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| Volume 5: Among the Stars, like Giants | Part VII: .... Let No God Tear Asunder |
MOTHER!
There were no dreams for her any longer. She did not sleep. The woman of many names had all but forgotten her own.
She clung to the name Talia Winters more out of nostalgia than anything else. Precisely the same reason she clung to the illusion of her humanity.
When she had been at the Academy, there had been a trainer named Jason Ironheart. He had been her lover as well, when she had been less secure, more afraid of the voices, young and afraid and filled with self-loathing. He had helped her a great deal, proving to her the true beauty of silence.
Just silence.
It was for her people.
She clung to that memory now more than ever. There was no silence for her any more. She had known it sometimes since she and Jason had parted ways, with Al especially, and Dexter, and Matt, and a few others. But however intense, however passionate, however wonderful the silence had been, she would always remember that first revelation.
Now more than ever.
There was no silence for her now.
All for her people.
A mundane acquaintance had once asked her what being telepathic was really like. She had described it as like being in a room filled with people who were all talking very quietly to themselves, so quietly that the words could not be heard, but there was still the sense of countless different conversations, each with their accompanying memories and emotions and joys and griefs.
That justified it all, right?
Well, she had only been a P5 then, scarcely adequate. That had been before she had met Al, before she had trained as a saboteur and assassin, before she had given birth, before she had even suspected the existence of the network.
You will obey us.
That thought remained with her a lot.
She was more than a P5 now. Much, much more. She doubted the scale existed to measure such as her. And she was only the first, if she was indeed the first. Maybe others had come before her, and achieved as much power, or more. Maybe they had simply disappeared from the pages of history.
Sinoval would know. But to ask him she would have to go too near the Well of Souls, and then she would hear their voices. All of them.
She thought that would drive her mad.
As mad as poor, poor Dexter.
The needs of the many....
She looked at her two companions, wishing she could not see their thoughts as easily as if their skulls were transparent. She had met them both once before, twelve years ago, but she had been different then, practically a different person.
Marrago she understood, and liked. His emotions were so powerful, so furious, so close to the surface, kept at bay by sheer force of will. His grief was titanic and his every third thought was of his grave, but he could not rest until he had fulfilled his purpose.
She liked that. She admired him for it.
Mother!
Marrain was rare. Unique even. He had known death, and that memory was always present in his thoughts. Flames burned beneath the surface, buried far underground. He thought of honour and war and friendship and a sultry, dark-eyed woman. He had known hatred that could eclipse suns and love that could re-ignite them, but that had been a different person. There was doubt there as well, an eternal and subtle wondering whether he was the same person he had been. He was never quite sure if the Marrain who had known Valen and Derannimer and the Marrain who lived and walked now were really one and the same.
She could understand that. She did not much like Marrain. His outward personality - his new personality, she might say - was charming, and full of a love for life that could only come from having been denied it. But she could see the true darkness beneath, and the madness and the evil he was capable of.
He was not an easy man to like, not for her, but then she could understand the evil of which everyone was capable.
Mother!
After all, she had killed her own daughter.
Talia!
And condemned the man who loved her to madness.
Marrago nodded. "Of course," he said.
She had read the entirety of their thoughts and memories and feelings within the space of a heartbeat.
"So," Marrain said. "I hope there is a reason for this meeting. I have left my fair lady behind, and if I do not return quickly to her she may find someone else."
"She will not," Talia said. "And yes, there is a purpose. The Primarch has a plan."
"When does he not?" Marrago asked.
"And?" Marrain said.
Everyone was part of this. Not just the three of them, but all the warriors in Sinoval's army. She did not know everything, but she knew enough, and there was something only she could perform. She did not have to do it, but she felt....
.... obligated.
Without Sinoval she would never have become what she was. Never have known this sense of power, this sense of....
Mother!
Never have had to watch her daughter die, or Dexter fall over, clawing at his eyes.
Talia!
Never have had the power to save her people.
Everything died in time.
She owed Sinoval. She could do this for him.
It had to be her. She could ensure that no one listened in - no spies, no surveillance, no telepaths. She could sense the presence of the Aliens, and the Vorlons.
She knew they were alone.
Each of them was alone, more so than they realised.
Except her.
Mother!
She began to explain.
Marrain began to smile.
He was thinking about fire again.
* * * * * * *
The year 2266 was largely characterised by plans and preparations rather than actual battle, and there is little for the historian to indicate as a signpost for the course of the war. Of course that does not mean that nothing happened; but what did happen was more subtle, more secretive, and its significance is discernable only with hindsight.
The biggest engagement of 2265 was of course the battle at Proxima, the bloody and horrific campaign by Sinoval and his allies to retake the human world from the Aliens, only to be forced to relinquish it at the point of victory. Sinoval had accomplished his stated mission - to find and neutralise the gateway to the universe of the Aliens - but it irked him to have to surrender the world back to his enemies. The decision was both practical and necessary. His forces did not have the strength to continue fighting, and so Proxima was abandoned back to the Vorlons.
The fallout of that battle continued into the first half of 2266. Sinoval was exhausted by his efforts, particularly by the gruelling battle of will required to destroy the gateway. The only eyewitness to his struggle with the Alien there is uncharacteristically reticent, but she does state that Sinoval was all but unconscious when he was dragged from the ruined building, moaning the words 'my lady' over and over again and clutching a crudely-made piece of jewellery so tightly that it had drawn blood.¹ Afterwards he spent many months in seclusion, resting and recovering his strength, and delegated much of his authority to his second, Susan Ivanova. She was uncharacteristically cautious, but fought several fine holding campaigns, checking the Vorlons where they attempted to advance.
The Vorlons themselves were also cautious. Proxima was the first time they had attempted to use their Alien allies as a weapon, and they had badly underestimated their power. It is probable that it was around this time that the internal divisions started to appear in the Vorlon hierarchy. It is certain that some members of their Government were secret cultists of the Aliens, but probably not all of them. Although we know very little about the Vorlon Government or hierarchy it seems likely that some questions were asked following the botched Proxima mission.
Sinoval re-emerged from his seclusion in the second half of the year filled with renewed drive and vigour, as well as a palpable anger, rumoured to be every bit as volatile as that he had displayed during the Alliance Council meeting at the beginning of 2261. His immediate response was to attempt to contact more allies. Several races had maintained very definite neutrality, carefully navigating a difficult road between Sinoval and the Vorlons. As both parties now insisted, neutrality was no longer an option. Sinoval visited the Vree homeworld and addressed their Government personally. Even in the face of his considerable personal charisma they maintained their position.
Furious, he turned to one of his darker servants. Moreil had been largely used as an agent of assassination and infiltration on Gorash during the 2264 campaign, but Sinoval had another use for him. One of terror.
Moreil adapted to his new mission very well. He gathered his fellow Z'shailyl and Faceless and killed one tenth of the infant Vree on their homeworld over the course of a month. Sinoval then visited their Government again. If they remained neutral, he said, all the Vree would die, and it was better that the children die now rather than be filled with madness and terror and choking darkness. If the Government still refused to aid him, all their children would be killed, and the adults would be left to their fate at the hands of the Aliens.
Inevitably they capitulated, but they harboured great resentment, and their attempted rebellion two years later cost Sinoval dearly. The mere threat of the same thing happening to them sent other races such as the Llort, the Yolu, the Abbai and the Ipsha flocking to Sinoval's cause. Most of these he posted alongside Kulomani and Vizhak to help liberate the Drazi worlds, a campaign which was becoming increasingly bogged down in the Zhabar system.
Another interesting event towards the end of 2266 whose significance was not evident until later was the resignation of Alyt Tirivail from the Minbari military. Her reasons are unclear, as Tirivail was never one to speak openly and the only person she might have told, Marrain the Betrayer, never recorded any journals and always respected her privacy.
It is known that Tirivail set out on a personal quest to hunt down and destroy cultists of the Aliens, who were then just beginning to appear.
They called her the Witch Hunter. She was the first, but she was far from the only one.
Williams, G. D. (2298) The Great War: A Study.
¹ L'Neer of Narn, Learning at the Prophet's Feet. [L'Neer was clearly present during the battle at Proxima in 2265, although how she came to be there is unclear, as Commander Ta'Lon verifiably places her in the Zhabar system with the Prophet G'Kar and General Kulomani at the time. This may be one of the many mysteries surrounding L'Neer and her involvement with the Well of Souls which seem destined never to be explained.]
* * * * * * *
She had tried to keep track of the number of days, marking them on the wall in faint white lines. But sometimes she forgot, or remembered twice, or marked over a mark she had made previously. She spent several hours a day counting up the number of marks. It was usually a different number each time. Or maybe it was not several hours. It could have been just one. Or less. Or more.
It was after the third count of the however long it had been since she had woken up that the guard brought her meal and she settled on the correct figure.
Timov, daughter of Alghul, Lady Consort of His Majesty Emperor Londo Mollari II, had spent four years seven months and eleven days in a cold, dark prison cell.
It was important to keep track of these things. It was an impressively frightening number, but without the correct number her mind could have made it twice as much, or ten times. It was important to know. And even if she was wrong, then how far out could she be? Not a year, surely not. Not even half a year. A month, maybe.
That only made it four years eight months and eleven days.
A month was a small enough margin of error, she supposed.
She picked up her tray, used to navigating in the dark. Her cell did not have much in the way of light. Sometimes the marks on the wall were visible, sometimes she had to trace them with her hands. Often her fingers were too cold for that, but she managed, stretching and massaging them as best she could. She was a daughter of the nobility of the Centauri Republic. It would not do for her to be out of shape when she left this place.
The food was.... well, the same as it had been the last time, and the time before that. It was edible, and it filled her, although she had little doubt her court dresses would be a poor fit now. She had been wearing a simple travel dress when she had been captured, and its comfort was little enough compensation for the fact that she had been wearing it now for four years seven months and eleven days. She would rather have spent her imprisonment in something more impressive.
She could not hear anything outside. She was not even sure how far underground she was. By her reckoning it would be.... hmm.... a few weeks after the Feast of Ghiralt, with a few more weeks to go to the Solstice Feast. But then she doubted there would be much feasting going on above her.
She finished eating and set the tray back beside the door. If she did not, there would be no food next time. There was a little hatch there through which the tray was pushed.
Not for the first time she reflected that she was actually quite lucky by many standards. She had a regular meal, a roof over her head - several roofs in fact - a bed, and no likelihood of contracting any contagious disease since she never actually saw anyone to infect her.
She did not feel terribly lucky.
Not least because she knew that her planet and her people were at the mercy of the force she had created in an attempt to save them.
Durla was all alone up there, and wreaking all kinds of Great Maker knew what.
She sighed again and walked to the wall, feeling for the patterns of her marks.
She began to count again. One day, two days, three days....
* * * * * * *
Marrain breathed in deeply as he looked around, taking in the panoramic view. The Yamakodo Mountains were breathtaking in winter, the white of the snow contrasting sharply with the slate grey of the sky. They were almost a hundred miles north of Shirohida, but he still regarded these mountains as home just as much as his blackened hall of rubble and dust.
His companion seemed less pleased with their surroundings. Marrago was coughing slightly, and wrapping his cloak tightly around himself.
"Is it not glorious?" Marrain asked. "This is the land of my ancestors. This is where the Wind Swords stood and claimed mastery over all the high places. What matter the bogs and fens and plains of the south? Give us the skies and the mountains and the high, cold places."
"Too cold," Marrago muttered. "Much too cold."
Marrain looked at him, and nodded. "Of course. I am sorry. I rarely felt the cold even before. If we hurry, we will be there soon. I know the place. Or.... I did, but that was a thousand years ago. It may have changed."
"I am following directions a millennium old given by someone who has since died." Marrago sighed. "You do realise I am too old for this."
"You will not die here, old friend."
"No," the Centauri said with determination. "I will not die here."
They moved up the slope of the path, navigating the difficult turns and twists under Marrain's guidance. Marrago himself moved slowly, but with grim resolve. He did not like being here, and he did not really want to be here, but he could not help but respect Marrain's love for his home. Someday he hoped to show the Minbari his own home.
This was dangerous, but secrecy was necessary. Marrago had wanted to bring some of his aides and guards with him, but Marrain had quite rightly pointed out that he could not really trust any of them, not with something this vital. It irritated Marrago that that was so, but he could not deny the truth of Marrain's words. Only two years ago one of his bodyguards, a man he had known for years, had tried to assassinate him, half-crippling him in the process.
His breath was coming harder and harder and he felt his hearts pounding. Marrain was forging farther and farther ahead, looking at each rock and cloud with the joy of a child finding a long-lost toy.
"I will not die here," Marrago whispered, his words forming a mist in front of his face. "Not yet."
Finally he rounded a corner in the narrow trail and stared up at the building before him. Carved into the side of the mountain itself, was a shrine. As indomitable and unyielding as the mountain itself, it looked like a place where only the impossibly strong could dwell. The Centauri did not tend to breed the warrior-monks of the Minbari or the Markab, but Marrago knew something of their orders, and he had no doubt this was such a place.
He strode forward, forcing himself to push against the cold air, and joined Marrain in front of the door, a massive stone portal. There was a symbol carved on it, one he did not recognise. Marrain evidently did, for he bowed his head slightly and touched two fingers to his lips.
Then he pounded on the door with his fist.
Marrago turned away and looked back down the mountain. He could see all the countryside spread out beneath him, and he could understand just why Marrain's ancestors had come to these mountains. He also felt a terrible and dizzying sense of vertigo.
It was the sound of stone scraping against stone as the door opened that made him turn. A young Minbari woman was standing there. She was dressed all in black, a hood covering her face and a denn'bok hanging at her belt. She looked ready for war.
"You are not welcome here, Betrayer," she said, in a clear, ringing voice. "You have been told that before."
Marrain flashed her a quick smile. "I do not come a-courting. I have business with your lady."
"You are not welcome here, Betrayer."
Marrain's smile endured. "I am Warleader of the Wind Swords, and this shrine is within the lands claimed for the Wind Swords by my ancestors and ceded to us in perpetuity by Emperor Shingen himself in the Treaty of Varenni. Are you to tell me that I may not enter?"
"You are not welcome here, Betrayer."
Marrago coughed and stepped forward. "We are travellers," he said, "in need of rest and succour. Both of us are warriors and are willing to pay the price of defence and worship if you so require." He coughed again. "Surely you have rules of hospitality?"
"Aliens may not enter."
"I wage the same war you do."
"We both do," Marrain added. "And we come here at the express order of the Primarch himself. Would you rather tell him why his liege warriors cannot enter this place?"
The young woman hesitated and then stepped aside, ushering them in. Marrain smiled at her again and entered, Marrago following.
"I shall inform the lady that you are here," the Minbari woman said, after closing the door. "Wait here." They were in a small antechamber, dark and cold and stone.
"Are you always so charming to your ladies?" Marrago breathed, gasping in large lungfuls of air.
"It appears I have a reputation here."
"And many other places, I have no doubt."
"Well, perhaps here and there."
The young woman returned, another woman with her. She was older and taller, moving with an untamed grace. She wore identical clothing, with the hood pulled even lower over her face and thick black gloves.
"You are not welcome here," she said to Marrain.
"We need your help," he replied, all levity gone. "We all need your help."
"And where were you when I needed your help?"
"You had driven me away, as I recall."
Pulling back her hood, Tirivail stared at them. Her skin was blackened and scarred, half her face a burned shell. One eye was empty and hollow, the other possessing the same dark beauty as always.
"The Primarch sent you?"
"He did."
"Then come. I suppose I should at least hear you."
* * * * * * *
"The Minbari call it the Mora'dum, I am given to understand. Terror. The use of terror in warfare is as ancient as war itself. I have studied the history of war in great detail over these past twelve years, and I was not wholly ignorant before then.
"When the twelfth Emperor went to war with the rebel lords of Immolan, he threatened to burn every city on the planet to ash, to kill every man who opposed him and to sell every woman and child into slavery. At first they did not believe him, but then he conquered the city of Bracaduun and did exactly as he had said, save for one man, whom he sent on alive to the next city.
"The others surrendered very quickly after that.
"Of course I have no army, not any longer. I have no title, and my oldest ally is.... lost and imprisoned. Possibly dead. There is a price on my head, and I am wanted dead or alive.
"But my cause is still just. My people still suffer in slavery and I am still the only one who can free them. The Emperor is sick and dying and has not the strength to do what must be done. The lords and the Centarum are puppets dancing on fine strings. The army serves alongside our enslavers, willingly helping our enemies.
"I am all but alone.
"And that is where you come in.
"I am aware of what you did during the Gorash campaign, and at Frallus. I am also aware that you were driven away by those you served because of what they claimed was your.... excessive zeal.
"I am aware of your actions in respect of the Vree, and I think they were entirely appropriate. Terror, as I said, is a vital tool in warfare, as are punitive strikes against those who have betrayed you.
"I will be Emperor one day, when we are triumphant. I will remember those who have helped me, just as I remember those who defied me. When I sit upon the Purple Throne I will see to it that all our enemies are driven from our space, and those who betrayed and enslaved us will be punished for what they have done.
"There will be a place at my right hand for those who have served well.
"Whatever you ask in payment shall be yours. You want a home? You shall have it. Any world you desire save for Centauri Prime itself, shall be yours to rule as you see fit. You wish for a title, a lordship? You shall have that too.
"Marrago? He is.... a loyal man. He fights the same war as I do, in his own way. He is not to be hurt. I will need men such as him when I am Emperor. If he opposes me then.... yes, he will have to be dealt with, but I would rather not do that.
"Primarch Sinoval? He is nothing to me. He has no claim over the Centauri. We will not follow him, but I do not desire his death. He fights the same war we do. But if he opposes us, then yes, he will die as well.
"Yes, I thought you would like that.
"I shall be honest. You are my greatest hope. Ask for any reward and I shall grant it.
"Now, what do you say?"
Moreil looked at Durla. "What do you want me to do?" he asked.
Durla looked surprised.
"What else?" he asked.
"I want you to bring terror."
* * * * * * *
Calm, deep breaths.
Are you out there?
Is anything out there?
I can't do this!
No, I can. Sinoval seems to think I can, and I'll be damned if I have to explain this to him.
Are you there?
We are here, Emissary.
Whoa! What are you trying to do? Give me a heart attack?
You called out to us.
But in a.... metaphorical way, not in a 'please-answer-me' way. I was practising my meditation.
Yes. You have changed, Emissary.
Of course I've changed. After that expedition to the back-end of nowhere to find that.... thing. I have no idea what it was.
We do.
I know you do. You know everything. And no, I don't want to know. I saw what it did to Talia, and that's enough. I just wish I knew why Sinoval sent me away.
You know why.
The last time he sent me away was after the Vree business. After the rebellion. He didn't want to hear what I had to say.
And yet you told him anyway.
That was my job. Did he listen?
Eventually, yes.
That wasn't good enough. No, I'm not getting into this argument again, not with him and not with you. I'm trying to meditate, trying to.... what did he call it? Expand my mind.
We know, and he did nothing to send you away. He asked you.
He had his reasons.
Yes, he did. He felt you were best suited for the task. He has done nothing of which you would be ashamed.
Sigh.... not even a moment's rest, is there? I will never forgive him for what he did. Never. Whatever reparations or apologies he may make afterwards. No matter all those words about letting Moreil go, he can't excuse what he did.
And yet you came back to him. You left, and you returned, and you have not left again.
I'm his conscience these days. If I don't keep him focussed, who will?
Then you have changed since you returned, Emissary. You are not the person the Eldest sent to us.
Yeah, well, time does that to a person. A little more weight. A little grey in the hair.
We do not speak of the physical. We speak of the emotional. You are more centred, less angry, just as passionate but more aware. It is the other human.
Is that a good thing or a bad thing?
It is not a good thing or a bad thing. It simply is. Mortals are interesting creatures, and the concept of love is but one aspect of what makes them interesting.
I'm trying to meditate here, thanks. I'm not in the mood for talking about my love life.
He will not betray you. Know that.
And how do you know that?
We know everything, save one thing alone.
No one likes a smart aleck.
* * * * * * *
One night in the cold room, before the dawn.
"So that was your lady. She looked.... interesting."
"Glorious, isn't she?"
"I thought she would kill you. The look in her eye...."
"She could not kill me. She was never good enough."
"You see with the eyes of one in love. I saw her as well, and she could."
"Hmm.... maybe you are right. She has changed since I last saw her."
"She has the look of one who has found her purpose. I remember when I was a young man, wondering where my fate lay. We are great believers in destiny, my people. It comes of the visions, I suppose, although these are dying out. Some of us see when we are to die. It comes to us in a dream, and it is always true. My friend Londo had such a vision."
"But you have not?"
"No. Few of us do these days. I am not sure if that lack of knowledge frees me or binds me. To act knowing that I could die at any time.... But also, I can make plans. I can dream for the future. My great-grandfather was given a warning by a seeress of the time and place he would die. He lived his entire life free from care and woe, and then marched to the place she had prophesied at the appointed time, to die there in an accident. A stone from a building fell on him. She was trying to warn him, it transpired."
"Your point?"
"I wasn't aware I had one. Sinoval is not one for destiny, as I understand it."
"No, he is not. I.... I was never sure. I met an Oracle once, or at least I think I did. I remember a woman not unlike your seeress, I suppose. I foolishly asked her a question I should not have asked, and.... I don't think she told me anything I did not already know. It simply hurt to know it. Although that whole encounter has the flavour of a dream. That could be all it was. Memories are funny things."
"Anyway, I remember what I was saying. Your lady, she has found her purpose now. I recognise the look in her eye. She has found her place in the galaxy. I hope she is prepared for the possibility of it changing. I thought I knew mine, but that changed too, more than once. And it may change again before I am dead."
"I always knew my purpose. I still do."
"And what is it, if I may ask?"
"War, of course. What else?"
"Now there you have me. I hate war, I always have."
"A strange loathing for a general."
"I cannot think of anything a general should hate more."
"You must always be so unhappy. We have known nothing but war."
"Unhappy? I do not know. This is a just war, but too many people are fighting it for the wrong reasons. Even you.... even your lady. And especially Sinoval. I fight this war because it must be fought, because my people need me. I do not fight because of any love for war, but because I am skilled at it."
"I fight because without war I am nothing."
"And what will you do when this war is over?"
"Find another one."
"Rather you than me. Enough of this. How long will it take us to get to Yedor?"
"We will be there by tomorrow night, if we leave early enough. We are a fair distance away, and travel is.... not as easy as it once was. But with my lady accompanying us, we will travel unmolested. No one troubles her order, not even her father."
"You sound proud."
"I am. I am proud of her."
"She is quite the lady."
"That she is.... Yes, that she is."
"If only...."
"What?"
"If only she could see that for herself."
* * * * * * *
"Do you have any regrets?"
L'Neer looked up from her reading. It was a fascinating book on Centauri religion, a subject she found endlessly confusing and re-affirming. It was nice to know that other races were as confused and baffled about the nature of the universe as she was, and that they tried to resolve it in as many and varied ways as she had.
They'd had no more success than her, but some of their methods were interesting enough.
She could have asked the Well of course, but she wanted to fathom the meaning of everything for herself. Asking the Well would have been.... cheating, in a way. If it even told her.
"I am sorry?" she said.
G'Kar looked at her, and sighed. He did not like travelling these days. He had once told her he hoped never to leave Dorac 7 again. Something about this expedition had both alarmed and invigorated him and he had spent most of the time since Vir and Ta'Lon had arrived alternating between mania and depression.
He seemed currently in the depression phase of his cycle.
"Do you have any regrets?"
She closed her book and thought about it for a moment. "Yes," she said, finally. "Far too many, I suppose. I regret not having been able to help Jorah when I could, and not being able to talk to Tirivail and Marrain. I regret that I could not be the voice of reason for Sinoval."
She stopped, still thinking.
"A long list," he noted.
"I am not finished."
"But too much for one such as yourself," he continued, as if she had not spoken. "You are too young for such weighty burdens."
"Really? Sometimes I feel ancient. I regret that my father will never know just how much he influenced me, albeit not in the way he would have liked.
"Oh yes, and I regret not knowing more about the man whose name I bear."
"He would be proud of you. Almost as much as I am, I am sure."
"I would still have liked to know him."
"The humans have a saying about regret. Sometimes I think they are wiser than any of us, even the First Ones, and sometimes more ignorant than the densest rock."
"They are a strange people, but that could apply to us all."
"There is a saying. 'This alone do I regret: things left unsaid.' I wish I could say the same. There is so much I could or should have done, so much I wished I could have avoided or done differently. I accepted the burden for so much of the galaxy's path, and I proved inadequate. Had I been stronger, perhaps the Great Machine would have remained under my control, and perhaps then Sheridan would still be alive. Perhaps I could have talked Da'Kal around earlier, and saved my world. Perhaps I could have reasoned with Sinoval and brought him back from the edge of madness where he has walked far too often.
"But most of all, I regret not being able to save my greatest friend. I have seen him only once in.... over twelve years. No, longer. Thirteen, fourteen. And the man I saw five years ago.... I wonder if he saw as much difference in me as I saw in him.
"Londo had a vision long ago. It is a gift of his people."
"Increasingly rare these days," L'Neer supplied. "There are various theories about how this happens, but every time the vision is true, although rarely in the way that anyone suspects."
"He saw me. He and I were on the steps of the throne in the palace on Centauri Prime. He was dressed as Emperor, and I....
"I had only one eye.
"We killed each other, choking the life from each other's bodies.
"I swore not to let it happen. Like Sinoval raging at the fates, I swore not to let it happen. We had become allies, friends. I would not kill him. I avoided visiting Centauri Prime, and when I had to go, I stayed as short a time as possible. When he became Emperor, I wondered. When I lost my eye, I feared.
"But never until now have I felt this absolute certainty that what he saw would come to pass."
"Sinoval has a saying. 'Nothing is written in stone, and even if it were, stones can be shattered.'"
"Do not look to Sinoval for all the wisdom in the world. He knows much, but the true source of his knowledge is the Well of Souls, not himself. And what he does know is tainted by his own prejudices."
"The Well.... it knows the answer to every question ever asked, save one. It told me."
"What does it not know? You know?"
"In a sense. I asked that question once, long ago. It answered."
"Can it help me? Would that knowledge aid me at all?"
"No, although I think you would appreciate the answer. Do you want me to tell you?"
"No. Leave me one mystery to carry with me to the beyond. Maybe I shall find out when I am dead."
"You do not have to die yet."
"I admire the attitudes of the young. To you all beings are immortal. No, you cannot know when I will die. Unless you...." He stopped, sat up straight and looked at her. "Unless you asked the Well. Did you?"
She could not look at him. Her eyes cast down, she nodded. "I could not.... I had to know."
"When?"
"Ten years ago. Longer. After Proxima."
"And? No. No. Do not tell me."
"Nothing is written in stone."
"Sinoval is wrong. Some words are precisely that."
She did not reply, not having anything else to say. She bowed her head, and after a while she resumed her reading. And they continued their journey.
Towards Centauri Prime.
* * * * * * *
The Great War can be broken down into numerous battles and campaigns. Some of these lasted a long time, and some areas of the galaxy were scarred by war for almost the entire twelve years. The bloodiest and longest of these campaigns was the one to liberate Zhabar.
The Alliance had conquered Drazi space in the few months of 2262 known as the 'Drazi Conflict', which resulted from an early attempt by the new Drazi Government to secede from the Alliance. It was later discovered that some of the Shadow vassals had been involved on Zhabar at the time, although it was never clear just how much influence they had wielded over the Government.
At the time reports came from Drazi space concerning sightings of strange aliens, none observed sufficiently closely for positive identification. Many assumed these to be rumours or scaremongering and none of the reports penetrated high enough to reach the ears of General Sheridan or the Blessed Delenn. If they had, many things might have been different, for it is certain that both of them would have recognised the fragmentary descriptions as matching that of the Soul Hunters.
It later became apparent that Sinoval was responsible for rescuing many of the most prominent Drazi, including former Ambassador Vizhak. He and Vizhak worked in secrecy throughout 2262-63, helping Drazi escape from their now-enslaved worlds and enabling a quite considerable army to be built up. They first appeared at the Battle of Babylon 5, and were very prominent after that.
Vizhak's goal was simple: the liberation of his homeworld and his people. Kulomani provided a great deal of assistance, and worked closely with Vizhak. The neighbouring Brakiri space was now being threatened by the Vorlons.
The Brakiri Merchant-Guilds had never officially allied with Sinoval, having intended to remain loyal to the Alliance. That changed when Ambassador Lethke was murdered at Babylon 5, and the Brakiri immediately abandoned the Alliance. They never actively contacted Sinoval himself, but were content to fight against the Vorlons and the Alliance. Kulomani spent the bulk of 2265 persuading the Merchant-Guilds to support the Drazi in their campaign, and ultimately he succeeded.
Various other Non-Aligned Races provided support in one form or another, although this was mostly unofficial and unsanctioned. It is known that some Gaim and Pak'ma'ra ships fought alongside Kulomani in the early stages of the campaign.
Following the forced recruitment of the Vree and subsequent bargains with other neutral worlds, Vizhak's forces grew substantially larger. The middle of 2267 saw the first major victory of his campaign, with the destruction of an Alliance surveillance base in the Velatastat system. It was a euphoric moment.
And then the Vorlons decided to draw once again on the power of their allies. This time the use of the Aliens was directly sanctioned by their High Command, and it was apparently hoped that by only utilising the Aliens' fleets the disaster that had occurred on Proxima could be avoided.
No doubt even the most sceptical of the Lights Cardinal were impressed by the devastation that followed. The Drazi and Brakiri fleets were almost annihilated, and the Vree lost their commander. The Non-Aligned fleet managed to retreat thanks to some superlative teamwork between Vizhak and Kulomani, but the losses were horrendous.
Worse was the fact that the Aliens followed them through hyperspace, travelling in a manner no one had believed possible and pursuing them to the nearest planet, a small Vree colony. Again the fleet managed to escape, but the colony was wiped out, destroyed down to the last inhabitant. It is likely that had the Aliens not remained behind to consume the colony, Vizhak and Kulomani's fleet would have been obliterated. As it was, the defeat was disastrous. When word of the losses reached the Vree homeworld, they immediately tried to recall their ships. Although that decision was ultimately vetoed by their Government, it set in motion events that led to the rebellion the following year, and its horrific consequences.
Elsewhere that year Marrago's campaign continued apace, as he retook the Frallus system with remarkably few casualties. He moved swiftly and aggressively, distracting the Alliance and directing them elsewhere, and he neutralised and controlled the entire system in less than a month. One intriguing factor about that campaign was the presence of a young Narn girl, helping the Centauri wounded and talking with them for many hours.
Sinoval, of course, had not been quiet.
Just somewhere else.
Williams, G. D. (2298) The Great War: A Study.
* * * * * * *
It was all laid out before him. The entire galaxy, his. All he had to do was reach out, and he could touch it. All he had to do was step forward, and he could be wherever he wished. He could see and be anywhere he desired.
All this power could go to his head.
Sinoval stood on top of the pinnacle, lost in thought. He had not really expected Delenn to agree to his plans, although it would have been preferable. It would have been much easier with her on board. As it was, he would have to rely on.... other agents.
Delenn was entitled to her peace, he supposed. As entitled as anyone was. But peace did not tend to last long for anyone these days. The events of six years ago had proven that. There had been no battles for months, hardly any skirmishes. The fighting at Zhabar was over at last, and there had been no incursions of the Aliens. It was actually hoped the war was over.
Sinoval had never believed that, not for one instant, but he was content to let the others think so. It gave him more time to prepare.
And the people of Kara had paid the price.
It was a small cell of the Cult of Death that had been responsible. They were everywhere, even now. Fatalists, who worshipped the Aliens as Gods and believed that the galaxy would soon be scoured clean of all life. There were a hundred different rationalisations for this worship. Some held that the only way all creatures could be truly equal was in death. Others believed in some great paradise that awaited them after death and that the Aliens were an instrument of a greater force who would shepherd them into this paradise. Some even believed that they would be spared and that only the non-believers would die.
They were all wrong, but Sinoval could hardly criticise anyone for their beliefs.
Everything was coming together now. He could see the threads in his mind, entwining. Since Golgotha, when they had become aware of each other's existence, they had worked together, some more closely than others. The friendship between Marrago and Marrain was a welcome surprise, as was the rekindling of the relationship between Susan and David Corwin. It did her good to be happy, however briefly.
Of course, there had been setbacks. G'Kar's self-imposed exile after the incident at Immolan. What had befallen Dexter and Talia. Delenn's retreat. Tirivail's injuries. It seemed as if none of them had escaped unchanged.
Apart from Sinoval himself of course. But then he was a creature of war, far more so than any of the others. He lived for war. There was nothing else within him.
Nothing else.
He still carried her necklace. After twelve years he still had it with him always. It had cut deeply into his palm after the battle at Proxima. He had almost died there, and he was sure she had been waiting for him.
Would she be proud of him now? Probably not. He had been mad with rage after that. It had taken months of healing and meditation to repair his shattered body, but his mind had taken even longer. All those deaths, all that torment, then to be forced to abandon Proxima back to the enemy and watch them give up the world in their turn.
Not for the first time, anger had filled him, and the Vree had paid the price. Then, and two years later.
Would they call him saviour?
Or destroyer?
"'For I am become Death, destroyer of worlds,'" he quoted to himself. He had destroyed worlds, and races, and even stars, and he would destroy more. To win this war he would do whatever he had to do.
He was all there was.
And when the war was done. What then? No more wars for Sinoval? No more bloodshed? No more purpose?
He chuckled softly. Of course. There were always more wars. There would always be a need for him somewhere. If not here then.... elsewhere.
He was king of all he surveyed. He was too important to be forgotten. All the races had a legend like that: of some great hero who slept in some hidden place and would return at the time of his people's greatest need. Some were true, others false.
Sinoval would be that great king.
But first, the end of this war. His plan was multifaceted and complex, and dependent on far too many variables, but it was all he had. And as with any strategy, the way to handle it was to break it down into its component parts.
They all knew their rôles: Talia, Susan, Marrain and Marrago, the others. He knew his part as well.
He turned his gaze across the galaxy and saw his target before him, a glittering jewel of hope and memory, a world born in bloodshed and wrapped in chains of light.
Kazomi 7.
* * * * * * *
I am Alfred Bester.
He said that to himself constantly now. He could not allow himself to forget it. Other memories came with that simple piece of knowledge, but that was the most important.
His name was Alfred Bester. He was a human, and a telepath. Neither was more or less important than the other. His parents were Matthew and Fiona Dexter. He had never known either of them. The Corps was Mother, the Corps was Father.
He was trapped inside a thing called the network, created of thousands of trapped and enslaved minds. All telepaths. Some were human, some were aliens he knew, such as Minbari or Centauri. Some were aliens he had never heard of and could not comprehend.
His name was Alfred Bester.
Some parts of the network were corrupted; corroded and blackened by a great darkness. Things moved about in those areas, and he stayed away, apart from when he forgot and wandered into them by mistake. He had always been able to escape, though. He was strong, and smart, and one of the special.
His name was Alfred Bester.
He loved a woman of many names. She was tall, with blonde hair. They had a child together, a daughter named Abby. He had known many friends and allies during his life. There had been a human named Michael Garibaldi, who had named his son after him. He was dead now. Michael Garibaldi, not his son. There had been a Narn called G'Kar, whom he had betrayed.
His name was Alfred Bester.
Sometimes a voice spoke to him, except it was not just one voice, but many. Too many for him to count.
It came to him now.
Are you ready?
It wanted him to do something. He also knew it might not be what it appeared to be. It was just a voice after all, and his telepathic powers did not function well here. It might be an illusion.
But then it proved itself. It knew the password.
One day a lemming will fly.
That was important. He could not say why. Sometimes he remembered, but then he forgot again. But it was important.
You have found the soul we seek?
Of course he had. He had been navigating this place for.... some time. There were rules here, if you knew how to recognise them, signposts if you could read them. The only problem would have been if the mind had been in one of the corrupted areas, but it had not. It had been easy enough to find.
They will be entering soon. You will have to guide them to the mind we seek.
Yes, he would be able to do that. The network was complicated, but he had been reassured that the two people he was guiding had been here before. Maybe they were ghosts, like this voice.
He wondered if there were others wandering around the network, slipped loose like him. He had seen some things, but they could have been ghosts, or bad memories, or illusions, or anything really. What had happened to the network? It constantly seemed to be on the verge of collapse.
It became too large for its purpose. Entropy entered, as it always does. And moreover, they admitted humans to the network. Humans are not unique, but they are unusual. Your fears, your desires, your hierarchies - you brought them all in with you, and the chaos of your minds entered as well. Humans are far from the most numerous race within the network, but there are many of you in the new places, the recent nodes, the frontiers and borders, and chaos has crept in with you, at the edges.
There. That was his answer. He tried to remember it.
They will be ready soon. Are you ready?
He had been asked that already. He was sure of it. But yes, he was ready.
He was Alfred Bester.
We will be honoured to have you among us one day.
He was Alfred Bester, and some day a lemming would learn to fly.
* * * * * * *
He was dreaming again. These days he was never sure what was dream and what was real. He lived in a dream state. There was a woman who spoke to him, and she always went away. She came back, but he knew she was just toying with him. She would leave him one day, leave him for good.
Her voice was familiar though. He saw a face in his mind when she spoke: alien and wise and beautiful, with deep green eyes and long raven hair. He could not see her eyes, obviously, but this woman had no hair, so clearly it was not her.
She was probably just a dream.
He could see another woman too, and he was fairly certain she was just a dream. She was dead, wasn't she? But then he'd killed someone once who had come back to life. At least he thought he had.
This woman was human - pretty, blonde hair, tall, and.... the word 'elegant' kept coming into his mind.
She wasn't very elegant now. She was covered with dirt and dust and sweat, hair plastered to her face, clothes torn. There was a bright light rising from....
.... somewhere behind her.
And something was coming through it.
Something....
No.
He would not see it. Not again. He had survived the first time, but he could not survive a second. Not again. Not....
death death death death death death death a bug a bug a bug beneath us beneath us we are the gods of death death death death we will destroy you are a bug nothing to us just a bug beneath us insignificant and nothing death death death only death and nothing but
death.
And this time it was worse, because there were hundreds of voices screaming back at him, overwhelming him. Some of them were calling him 'brother'.
No.
No.
No more.
Another memory. Somewhere else.
The same place, but earlier. He was with the woman again. They were kissing beneath alien stars. A beautiful alien city is stretched out all around them and they have claimed the temple for themselves and they are kissing and she is so beautiful and he feels alive.
Alive.
He was fooling himself. He had seen the truth of the universe the first time and had fooled himself into thinking he had been wrong. But he had not.
Everyone died. Everything died.
Except....
.... him.
No, he would die as well. They all would.
Even the child died.
She was the woman's daughter. He could not remember her name, or the woman's name. The first time he saw her he knew she was dying, and the sight sickened him. He could not talk to her again, or even be in the same place as her, although the woman was clearly upset by this. He could not explain it to her properly. He had tried before and she just did not understand.
But she had died.
When....
No.
When the thing....
No!
When the thing had come through the door of light and he had lost his eyes and the girl had cried out 'Mother!' over and over again, her cries unheeded. She had died before that creature and he had clawed his eyes out of his face rather than look at it, or perhaps rather than look at anything else ever again and the creature had died but too late, much too late.
"Mother!"
Everything died. Everything.
Even love died in the end.
He was dreaming. Or maybe not. He did not know.
He hoped he was.
* * * * * * *
"It didn't go according to plan, then?"
Sinoval turned to see Susan approaching, materialising on top of the pinnacle. He sighed. There had been a time when he would have been aware of her presence long before. Now she could practically sneak up on him. He wasn't sure if that was his weakness or her strength.
"She refused."
"Are you surprised?"
He looked at her, seeing her again as he had that day all those years ago, when she had appeared from nowhere in the heart of the Well of Souls. Her hair had turned silver in parts. She had put on a little weight. Her scars had grown fainter in some places and more pronounced in others. There was a renewed softness in her eyes, a renewed faith.
It was strange how such horror and devastation could break the faith of some, while forging it anew in others.
"No," he admitted. "Not really. I had hoped, of course. I am merely.... irritated, for the most part. I hoped she would see the wisdom of my words and listen, but.... No. I am merely irritated. So much would not be necessary if she were here."
"Like this mission of mine. I don't like being away from Proxima."
"You do not have to be here. Talia will need help, yes, but it need not be you."
"I owe her. It's an honour thing. You understand that, don't you?"
"You are angry."
"No.... well, yes. I thought you had changed after Moreil and the Vree and.... I thought you'd seen beyond all that pieces on a chess board thing. Sometimes you slip back."
"I know why I am fighting. I always have. But I can see the end drawing near. This war can drag on for another thousand years as we lose one world at a time, or it can end here and now. We are risking everything on this, but we will never have another chance. Marrain and Marrago have reached Minbar. The Well of Souls has contacted the spirit within the network. Our armies are ready. Kazomi 7 is relatively weakly defended. This must be done now."
"All for Sheridan?"
"As I understood before, as I tried to impress on him before.... this galaxy will need a leader when I am no longer here. This is the beginning. What happens after this will be the most vital part, and if I should fall, we will need Sheridan to carry on when I am gone."
"And if he doesn't want to? If this even works, we will be bringing him back to life after being dead for twelve years. Twelve years! Look at what's changed. Look at Proxima, and the Alliance. Look at Delenn! You think he'll be ready to jump back into the saddle again, no questions asked? Oh, so I've been dead all this while, eh? Still, no problems. Let's get back to saving the galaxy!"
"Men like him and me have little choice in what we do."
"There's always a choice. You told me that."
"Forgive me. I am a little.... fatalistic today. You are ready?"
"Yes. I've been meditating for hours, talking with the Well. I've said my goodbyes to David. I'm ready."
"It needn't be...."
"Yes, it must. It's an honour thing, as I said. Are you ready?"
"The fleet is gathered. My Soul Hunters, as many of the First Ones as can be spared, a unit of Kulomani's light fighters and a regiment of Vizhak's Green Slayers. The Tak'cha and the Brotherhood are busy where they are, but this should be enough."
"The timing is vital, remember?"
"I remember."
"I don't want to come out of the network and find that you screwed up."
"That will not happen."
"Should we synchronise watches?"
"You are not funny."
"I bet you say that to all the women," she sighed. "Good luck." She walked to the edge of the precipice.
"I do not need luck."
"We all need luck."
Then she disappeared from sight.
Sinoval turned back to his study of his surroundings. Kazomi 7, birthplace of the Alliance. The world seemed so small from here.
He almost felt he could reach out and grasp it in his hand.
* * * * * * *
Zack walked into the room to find David sitting staring up at the map. "Job done," he said, with feigned good cheer. David started, and looked round.
"Don't do that to me, Zack," he said. "You almost gave me a heart attack."
"Sorry, boss. You looked a little lost in thought there."
"Hmm.... yes."
"No Susan around?"
"Gone back to Cathedral. Something big's come up. Very big."
Zack raised an eyebrow, and sat down at the far side of the table. "Really? Think they're finally going to break the blockade and get some help to us down here?"
David looked at him. "Why would they? What can we offer the likes of Sinoval? We've got no resources, we're not in a strategic position. The Vorlons have no base here. Oh, Sinoval will get to us eventually - Susan keeps pressurising him, apparently - but it'll be after everything's over. Not now."
"Yeah," Zack said bitterly. "And how many more of us are going to die before that happens?"
"As few as can be managed."
"Ah, forget it. I know you're doing your best. I'm just pissed off."
"I don't blame you. I was remembering something the other day. Talking to veterans of the Dilgar War when I was a kid, and why I wanted to go into space. The way it all seemed, space was this wide open expanse, just ready and waiting for us to go out and stamp our name on it. We were young and arrogant and convinced we could make a difference.
"And now look at us. Stuck on a planet we can't get out of, reduced to living like animals because it's the only way we can live. We make nothing. We produce nothing. The future of the galaxy is being fought over, and we're here, doing nothing while aliens fight the good fight.
"It just feels wrong. Something went badly wrong along the way, and blew our chance. That's all I can think of. We blew our chance somewhere, and I can't see where."
"Probably a million places. Nothing we can do about it now."
"But there should be something. There will be something. I promise. Something good will come out of all this. The Alliance fell apart, but maybe.... maybe it could have worked. Maybe the next one will."
"The next Alliance? I don't know about that. Maybe we're all better off on our own, each race keeping themselves to themselves and minding their own business."
"If that was our attitude, why did any of us bother leaving Earth?"
"We'd be dead if we hadn't."
"My point exactly."
"But if we hadn't left Earth, we'd never have met the Minbari, and the War would never have started, and Earth would still be there. So we would be alive."
"This is making my head spin."
"Yeah, mine too. God, I wish Dex was here. He'd make some sense out of this. Uh, no offence, boss. I mean, you're fine, but.... better the Devil you know."
"No, I don't blame you. I seem to be making a habit of stepping into the shadows of other people. First John, and now.... I'm sorry, Zack, I'm quite tired."
"Right you are, boss. I'll talk to you later."
David nodded, and waited until Zack had gone. He looked up at the map and frowned.
"There should have been another way," he said. "There will be a better way.
"Some good will come out of all this.
"I guarantee it."
* * * * * * *
The moon hung heavy above them as they reached their destination. For the most part they had travelled in silence. Marrain was ready to talk, but Marrago was filled with dark brooding and Tirivail would not reply to anything he said.
Marrain had never liked Yedor. It had never been his home, nor even the centre of his dreams. Yedor had been Shingen's capital, the place from where he had imposed his mastery over Minbar. Valen had likewise ruled from here, but it had never been a place blessed with good fortune for any of the Wind Swords.
His greatest defeats had happened here. Here he had lost Derannimer, lost her to Valen. Although they skirted the bulk of the city, he could still feel the Temple of Varenni, a dark lodestone drawing all his attention and focus.
You were never worthy of her, he thought bitterly. You were never worthy to rule.
A thousand years of peace, Valen had promised, and so it had been. Marrain had, once, a long time ago, made a bargain for a thousand years of war to follow that. It might not be a thousand years, but there was war at least, and there was no Valen this time.
No, this was a true war, a righteous and just war filled with heroism and courage and great deeds and true friendships forged in battle. This was just the sort of war the last one should have been.
Then he looked at Marrago - old, weighed down by his private grief.
Then he looked at Tirivail, scarred and mutilated and burned, but her greatest injuries on the inside.
A true war, indeed, and yet it had left him unscathed. No major injuries, or even the threat of one. He had never been near death even once in the course of this war. Not even Sinoval could say as much.
He was bred for war, from his very first breath. And yet the perfect war he dreamed of required perfect warriors, an army of them on each side. And there simply were not that many perfect warriors in existence. Thus it was that people were hurt, crippled, killed.
Marrago should have stayed in his garden. Tirivail should have been given the chance to find her own path rather than be forced along her father's. This war did not suit either of them.
And so Marrain's thoughts turned increasingly dark as they travelled around Yedor.
The moonlight reflected in the lake beneath them as they reached the top of the hill of Turon'val'na lenn-veni.
The Place Where Valen Waits.
Valen's presence subsumed everything he saw. Every blade of grass, every breath of air. He had been dead and gone for a thousand years, and still his presence filled this place.
Give me Shirohida. Give me the mountains and the skies and you can have your lake of crystal, Valen, damn you and all that you were.
The gravestone was still there, undefaced and undamaged by the years. It was simple and elegant.
RESTING
IN A PLACE WHERE NO SHADOWS FALL
Marrain looked at it. He had not known this Sheridan, although he had heard others speak of him. Sinoval had apparently known him in the peculiar admiration / loathing relationship Marrain had once experienced with Valen. Sinoval respected this Sheridan's skills, but hated his weakness.
Ivanova had known him as well, although she rarely spoke to Marrain at all, and never about her past.
IN A PLACE WHERE NO SHADOWS FALL
"No such place," Marrain whispered. "Not for men like us."
"Resting," Marrago wheezed. "Resting. What right do we have to disturb that?"
"We do as we have been ordered."
"I am not Sinoval's servant. We fight the same war, but that is all. I do not even know why he insisted I come along on this mission. My days of lifting and struggling are long gone."
Marrain turned away from his friend and looked out over the sleeping Yedor, the city illuminated by the starlight, especially the Temple of Varenni. His eyes darkened.
"Because you are to be my guide," he said. "This is not my home, but this is the place where I died. My physical body may have died at Shirohida, but my heart died here, as I watched her marry him. Sinoval needs people he trusts to do this. There are few he trusts as he does us, and the others he cannot spare. I know Minbar, and I will not shirk from my task, but this city....
"This is his city, and it taunts me with every breath I take. This is his air, his world, not mine. You are my balance, old friend. You will remain true to the ideals of a warrior. Without you here.... I would forget myself in the past. You can remind me of what we do, and why we must do it."
He stopped, and turned away from Yedor.
"Very perceptive," Marrago breathed.
"I had to handle soldiers once also."
"Then come. Let us do this. I never knew this Sheridan, and if Sinoval believes this must be done, then.... so be it. But.... it feels wrong. Promise me one thing...."
"Yes?"
"When I die, burn my body, and scatter the ashes in my garden."
"You will dance at my pyre, old friend."
"Do not lie to me. Please. Just swear."
"By the three women I have ever loved," he said, not glancing at Tirivail, not seeing her look up from her kneeling position by the graveside, not seeing the expression that flickered across her face like a cloud before the moon. "I swear."
Then he paused, and shrugged. "But I died in fire, and see, I still live. Sinoval swore then that he would not do this again."
"Once a thing has been done once, it is always easier to do it again."
"Then I swear this also, I will not let your rest be disturbed. Whatever place you ascend to, you will deserve it."
Marrago smiled sadly, and nodded. "I fear you may be right. Let us hurry to this. We do not want to be interrupted."
"We will not be interrupted," Tirivail said harshly. "Patrols do not come out this far at night, and nor do simple travellers. There have been five murders at the foot of this hill in the past month alone."
"'Minbari will no longer kill Minbari,'" Marrain chuckled. "Another of Valen's prophecies turned to dust."
"Consumed by madness," Tirivail whispered bitterly. "Let us be on with it. Once this blasphemy is done, you can leave, and I need never see you again, Betrayer."
Marrain looked at her. "Words have done nothing to ease your hatred of me, and nor have deeds, and nor has my absence from your life. Look into your own heart, my lady, and maybe you will see where your true loathing lies. But you are right. Let us be done."
They had brought shovels, silent if slow, and they set to work. Marrago worked as long as he was able, but then had to stop and rest for a long time, his breath rasping and anguished. Marrain worked hardest, his strong muscles and fury of will driving him on. He could not bear to look at Tirivail - the fire in her eye drove him back as much as the scars on her face.
His mind was so filled with memories and anger that he almost did not notice when they reached the wooden box in which Delenn had buried her lover. A human custom of course, and one that Marrain did not really understand. A warrior needed a pyre, a great warrior needed a greater pyre. Not some.... box in the ground.
But that was the way of humans, and of weaklings. Those who had no deeds to scream to the heavens had no need of a flame to light their way there.
He and Tirivail cleared the surface of the box, and he made to open it. He was not expecting the smell of decay, and he would not have feared it anyway. Sinoval had prepared the body against decomposition.There would be nothing unpleasant.
They forced the lid open.
And stopped, staring silently.
The coffin was empty.