered. That was partly why I lured Sheridan here. I wanted them to know, and be afraid. And now I want them to know that there are others here, others who have learned what I know. I want them to be afraid.
"War, you see, is not about winning. It is about not losing. Many of you understand this. The Vorlons have made one crucial mistake already in killing Sheridan, and that mistake allowed this Council to be formed.
"I have a feeling they will shortly be making another."
It was Susan who first worked out what he meant.
"No!" she cried out.
"No!"
* * * * * * *
Elsewhere V
"You aren't going to win, you know," Lorien said. If he had been speaking in actual words, with actual sound, then he would have sighed. He was not, of course, but the emotion was there. Profound disappointment.
<We have won, Eldest. The Enemy is defeated.>
"Yes, one enemy is defeated. There is a greater one, however. An enemy none of you can see."
<We do not understand.>
"I am talking about you."
<Eldest, it need not be this way. You can still join us, and bring Order and discipline.>
"I am disappointed in you, in all of you. I had hoped that you would see, but you never did. It is not Order you serve, however much you tell yourselves otherwise. It is Death."
<You can join us, Eldest. Our Lords will welcome your allegiance. They do not even require servitude from you, only acceptance. Help us, and them.>
"You are a fool. I had never realised before just how foolish you are. Those you serve will turn this galaxy into a graveyard. They will kill everything that lives, and yes, they will kill me. You and those like you will remain, and before they kill you too you will see what you have made of this galaxy. I hope that maybe then you will realise your folly."
<Why do you defy us, Eldest? Always, you have refused us. All we wish to do is to serve you.>
"You do not understand."
<Do not dare say that to us, Eldest! We understand. We have always understood.>
"You have never understood, and nor will you ever."
<You are jealous of us, Eldest. Jealous that we will one day usurp your power!>
"There is little point in explaining."
<That day is now. You have always defied us, and now it is too late for you to beg forgiveness. We shall remember you when you are gone, Eldest.>
"You will not be the only ones."
There was a globe, crackling and filled with an unholy light. Lorien could have fought the thing that manifested from it. He knew it could exist here only briefly. He could have fought, but there was little point.
He had once told Susan that she should cherish her race's ability to believe that anything could be eternal. He should have listened to his own advice. He had truly believed that he would exist forever.
His last thought was to wonder why he welcomed so much the realisation that he had been wrong.