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| Volume 5: Among the Stars, like Giants | Part VII: .... Let No God Tear Asunder |
THE dead are not quiet. They do not sleep. They do not dream.
Not when he is around.
The souls speak in countless different languages, in ancient tongues and forgotten dialects.
The spirits of the Well of Souls are restless. They know what is happening. Ancient laws are being broken.
But none of them will oppose him. None of them will dare.
The body is laid out on the slab of stone, the altar, colours dancing and flickering, now blacker than black. The body looks exactly as it did when the man died. Twelve years ago.
The soul floats above it, trapped and bound, seeking, yearning to be free.
The heart....
That is elsewhere.
Delenn....
Can you hear me?
* * * * * * *
And somewhere else:
I can hear you.
* * * * * * *
Nearer:
Now?
Almost.
* * * * * * *
At the second place:
We are all going to die. We are all going to die. We are all going to die.
And the memories of the alien voice echo from the dark stone walls.
* * * * * * *
I can hear you.
Delenn!
Am I dead?
No.... oh, no.... I don't think so.
But you're dead, Lyta. You've been gone for so long you must have been dead.
I'm not. I never was. I was trapped and lost. I've missed so much.
I wish this was death. I've been thinking of nothing else for twelve years, and every dream I ever had of being dead was worse than this. A simple, empty peace with my closest friend. I wish this was death.
This can be life.
Where are you? If you are not dead, then.... Oh, no. Not him.
Sinoval.
He walks everywhere, and his shadow falls over everything and everyone. Has he touched you too?
He freed me.
He had his reasons.
Yes, he did.
I do not want to know them. I do not want him to ruin this as well. He has taken everything else away from me. I do not want him to take away my friend as well.
Why do you hate him so much?
He is a monster. He lives for war, and he sees nothing but gaming pieces on a board. He does not grieve, and he knows no sorrow. He will regret the ending of this war, and he will go and search for another one. If he cannot find one, then he will make one. I cannot help but think this life would have been better had he never been a part of it. He opposes everything I am.
But he is our only hope of victory.
I know. That is what terrifies me.
He has a plan.
I do not want to know it. I do not want to know anything about him.
He sent me to contact you.
I do not want anything to do with him.
Delenn....
What?
You are my friend. Do not do this for him. Do it for me.
I cannot....
I owe him this. I offered him my service. He freed me, Delenn. You cannot know what it was like there.... where I was. He freed me, and I swore to serve him.
He only freed you because he wanted you to do this. He wanted to use you to touch me.
.... Yes, but that does not change what he did.
.... What does he want me to do?
To think. About him.
....
To remember Sheridan.
* * * * * * *
To my friend,
I am going home. I have been away for so long that I have almost forgotten what it looks like. I am afraid it will not be as I remember it. The memories of youth are fragile things when one reaches old age, and much will have happened to Centauri Prime these past years. I have heard some things, and I have not liked any of them.
But regardless of what is true and what is not, I am going home.
I have dreamed of this moment ever since I left. I thought the longing would ease with time and with the burdens of duty, but it has only intensified. Each day brings new yearnings. I want to see the place where Lyndisty took her first steps, and the place where she died. I want to see my garden. I want to see the tavern where Londo, Urza and I first got drunk on cheap brivare.
A lifetime of memories. I wonder how hard it must be for you, whose memories are from so long ago. I saw it when we were on Minbar. I could see your love for your mountains with every step you took. I wish you could have shown me Shirohida the way you remember it. I wish I could show you my garden the way I remember it.
I have a feeling - not a premonition, just a feeling - that we will never see each other again. This war will claim one, if not both of us. For myself, I will not permit myself to die until I have completed the task that has consumed me these past fourteen years. But once that is done....
I do not know.
There are things I wanted to tell you. How much I valued our friendship. How much I respected you. You are the first alien I have really come to trust as I would trust one of my own people, and for a race as insular and backward-looking as we are, that truly means something.
I wish you well in your battle. I wish you the honourable death you crave. I wish you happiness with your lady. Tirivail is indeed a unique woman, and having met her at last, I can see why she fills your thoughts. But be kind to her. She has a spirit as fragile as it is strong, and her fear is close to consuming her.
I hope she can come to love you as much as you love her.
My fleets are ready. I am sitting on my flagship now as I write these words. We will be departing for Centauri Prime in less than an hour. I am afraid. I do not want to die, not yet, but that is not it. I am afraid of what I will find when I get there. Will my home be as I remember it? I know it will not, but I do not want to know what it will be like.
Regret is an ever-full glass, as Urza used to say. You can drink and drink all you like, but the glass will always be as full as ever.
I am proud to have known you, Marrain. May the Great Maker go with you.
Your friend,
Jorah.
* * * * * * *
It was midnight black, circular in shape, set in a border of gold streaked with red. It came from another universe, just one tiny shard of one solitary gravestone from a planet populated entirely by the dead.
Morden held the charm up in his one hand, examining it by the faint light of the glowstones. He was lightheaded from the drugs the Imperial physicians had given him. The medicine must be playing tricks with his mind. He thought he could see a face within the stone.
It did not reflect the light, or absorb it, or transcend it. The charm was from a place where light had no meaning.
For Morden, a man who had dedicated almost all his adult life to serving the cause of light, it was a troubling thought, one not even the healing drugs could assuage.
Who were you? he wondered. What incomprehensible alien thoughts flowed through your mind? Could you even think? Were you even sentient?
The Aliens killed everything. Sentient or not. Intelligent or not. They slaughtered lords and emperors as easily and as effortlessly as bacteria and amoebae. They had destroyed all life in their universe, and they had begun to do the same here.
They would do the same to Centauri Prime. They would destroy everything.
Except him. Except the one who bore the charm.
And he couldn't even attach it around his neck. He had only one hand.
"Mr. Morden," said an aged, bitter, angry voice. He looked up. The Emperor had entered the room.
Londo Mollari, second Emperor from his family, last Emperor of the Centauri Republic. Grey, ashen, close to death, utterly helpless, utterly patriotic, trapped by a decade and a half of powerlessness and sickness and fatigue.
He was, Morden was horrified to realise, the oldest and only friend he now had.
The others were all dead.
His family, dead. Mr. Edgars, dead. His lovers, few and infrequent at the best of times, all dead.
"I am not accustomed to being summoned like a common servant," Londo said. His eyesight was poor. He had not yet noticed Morden's injuries. "We should at least maintain the pretence of my authority, yes? And nor do I appreciate being sealed in my room like...." He stopped, as Morden leaned forward. "Great Maker! What happened to you?"
"We are...." Morden coughed. "We have been attacked by forces loyal to the Shadows." The pattern of his scars created an interesting lattice in the thin light. His missing arm must look trivial by comparison. "They have been driven out of the palace, and the inner circle of the capital is secure. We are working on securing the rest of the city, but it will take time."
"What...?"
Morden continued as if he had not spoken. "An official response to this has been decided upon by the Vorlon Lights Cardinal. I will begin its implementation very shortly, but there is something I wanted to tell you first."
He looked at Londo. The Emperor was silent, waiting.
"It has been an honour to know you, Majesty. It has been an honour to know and serve this world, and these people. I have.... made mistakes, and I have done much that I regret, but I have always.... always.... done what I thought was for the best."
"I know," Londo said, softly.
"It should not have had to be this way. None of it should, but this is the way it is, and I find that now, after all this time, I cannot think of anything else to do. Obedience is too ingrained, too forced into me, to allow me to do anything else."
"You are going to do something terrible, aren't you? Another crime to add to your very long list."
"On the contrary, Majesty. I am going to do the only decent thing I have done in the past fourteen years." He rose from his seat, swaying awkwardly. The drugs clouded his vision, and his thoughts. He needed to think clearly. He had to think clearly.
He reached out with his one hand, and took Londo's. He pressed the charm into it.
"Wear this. Wear it always. Hide it somewhere. In your crown perhaps, or your lapel, or somewhere. But wear it, and never take it off."
"What is...?"
"Just do as I say. Please."
That done, that one single act of decency done, Morden turned and walked away, leaving the Emperor lost for words.
He moved as quickly as he could, before his courage failed him and he ran to snatch back the charm.
* * * * * * *
For much of the war Sinoval was extremely elusive. One conspiracy theory even maintained that he was only a fictional rallying point for a campaign actually being fought by a handful of generals. His principal rival, however, was unquestionably real.
Although Takier's rank was officially Satai, he was de facto leader of the Grey Council, and thus of all Minbari. It had been his forceful 'diplomacy' that had secured the banishment of aliens from Minbari space and the refusal to accept refugees fleeing from the destroyed Narn homeworld. With no one left to oppose him after the death of Satai Kats on Babylon 5, he ruled with an iron hand.
Minbar had been attacked at the very beginning of the war, and their colony world of Tressna had been the first planet to feel the wrath of the Aliens. Takier learned from these incidents, and instituted an awesomely efficient system of martial law. The jump gates to the Tressna system were deliberately destroyed to prevent the Aliens using the planet as a base, although the main effect of this stratagem was merely to hinder Marrain and the Tak'cha in their efforts to prevent Alien breakouts. Interstellar travel to and from Minbari worlds was severely restricted, and all aliens were ruthlessly expelled or even executed. Takier suspended all diplomatic relations with other governments, preferring to defend his own space and no more - a strategy which was largely effective between 2265 and 2272.
Credit is also due to Takier's daughter Tirivail and her group of Witch Hunters, who made it their business to hunt down the growing Cult of Death active on Minbar. It was they who located and sealed the gateway beneath the Temple of Varenni, and Tirivail herself defeated the Vorlon spirit guarding it. She extended her campaign against the Cult to other Minbari worlds, and also began a detailed study of the Aliens. She began to construct an alarming hypothesis that under the right conditions in this reality, the Aliens might not even need a gateway to manifest.
Other Minbari were also prominent at this time, notably Marrain the Betrayer. Few people really believed the story that he was the Marrain of history brought back to life to atone for his betrayal, nevertheless many did flock to his banner. Many young warriors and Rangers believed that they should be fighting to save the entire galaxy, not just their own little corner of it. Marrain's tactical brilliance complemented his striking personal courage, and his alliance with Jorah Marrago created a formidable partnership.
Over time, Takier's iron grip on the Minbari worlds began to slacken. Some of the colonies began tentatively to re-establish contact with other races. The last three decades had seen a resurgence in the fortunes of the warrior caste, and now, in the middle of the greatest war the galaxy had ever known, Takier's isolationist policy had left them with no one to fight. One by one, warrior-Governors offered their fleets to Marrain.
Early in 2272 Marrain's fleet saw off a force of Vorlons heading for Zhabar, the first taste of action for many of these new recruits. Shortly after this they won a tight victory in Quadrant 14. Sensing the turning of a tide, the Vorlons decided to take action. They massed a fleet, including their Alien allies, and headed for Minbar.
Somehow Marrain became aware of this and managed to warn Takier. Takier of course had no desire to be assisted, and stubbornly maintained he could defend Minbar himself. His initial attempts to repel the invasion were successful, but the extent of his losses made it clear that eventual defeat was inevitable. Still his pride would not allow him to call for assistance, and Marrain's pride would not allow him to help a man who had rejected his aid.
It was Tirivail who broke the deadlock. Sacrificing her own pride, she herself requested Marrain's support. Marrain and his Minbari and Tak'cha allies arrived, and fought alongside Takier's forces. The Minbari had seen the devastation of their world once before, and were determined to prevent a recurrence. The Aliens proved more powerful than any of them had expected, but Marrain had a secret weapon, something he and Sinoval had been developing in secret for a long time.
At the height of the battle, Cathedral and the First Ones emerged from hiding in hyperspace. It was the first time since Proxima that Sinoval had fought the Aliens head-to-head, and he had learned a great deal in the intervening years. The Aliens, reluctant to engage the First Ones, tried to drag the battle into hyperspace, where they had the advantage. Sinoval seized his chance to utilise the Shadow weapon he had discovered, which collapsed the jump point and brought the folds of hyperspace down upon the Alien ships.
The battle was hard-fought, made all the harder by Takier's reluctance to co-operate, but eventually the Aliens and the Vorlons were driven off. Sinoval then broadcast a message across Minbar, the world that had once been his. He announced his presence to the Minbari, declared that he was here to stay, and promised that anyone who wished to fight the Enemy could do so at his side.
Over half of Takier's forces defected, which greatly weakened his grip on Minbar and was the eventual cause of his downfall. Sinoval was now in command of a vast army. No one asked what he had been doing during his long absence, and he volunteered nothing.
Tirivail remained behind on Minbar. It is known that she and Marrain met during the battle, but there is no record of what passed between them.
Williams, G. D. (2298) The Great War: A Study.
* * * * * * *
Shrouded by shadows, Sebastian and Galen stopped before the vast archway that marked the entrance to the Well of Souls. It was stone, as dark and impenetrable as the rest of Cathedral itself. Beyond lay the chamber around which Cathedral had been crafted.
Sebastian had seen it in his dreams, and in the soulstones he had carved from the foreheads of living, screaming Soul Hunters. A vast room stretching out almost to the borders of infinity, filled with the memories of countless dead races.
It would be a fitting prize for the Vorlons.
There were two guards outside the doorway. Both would be members of the feared Praetors Cathedrellus, Cathedral's internal guard. Trained warriors, skilled in numerous arts of warfare, they were not to be taken lightly.
But Sebastian could see past them. He could see the threads of light and soul that ran through the corridors of Cathedral. The great jewel that sealed the doorway was pulsing with a soft, red light. The Well of Souls was busy. What Sinoval was doing took all his attention, and much of the Well's. Powerful and ancient the Well might be, but it was not omnipotent, and it was currently engaged in undoing the fabric of the universe.
The dead are dead, and restoring them to life is not easy, not when they have been dead for as long as Sheridan.
Sebastian reached out his hand, still clouded by Galen's enchantment. Sorcery is a powerful thing when used correctly. He regretted not a single moment he had spent breaking Galen to his will.
He felt his skin tingle beneath his gloves as he traced the pattern of energy. Not unlike the network, in a way, the thread of souls ran through Cathedral, across the galaxy, to other vaults and storehouses, to places of worship and sanctity for the Shagh Toth.
And for someone who knew them as well as Sebastian did, it was not hard to intervene.
His arm pointing directly along the path, he gripped the handle of his cane firmly with his left hand and tapped it once on the stone floor.
The first Praetor stiffened, convulsing, and fell to the floor. The light in its soulstone died.
The second moved forward, instantly. Sebastian was ready for it, and raised his cane to block the Soul Hunter's attack. He knew the Praetor would already have sent a warning to the Well, but the Well - and Sinoval - were occupied. This would only serve to distract them.
Sebastian's cane lashed into the Praetor's side, coruscating blue lightning crackling from the shaft. The Praetor reeled backwards and Galen moved forward, weaving an incantation in mid-air with his fingers. Black smoke began to rise from the Praetor's mouth, filling its lungs and its mind.
Sebastian struck the side of its head, and the Praetor slumped.
The two of them walked forward under the archway. It seemed.... smaller, from here. In his dreams and visions it had been so large. Two steps back, it had looked massive. Now, directly beneath it, it was no larger than an ordinary door.
Sebastian could see the energies of the Well, thrashing and writhing, broken by the two souls he had just destroyed.
He smiled.
"Be ready," he told his companion.
Then he stared up at the jewel.
"Open!" he commanded.
And the door opened.
* * * * * * *
It was red, the dark crimson of drying blood at twilight. Beneath the crystal surface, forms moved, clouds parted and lightning flared. Ghosts howled and raged.
Light danced around him, filling his eyes. Morden bit down hard on the inside of his mouth. The pain was good, reminding him of what he was. He could taste his own blood.
He had kept the orb here for five years, in the darkest, most secure treasure-vault of the Palace. There was one key, which never left his possession. There were two guards outside the door, another two down the corridor, another two at the top of the stars. All were under orders to admit no one but Morden himself.
He had not been down here in five years, but he had often dreamed about this room. The orb exerted an influence over everyone who came into contact with it. There had been over fifty guards charged with its protection in the last five years. Over thirty of them had gone mad in some way. Suicide, murder, insanity.... these had claimed most of them.
Five years....
Since Immolan.
There had been two of them hidden on Immolan. A nobleman who had died centuries ago had fancied himself a collector of rare objects. Somehow, the Light Masters alone knew exactly how, he had obtained two of the gateways. Lesser gateways, admittedly, ones that could only project the dreaming consciousness of the Aliens, but gateways all the same.
They had been kept hidden in his manor house on Immolan for centuries after his death. The locals had believed that the house was haunted, not without reason. Even with the gates closed, some aura of the Aliens reached out.
And then had come the incident five years ago. Londo, and G'Kar....
.... and Sinoval.
Morden liked to think that he had not known true fear since he had joined the Vorlons. He was wrong, and the sight of Sinoval proved it to him. He had been blessed either by supernatural luck or the divine protection of the Vorlons even to manage to escape with one gateway. Sinoval had taken the other. Hopefully he had not even known there were two there.
Morden checked his single glove, and with a deep breath he picked up the orb, balancing it carefully in his single hand, and left the vault. This had to be done beneath the open sky. He walked past the guards, sparing neither of them a glance. It was easier not knowing who they were. He had relied on his Generals to choose the best. After the tenth had gone mad, he had not wanted to know any more. Far too many of them had families.
He walked upwards, always upwards. The Emperor's rooms were theoretically the highest point in the palace of course, but Londo had not claimed them. His weak hearts made the stairs too much. The upper wing was pretty much empty.
Morden finally came out on to a balcony. The sky was dark, wine-dark and full of clouds. Before him, a part of the city was still burning.
He could imagine the screams of those trapped by the flames, consumed by Moreil and those like him.
All their screams added together would be as nothing compared to what was to come.
And his own would be among them. He had given away the charm.
He balanced the orb delicately on the parapet. It would not break, no matter how far it was dropped. Then he removed his glove. That was more difficult than he had expected, requiring his teeth and the stump of his other arm. He had had help putting it on.
He could not touch the orb to his bare skin in the vault. He had to call the Aliens outside, beneath the open sky.
It looked as if it would rain soon.
The job done, the glove casually thrown over the balcony, he touched the orb. It was warm, and soft, and.... almost alive.
Like flesh.
"Can you hear me?" he asked.
We hear you.
He was unprepared for the power in that voice. It was a sibilant hiss that echoed from the stone walls and the vast sky. It was so soft he had to strain to hear it, and yet so powerful he thought they could have heard it on Minbar.
you you you ou ou ou u u u
"Do you know who I am?"
We know.
He looked up, and looked out at the city that had been his home for so long. He knew this city, he knew this world, he knew these people.
know know know now now now ow ow ow w w w
He wanted to defy his Masters, but he could not. They were all he had left. He had sworn himself to their service, and he had watched everyone he knew die in their service. To defy them now.... It would make a mockery of his whole life.
Maybe he was a fool to continue, but if he backed down that would only make him a bigger fool.
"Do you know this world?"
We know.
know know know now now now ow ow ow w w w
"It is yours."
* * * * * * *
He is dead. I do not want to remember him.
Twelve long years. I have not said his name since I stood by his grave. I have not thought of his face since I left Minbar.
Twelve years.
I do not want to remember him.
I gave him so much of myself, and I watched him die not once, but twice. I have seen him sick and weak, and I have seen him alive and strong. I have known the tenderness of his touch and the fury of his rage.
We parted so badly. There was so much I wanted to say that was robbed from me by anger and fear, and I never had another chance.
He died.
I tell you the same as I told Sinoval.
Let the dead rest.
He would not want to return. He would not want to have his rest disturbed.
And he would not want to see me.
The things he said.... he was right to say them, but oh, how they hurt! He said I killed his son. David was mine. I carried him. I heard his heartbeat slow and stop and die and I have never forgotten that and to hear him blame me....
That wounded me more than I thought possible.
I tried to become something other than I was. I thought it was for Valen's prophecy, but I was wrong. It was for him. I wanted to become human for him.
I lost my identity, my face, my son....
I never hated him, however much I wanted to, but I stopped loving him a long time ago.
Lyta, you cannot force me to do this.
He made me laugh and he made me cry and he made my heart sing. Even the greatest wounds of my spirit were less when he was near, for a time. I should have valued those brief moments more, but they were so long ago, and I was a different person then.
I remember one special time we were together, without illness or fear or the controlling touch of another. It was before I went to Z'ha'dum. It was the night we made our son. It was the bargain I made with the Vorlons. I wanted one night for us to be together. That was me. That was my selfishness. I should just have gone.
If I had not demanded that night, David would never have been conceived. He would never have been created only to die before he was born.
You see, in a way he was right, although not in the way he thought. I did kill our son, because it was at my insistence that he was created.
I did not know, of course, but that does not make it any the less hard.
I have wanted to be forgotten for so long. I have wanted to sleep, and rest, but there has always been so much to do. Redemption is a hard road to walk, and the end is so very far away.
I want to be at peace.
I want it all to be over.
I do not want to see him again.
Please, Lyta....
I will not do this.
* * * * * * *
On Cathedral, in the Well of Souls, trapped in her trance, Lyta was crying silently, tears running down the marble planes of her face.
Delenn, she thought silently, you don't understand.
You are doing this.
Sheridan's soul began to take form in the chill air.
* * * * * * *
And then a voice, meticulously accented, precisely spoken, chillingly perfect in every way, spoke one word.
"Open!"
* * * * * * *
Takier opened the door and set foot into the Grey Council chamber. Unused for so long, the room still held the aura of power. He walked through the thick darkness until he came to the circle itself. A column of light illuminated at his presence.
He could feel the greatness in this chamber. Here the finest Minbari in history had stood, marking out destiny for themselves and their people. He reeled their names off in his mind. Valen himself, of course. Derannimer, Nemain, Mannamann, and others, through to the likes of Varmain, Kinadran, Kalain, Sonovar.
And now him.
The Council had ceased to mean anything long ago. What was the point of power if no one existed who was worthy to wield it? Who was there now but Takier himself? Who was there to exercise the will, the force, the charisma, the determination to do what was necessary to command?
There was no one but him.
Minbar was safe. He had held the planet against invaders for twelve years. He had beaten off their attacks, and he had not had to resort to selling his people to Sinoval to do it. Sinoval's aid at the last battle three years before had been uninvited and uncalled-for.
The world was not as secure as it had once been, but he simply did not have the resources. So many traitors had defected to Sinoval, or to the Betrayer. Still, he had done the best he could with what he had. No one could say he had shirked his duty to his people.
He did not know why he had come here. Perhaps it was just to remind himself of many things. He had not been sleeping well lately, and his mind tended to wander. Still, when he had to be, he was as sharp as ever. He could still out-think any man who dared to oppose him.
The Betrayer was on Minbar. Takier's spies had seen him inside Yedor, with a Centauri and his own treacherous daughter. Takier did not know what they wanted, but he intended to find out. He had ordered Marrain's arrest. It was a pity. He had a lot of respect for Marrain.
He did not know this Marrain, and that was what made him wary. A leader as skilled as that did not just appear from nowhere. Many people thought his claim to be the original Marrain was a sign of insanity, but Takier was not so sure. He knew his history, and he had heard the legends of Marrain's mysterious death.
Still, it did not matter either way. Madman or ghost, he served Sinoval, and Takier would not permit any of the traitor's servants on his world.
The sound of footsteps broke his reverie and he looked up. A grey-cloaked figure shuffled into view.
"What is it?" he asked, irritated. This room was supposed to be guarded at all times. Maybe it was the report that Marrain had been detained.
The figure pulled back his hood, and Takier glared at him. "Gysiner! What are you doing here?" He had not seen the priestling in years, not since the Grey Council had been formally abolished. He had kept an eye on his former companions, and most of them were now dead. He had heard that Gysiner was in Yedor, keeping a very low profile, and he was happy with that. The priestling had not had the most impressive of careers.
"Are you ill, man?" he asked. Gysiner did not smell well, and he did not look well either. There was a faint unsteadiness in his walk. The closest Takier could imagine was that he was drunk, but that was absurd. Minbari did not get drunk.
"No," Gysiner replied. "I am very well indeed."
"Then what is the meaning of this?"
Gysiner smiled. "I have a message for you, Satai."
"Yes?"
"The black heart beats." Gysiner's eyes glowed red.
Takier stared at him.
* * * * * * *
Sinoval felt his body and soul wrenched as he struggled with the energies. Something was.... wrong. Something was interfering. He could not pinpoint exactly what, but there was resistance coming from somewhere.
He could feel the emotions pouring from Lyta. Delenn was doing well. Willingly or not, she was providing the emotional surge necessary to reunite Sheridan's soul with his body. She was conflicted, torn between love and hate, joy and sorrow. It was not what Sinoval had expected, but then he had never understood love, and it seemed to be working well enough. Sheridan's soul was slowly returning to his body. He could see the signs of life beginning to flicker and surge within the corpse.
Willingly or not, Sheridan would live again.
And then it struck him. A burst of sheer negative energy. It sent him stumbling backwards, and it took all his willpower to maintain his stance.
He looked up, seeing through the energies of the soul, the paths of emotion and thought and dreaming, into the real.
He realised three things instantly.
First, that two people were standing there, just in front of the altar. Humans. He recognised them both. He had hoped, somewhat futilely, that they were both dead.
Second, that three of his Praetors Tutelary were dead, taken down in seconds.
And third, that the Well of Souls was screaming.
* * * * * * *
YOU MAY NOT TRESPASS HERE!
Sebastian smiled. "I walk where there is light," he said, surveying the oddly blissful chaos of his arrival. "And where there is no light, I bring it."
He looked around. Sinoval was distracted, struggling to hold his position.
Galen, he thought, keep them from me for a while. There are things I wish to try.
The former technomage immediately began to weave wardings.
Sebastian trusted to Galen's skill and power and knelt to examine the soulstone at his feet. There was a creature within it, a monstrous-looking beast, insect-like, with hundreds of writhing tentacles and thick, chitinous, oily black skin.
He tapped the stone with the end of his staff. The crystal surface shattered, and the creature materialised in front of him.
With a thin smile, he pointed the staff in Sinoval's direction.
"Destroy him," he ordered, and the creature, powerless to resist, scuttled forward.
* * * * * * *
YOU MAY NOT DO THIS!
But Sebastian did not listen. He could, in fact, do that.
* * * * * * *
The sky was dark with flames and smoke. G'Kar could not stop himself looking up at it. It was a chilling reminder of his younger days.
The Centauri liked to burn things. They had burned houses, halls, temples, villages, people, anything they could get their hands on. G'Kar had hoped that was simply part of the madness which had gripped them when they conquered Narn, but it appeared he was wrong.
They had been arrested within a handful of hours of their arrival on Centauri Prime. Vir had not known what to do, and the soldiers had found them. Vir's explanations had proven wholly inadequate and all four of them had been detained. Ta'Lon had tried to fight of course, and been bludgeoned into unconsciousness.
They had taken great pleasure in hurting L'Neer. One of the guards had broken her arm, no mean feat given the density of Narn bones. It hung limply at her side, and her face was marked with bruises. Despite her obvious pain, she showed no hatred for them. G'Kar admired her for that, and wished he could share her forgiving nature.
There were too many old memories coming back to him, stealthily infiltrating his mind like shadows at midday. He remembered being captured by the Centauri before. He remembered them killing innocent villagers in their attempt to find his uncle, and dripping a white liquid into his eyes. He remembered them torturing Da'Kal for fun.
All that hatred he had known then. It was a horrifying thing to experience again. It was a chilling reminder of the person he had once been. He did not like it.
But L'Neer was calm. She was always calm. She was one of the finest things he had had any part in creating, although he knew that much of the credit for her existence was due to others. Still, when he looked at her, he felt nothing but pride.
They were moving through the capital. Apparently the main spaceport in the city had been sabotaged and set on fire, and their captors' ship had been forced to land just outside it. The streets they were marched through were empty.
The sky was livid. Red clouds were slowly forming.
L'Neer stumbled, and one of the soldiers kicked her as she lay on the ground. Unable to support herself on her broken arm, she had to struggle to rise. The soldiers just laughed.
G'Kar bit the inside of his mouth so hard he drew blood. He was not a warrior now. He was a man of peace.
A man of peace.
He wondered what it would be like to taste Centauri blood again.
Above them, the sky was getting darker. Tiny flickers of lightning darted between the clouds. The fires seemed to be getting nearer.
* * * * * * *
The ship was massive, a behemoth, black against the stars. Marrain was impressed, despite his personal dislike. A lord should live among his people, but there was nothing wrong with majesty and glory. The Grey Council's ship was both majestic and glorious. It could have been Shirohida cast into the sky.
--- Turn back. You are not authorised to dock. Turn back. ---
Tirivail was still trying to persuade the official to permit her to enter. She was failing, and her anger was beginning to show. Marrain was not angry. He was studying the ship. He disliked space. He always had. He preferred the ground, stone, solid. The sky should be above, not all around.
He disliked space, but war in space was still war, and he had mastered war. He was not the consummate tactician Jorah was, and he did not have the long-term strategic skills of Sinoval, but with a weapon in his hands, no one was better.
And a ship was just another weapon.
"This is Tirivail!" she spat back. "There is contamination on board your ship. I demand right of entry."
--- Your order is not recognised and the seat of the Grey Council remains pure. You will now turn back to Yedor. ---
Marrain ran his eyes across the ship, his admiration growing. Weapons ports in all the right places, no blind spots, no obvious weak spots.
Put a weapon in his hand and there was no one better.
But it was all a matter of choosing the right weapon.
Tirivail had contacted her companions on the surface, and they had moved quickly, scattering across Minbar, seeking further information. The order was small, but remarkably effective. They had provided a ship capable of transporting them to the Hall of the Grey Council. Of course they had no way of getting on board.
Marrain admired tight security, but security was only men, and men were fallible. He had never in his life known a warrior who was perfect.
--- Unauthorised ship, you are ordered to return to Yedor immediately or you will be fired upon. ---
Flaws. They were everywhere. Perhaps not in steel and iron, but in people. Marrain himself was flawed. He had never known anyone who was not.
Flaws such as vanity, lechery, love, devotion, self-loathing, blindness, weakness....
Ambition.
He stepped over and took the communications panel from Tirivail. She glared at him angrily, but said nothing.
"My name is Marrain, called the Betrayer," he said. "I have come to surrender to Satai Takier."
Ambition.
* * * * * * *
He was shaking her, but she would not wake up. Her skin was cold and clammy to his touch, the only sense he had remaining that he could truly rely on. He could not see her, but his memories told him enough. He remembered her most clearly at the point of death.
But she had had hair then, and she didn't seem to have any now.
"Wake up," he cried frantically. "It's Dexter." He knew his name now. She had spoken it, and so had absolved him of his sins. "Wake up. Wake up."
She stirred beneath him.
"John," she moaned.
Then she screamed, and sat bolt upright.
* * * * * * *
Delenn!
Are you there?
Everything seemed to have gone insane. Everything around her was screaming. There were hideous creatures milling around, fighting. A strange bald man was drawing symbols in the air, and behind him stood a man in Victorian clothing wielding a silver-topped cane.
Lyta had no idea what was happening, and she could not reach Delenn.
Delenn!
The Well was screaming.
Delenn! Where are you?
There was a rush of motion behind her as something rose out of the ground. She could not see it clearly, but it seemed to be a being made of mist. Something hard slammed into her back, sending her tumbling forward. She was groggy and unstable on her feet, and seeing too many things that could not be there, and she unwittingly fell into a red pattern drawn in the very air itself.
Her whole body seemed to be on fire. She screamed and rolled around on the floor, trying to put herself out, but of course there were no flames.
A shadow fell over her and she dared to look up.
"The escapee," Sebastian said, and she knew him then. "A second time you have tried to flee from us. Tell me, child. We caught you the first time. What made you think you could evade us the second?"
* * * * * * *
Everything was madness. The Well was at war with itself, and Sebastian and Galen were simply standing there.
Sinoval knew what was happening. Not all the spirits had been happy to be preserved here. Some had been taken in great pain, or madness, or grief, or in emotions too alien to be put into words. Sebastian was somehow raising them from their cells, giving them form. Here, where far too many of the laws of space and time did not exist, that could be done.
The Well had to raise its own champions to fight them. Too many of them were dying. Truly dying. The True Death.
And with each death the Well grew weaker. It was beginning to forget, power slipping from it like inhibitions from a drunkard.
Sinoval knew his responsibilities, and a cold anger gripped him for the decision that was being forced upon him.
So much lost, so much sacrificed, so much prepared....
.... for nothing.
He released Sheridan's soul, returning it to the ether. He stretched out his hand, and willed a weapon to exist. He was Primarch Majestus et Conclavus. He was Lord of Cathedral.
He would not be stopped. Not here, in his holy place.
But more than that, he was a warrior.
And he charged into the fray.
* * * * * * *
Susan was wounded and hurt and bleeding and incredibly angry. She had been knocked down by the initial rush of alien creatures rising from the floor and the walls, and it had taken a great deal of effort to simply get to a place of relative safety behind the altar. Sinoval was just standing there, lost in his ritual, and all hell was breaking loose around him.
She took in deep breaths, and looked around for a weapon. You would think Sinoval would have a weapon, but no.
But then he did. A staff appeared in his hand and he vaulted over the altar.
He had forgotten all about her, of course. Typical.
The sounds of battle reached her ears. Things were dying, and the Well was screaming.
Talia! she screamed mentally - not that there would be any reply. Talia was still on Kazomi 7, dealing with the remnants of the network node there. She might as well be on the other side of the galaxy. And anyway, the sheer amount of white noise here would blot out any call for help.
Not that that stopped her trying, of course.
Someone!
Susan! came a reply.
Lyta.
Susan took another deep breath and looked around the edge of the altar. She knew what she had to do.
* * * * * * *
The creatures parted as he charged through them. Commanded by Sebastian or not, maddened by fury and imprisonment or not, they recognised Sinoval for what he was, and none would stand against him.
The air was thick and heavy with Galen's wards. Shields had been formed, an invisible barrier keeping Sebastian away from him.
Keeping the man who had murdered Kats away from him.
He remembered the scene as if it were yesterday. The blood in her mouth, the horrible wound in her stomach, her last, pathetic words.
He was Primarch Majestus et Conclavus, and this was one of his holy places. Nothing would bar him from his vengeance.
He reached out to the nearest of Galen's wardings, still glimmering blood-crimson in the air. He closed his fist over it, and spat out angry words. The ward disappeared and the air became clearer.
Sinoval knew something about magic. More than one technomage had found his soul ending up here.
Galen looked up at him, his dark eyes filled with hatred. Sinoval had truly believed him to be dead, but the technomage would not grant him mercy on that account. He had been a soldier, and Sinoval had left him behind.
Fire darted from his fingers. Sinoval shrugged it aside, and dissolved the next ward.
Lightning rose from the floor at his feet, and a Dilgar burst into renewed life. It was one of their Warmasters, a monster responsible for tens of thousands of deaths in the bloodiest civil war in his race's history. He was wielding a long, black, many-pronged whip.
Sinoval parried the thongs with his spiritual denn'bok and impaled the Dilgar. It died the True Death, soul let loose and free. The Well of Souls was diminished a little more, but he did not care.
Galen's wards shattered as Sinoval stepped further forward. The technomage took a faltering step backwards.
And Sinoval's attention was instantly diverted.
Sebastian stepped up to meet him.
* * * * * * *
It was dark. Everything was dark, and filled with fire and fury and pain.
He did not want to go back. He wanted to rest.
But something was drawing him back.
No! He did not want to go back.
There was nothing he wanted to go back to.
Except for....
* * * * * * *
Sinoval's pike crashed against Sebastian's staff. He had not carried a weapon since Stormbringer had been destroyed. Tools were the subtlest of traps, but now he did not care. He was moving with a fury and a fire he had not truly known in years.
He remembered the last time he had been this angry.
He had spoken to Moreil....
And he had ordered Moreil to take steps....
To do what was necessary....
To convince the Vree....
What was necessary....
He could imagine Kats looking at him, watching him, and he knew she would not appreciate this rage. She had been a kind soul, truly kind. But she was dead, and he had lived with the ghost of her memory for twelve years.
Sebastian was smiling.
Smiling!
His staff parried another wild swing.
"Is this not glorious?" Sebastian asked. "Is this not truly magnificent? If I had known I could command such power here then I would have come many long years ago."
He parried again, and stepped back, tapping another orb. Another soul rose before him.
The human was not even attacking, but then he did not need to. All he had to do was let the battle consume them all.
Let the Well die with each passing soul and each passing second.
Sinoval realised that, but he did not care. He would have revenge on Kats' murderer, and that was all his desire.
* * * * * * *
Galen did not feel anything. The shattering of his wards had stunned him. Such power! He had never imagined anything like it.
And there was that buzzing at the back of his mind, the whispered conversations he could only barely hear.
The telepath. Vejar had tried to free her.
But Vejar was dead.
Behind him Sinoval and Sebastian were fighting, heedless of anything else. Both of them had forgotten him.
He shook his head, trying to remember. He saw Sheridan's body lying on the altar, the green mist flashing above it.
He moved forward. He could at least destroy that blasphemy. Why should Sheridan return to life when others could not?
Something caught his mind as he neared the altar and he stopped, puzzled.
Susan rose up from her hiding place, like an avenging fury from ancient legend. Behind her came the other telepath, the one Vejar had tried to help.
Both of them were looking at him.
* * * * * * *
Sinoval was not fighting coolly. All he knew was passion and fury. Sebastian could see that in his every wild swing. All those years of training and discipline, crumbled to dust. All that remained was anger.
Emotion was a weakness. Sebastian contented himself with parrying and deflecting his opponent's attacks. A mistake would happen eventually. Emotion always led to error.
Sebastian himself had known anger once. After his victory at Babylon 5. He had won. Won! And he had been forced to step aside. The anger had passed with time, and he was glad of it. His victory would be all the sweeter after so long, and it would not be tainted by emotion.
He continued to step back, parrying and dodging and restoring the trapped spirits of the Well with each step.
* * * * * * *
Galen frantically wove more wardings into the air, but he was moving slowly, as if the air itself had become thick and heavy.
Everything around him was so loud and thick and real. Creatures that had been dead for millennia were at war, and he was stuck in the middle of it.
He could not think.
He struggled to remember the incantations, but they slipped away from him. This had been so easy once....
Once....
With Vejar and Isabel and....
And....
Everything was so far away from him. He could not touch any of it. When he tried to think back, all he could remember was the light.
The blessed light. Filling his mind and his soul.
He stumbled back and looked up at Lyta. She was staring at him, her eyes black and infinite. She had been trapped inside the network for so long. She had lost so much of her life.
As much as he had of his trapped inside that torture room.
He stared at her, and his expression was one of utter empathy. He could read her pain and her loss. She would never recover those missing years. And nor would he.
Behind her, the battle continued to rage. A creature fell from the heavens, full of flame and anguish. Its body, four times as large as a human's, crashed into Lyta as it landed.
The telepath crumpled to the ground, her body shattered. Galen stepped back, trying to think.
His mind was clearer now. She had been doing something to him. Distracting him.
He could think.
He could think.
* * * * * * *
LYTA! Susan screamed.
David.... came the whispered response. Don't tell him. Please, don't tell him....
And that was it.
* * * * * * *
There it was! The one mistake!
Sinoval had left himself too open, his attacks becoming more and more wild and more and more furious. There had been several openings before, but they had all invited killing blows. This one would incapacitate, but not kill. That was just what Sebastian wanted.
Sinoval had to know he was defeated.
He thrust forward with his cane. Sinoval's defences were broken. He was wide open. The blow could not miss.
Sinoval moved fast. Too fast. Sebastian's eye could not track the movement as the wild swing instantly became a controlled, precise strike. Sebastian still hit home, but the momentum was not there, nor was the power. Sinoval had drawn just enough of it away.
Sebastian was still marvelling at the finesse when Sinoval's pike crashed into his side, smashing his ribs and reducing his heart to pulp.
The light was not there waiting for him when he died.
But a million voices were.
* * * * * * *
Galen looked at the altar, at Sheridan's body, and at the soul floating above it.
His mind was clear. He could think rationally.
But he did not want to.
He sank forward to his knees, pathetic and dejected. He had lost so much of his life. Better by far had he died on Kazomi 7.
He did not feel Sinoval approach him from behind, and he did not react as the end of the pike tore through his back and his chest.
* * * * * * *
There were enough dead, even here, in this place of death.
They were all around him, still fighting.
Sinoval dissolved his pike and raised his arms.
"THIS ENDS NOW!"
With countless flashes of light, it did, and the Well was quiet.
* * * * * * *
Morden sat alone on the balcony overlooking the city. Above him the sky was becoming darker. He did not want to look out across his city. He did not want to see his people start to die.
The orb was a lesser gateway, but that just meant that the cleansing would take months rather than weeks. The Aliens would manifest eventually, drawn by the nightmares of the people, but that would take time, and there would be an awful lot of death and insanity before it happened.
Morden wondered how long it would take him to succumb to the madness.
He thought of jumping over the balcony, of an honourable death. It was preferable to having his last hours consumed by delusion and nightmares.
But no, he could not do it. He would serve out his final days to the best of his ability. Anything else made a mockery of who he was.
The sky was getting darker.
The orb was getting warmer.
The clouds began to clash, and it started to rain.
* * * * * * *
As he had expected, they were waiting for him. Nine of them, dressed in black and silver, carrying denn'boks. The Satai's honour guard, a relic of the old ways, reinstated by Takier.
But the Satai himself was not here.
"You are Marrain, called the Betrayer," their leader said, stepping forward, one hand gripping her pike tightly.
"I am." He was studying her. The way she stood, the way she walked, the way she was dressed, everything revealed her to him. She was good, better than good. She might even have been worthy of a place in Hantenn's Wind Swords.
"You have come to surrender yourself to Satai Takier?"
Marrain smiled. Behind him he felt Tirivail tense. He, on the other hand, felt perfectly relaxed. "Where is the Satai?"
"The Satai will see you when he is ready. Have you come to surrender yourself to him?"
Marrain's hand brushed the hilt of his dechai. Young, enthusiastic, loyal, devoted.... these guards reminded him of the Rangers he had fought so long ago above Z'ha'dum. The ones who had guarded Hantiban.
Of course there had only been two there, and now there were nine.
She realised what was coming, to her credit, and she barked an order, but it was too late. The dechai was in his hand, and then the fighting began.
* * * * * * *
The rain was hot and acid on his skin, burning him.
Just like the red-hot staves the Centauri had used on him once, just like the white liquid they had dripped into his eyes.
Blind. Blind. They had blinded him.
The fires were still raging through the rain. He could see Narn villages burning. He could see his friends burning. The Centauri had done this.
His captors were arguing amongst themselves. He could hear them shouting in their hate-filled tongues, in their disgusting alien language. He had been forced to learn it. He had been whipped once as a child for daring to speak in his native tongue.
L'Neer looked pale and sick. Her arm was obviously paining her. Ta'Lon winced as the rain fell on his ruined face. An old injury, his eye. Had the Centauri done that? G'Kar could not remember. They might have done. They liked mutilating their prisoners.
Black lightning fell from the clashing clouds, striking a nearby building. It burst into flames.
Flames.
In his memory everything was burning.
His world was dead. They had killed it.
He could taste blood in his mouth. The blood of his people.
He remembered someone speaking of peace, of conciliation. There could be no peace, no common ground with these monsters. After all they had done, how could there be peace? They needed to die, to die in fire and pain, to see their homes burned and their world destroyed and be turned loose into the galaxy as hopeless refugees.
He could taste the blood of his people.
The guards were still shouting. He caught bits of it. Something about a gambling debt, and a woman. Such petty concerns. They were such a petty people. They could never see the greater things, the larger concerns.
They were not worth his attention.
One of them drew a weapon.
G'Kar smiled.
He began to pull at his chains. He was not a young man any more, but he felt young. He felt as he had felt so many years ago, when he had wanted to kill all the Centauri there were.
The rain dripped on to the metal of his chains, weakening them.
Ta'Lon was howling, blinking against the fury of the storm. The clouds crashed and he heard the rolling of thunder.
There was a shot and one of the guards fell. The others drew their weapons.
G'Kar's chains weakened further.
One of the Centauri pushed L'Neer back. She fell against the wall of the nearby building, striking her arm. She did not cry out, but the pain showed on her face.
With a roar, he wrenched furiously, and the chains parted.
The rain was not hurting him. It was cleansing him. All those years of peace and treaties and accords. You could not reason with the Centauri. They were monsters, devils. They deserved nothing but death.
He raised his arms into the air and howled with joy, like a wild animal.
And he knew where the leader of the monsters was. An old man, weak and fragile and feeble, while G'Kar himself had never felt stronger.
Still howling, he ran towards the palace.
* * * * * * *
The years 2270-72 had seen a dramatic escalation in military engagements, both in number and in sheer bloodiness. Matters were coming to a head, and both sides were running perilously short of resources.
Battles such as Brakir in 2271 and Minbar in 2272 had proved that the Vorlons and the Aliens could be defeated. Nevertheless, the cost of such pyrrhic victories could not be borne forever. Some of Sinoval's generals, Marrain for example, were only too happy to continue with the war in its present form, but others were becoming concerned that there might be nothing left when - or if - the war was finally won.
But there were concerns on the other side as well. Vorlon confidence had obviously been badly dented by the defeats, and there must have been growing worries that the Aliens might be just a little too powerful to keep under control. While the Cult of Death was probably in command of the Vorlon population by this point, it is not clear just how comprehensive their control was.
It is also possible that the Aliens themselves were becoming concerned about the progress of events. They had undoubtedly been avoiding the First Ones and Cathedral at every turn, and they had been out-thought and out-fought by Sinoval at Minbar. According to Sinoval the Aliens' victories in their own universe had taken place countless millennia before,¹ and he believed they might have grown complacent. Their defeat at his hands must have shocked them considerably.
Regardless of motives, the war changed focus again towards the middle of 2273. Sinoval and his allies continued to press home their assault, but at a slower, more measured pace. Marrago had exerted some influence on Sinoval, and it was his cautious, precise tactics that dominated the campaign in this year.
Marrago's own campaign continued on schedule, as he crawled ever closer to Centauri Prime. On the Centauri homeworld the pressures of the war continued to bite. Morden found himself more and more isolated, and had to rely on increasingly brutal tactics to maintain order. The Lady Timov had been arrested after the Immolan Incident in 2270, but her accomplice Durla Antignano was still at large and waging a guerilla war against Morden. Towards the end of the year his forces were lured into an ambush and decimated, but Durla himself disappeared.
While Sinoval's campaign had slowed down, Vorlon military activities had come to a near standstill. Their main forces were confined to defensive actions, holding the worlds they already possessed, or at least those of them deemed to be of value. Instead they turned again to covert operations, concentrating on assassinations, espionage and so on.
Cells of the Cult of Death began to spring up all across the galaxy, as entire races turned to the worship of the terrifying Alien creatures capable of destroying whole worlds. These were not of course the first such cells, but reports of their existence escalated alarmingly, and it is highly probable that Vorlon agents were behind this development.
The Vorlons struck at other targets as well. Marrago's own bodyguard tried to assassinate him, and although the attempt failed, he was badly injured, and the timing of his campaign was put back by almost a whole year. His trust in his companions was also badly shaken.
The Vorlons also moved against Tirivail, in a direct attack on her monastery sanctuary high in the Yamakodo Mountains on Minbar. The cultists responsible were all killed, but not before almost half of her Witch Hunters had been killed or maimed. Tirivail herself was badly burned in the resulting fire, and lay in a coma for nearly three weeks. Rumours indicate that Sinoval at first tried to keep this news from Marrain, and when he eventually discovered the truth Sinoval had great difficulty in persuading him to continue with the campaign in Quadrants 15 and 17 rather than go to her side.
The war might have slowed to a near-crawl, but it was still far from over, and even without deploying their full military capability, the Vorlons and their Alien masters proved to be formidable opponents.
Williams, G. D. (2298) The Great War: A Study.
¹ Information regarding the Aliens from Elsewhere and their history is derived from various reports of the Council of Sinoval published by L'Neer of Narn.
* * * * * * *
"The black heart beats."
Takier saw his world stretched out beneath him. A world of weaklings, of ingrates. A world he had fought for and bled for and sent good people to their deaths to protect.
A world that did not deserve him.
"The black heart beats."
He had been dreaming a lot recently, more so than usual. Most of his dreams he forgot in the waking light of day, but some stayed with him. His daughter and their last argument. The battles, oh, all the battles. The men who had come before him.
And that chamber beneath the Temple of Varenni, the place where he had stepped close to madness and been drawn back by sheer force of will.
But force of will cannot endure forever. It had taken twelve years, but finally the madness had become a part of him.
"The black heart beats."
He could see it now, as he had seen it in every one of the dreams he had been unable to remember. A midnight-black sky over a world inhabited only by the dead.
"The black heart beats."
His world did not deserve him. They did not even deserve death. Not the honourable death of a warrior.
"The black heart beats."
He looked back. Gysiner was lying dead on the floor, just as he had fallen from Takier's blow. It had been the finest strike he had ever executed, killing the priestling in one stroke. Takier had dreamed of being able to kill as bloodlessly and effortlessly as that.
"The black heart beats."
His ancestors had appeared before him, clad in black and silver, warriors of old, from the days when being a warrior meant something. They had always been there, but they had never been able to emerge before. The time had not been right, the....
They had not been ready to emerge before.
One of them filled him now, glorious and majestic, ready to bring the wrath of the dead to the ungrateful living. Its power occupied his mind and his soul, dominating him with its glory.
"The black heart beats."
He could see it now, witnessing it with the eyes of the dead. His world did not deserve him.
And he would punish them for it.
All of them.
* * * * * * *
"You're alive.... you're alive.... you're alive."
She did not feel alive, but the rough hands on her shoulder convinced her that she must be. Her eyes were wet with unshed tears.
It was warm, so warm. Everything around her was radiating heat. The memory of the creature still drifted through the room.
"You're alive."
"Dexter," she said, speaking his name aloud. How had she not realised? So long. The mad, blind, semi-human cripple she had nursed for so long. She had never imagined she had known him before.
How could she have missed that?
Simple, of course.
She had not listened.
"You're alive."
It was hot.
"Damn you," she whispered. "Damn you."
He stopped shaking her, and a strange whimper escaped him. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to kill you. I didn't. I didn't."
"No," she said, instantly regretting what she had said. Thinking about Sinoval tended to do that to her. "No, not you, Dexter." She took his hand. His skin was hot and clammy. "Never you."
"You're alive," he said again, repeating the words as a talisman.
"I have to go somewhere," she said, not sure why she had said it. There was a reason, but....
Oh, yes.
"Where? You're going to leave me."
Where?
Delenn's eyes were heavy and cold and filled with anger.
"To find Sinoval," she said.
* * * * * * *
It was cold and still, but he was oddly restless. Energy was crackling around him. This was a place of the dead, but he was not dead. Not any more.
He wanted to be dead.
But there was something he had to do, a piece of unfinished business, something he had neglected to do before.
It was cold.
Her voice had gone. He did not know where. He could not hear her any more, but he could feel her touch, her soft breath on his neck, her fingers entwined in his, the warmth of her heartbeat.
It was cold.
His fingers twitched.
It was cold.
His breath.... like ice. He breathed.
His eyes opened, and John J. Sheridan returned to the world of the living.