by Richard Ford
‘You do not have to give your answer now. You will each take the Mark of Fire alone. When it is explained, then you can make your decision. The second thing you must at least hear before you take the test is the Creed of the Anla’shok. It is a long litany, and I do not expect you to remember it verbatim after the first hearing. But I feel you should all at least hear it before this test.’
Sinclair’s features softened. ‘I know you have learned the three basic tenets I wanted you to know: delight, respect and compassion, but for this you may need a little bit more time. Please, bow your heads.’
As one, the trainees obeyed. In the darkness that settled over the room, Vance could hear the quick, harried breathing of some of the recruits. Sinclair’s words must have unnerved them. Being a Ranger was no longer a novel exercise in Minbari etiquette and false tests of courage. It was suddenly serious. Vance wasn’t worried for them, for they would have their chance to back down once they knew what the Mark of Fire entailed. All he wanted was to get on with it and finally have the chance to prove himself.
‘I am a Ranger.’ Again Sinclair’s words rang out clear as a bell through the great hall. Vance focused on them entirely. Maybe within this litany, this Creed of the Anla’shok, there would be some clue to passing the Mark of Fire. ‘There is a darkness in the universe. I am the light that seeks out every place that the shadow might hide. I burn brightly when there is need for light and I dim when there is cause to remain unseen. The stars have called and I have answered. There are forces moving amongst them that cannot be allowed to rally. I have been called and I have answered. The minions of the darkness can be given no rest and no safe places to hide. I have been called and still I answer. The shadows will consume me if I venture too close but if I do not bring the light to them, none will survive. I am called to my destiny and I will forever answer.’
Vance began to think back to the conversation he’d had with his father back on Babylon 5. The Colonel had spoken about an ancient evil that the Anla’shok prepared for thousands of years to face. This must be what Sinclair was referring to. Vance’s interest was piqued. This, along with Sinclair’s sombre and ritualistic tone, made him take the words much more seriously than he would ever have expected.
‘The night is dark, the road is long and the way is filled with danger,’ Sinclair continued. ‘The path I walk, I walk alone. I will make my way to the end because the road leads to salvation. If I falter, all will falter. If I fail, all hope is lost. I will not fall; surrender is not an option. I am a Ranger. I come together with my brothers and my sisters in the places of light. I come to the place between the candle and the star. I stand in the gate between faith and nightmares. I am the guardian. We are the sentinels. Together we will not rest until no shadow falls. I take my garb from the hand of providence. I take my staff with the oath never to use it in anger. I take the faith of my masters in the hope that they are never given reason to question it. I will remain forever true, forever Anla’shok.’
Above everything else, Vance could tell Sinclair recited the Creed with the utmost respect and devotion. This old warhorse, EarthForce through and through, recited a Minbari litany as though he had been one of them all his life. Vance suddenly felt ashamed of himself, having ridiculed the Minbari training techniques. Sitting amongst human and Minbari alike, his fellow recruits, within the hallowed walls of the Anla’shok temple under the shadow of Valen’s statue, Vance was, for the first time since his arrival on Minbar, truly humbled.
EarthForce taught him how to excel, how to look to his comrades for help and to help them when they were in trouble, but no staunch litany told him why. Suddenly the Creed of the Anla’shok more than fascinated--it began to make sense.
‘I venture into the stars to seek my fate. I search now for the signs unhallowed. I know in my heart that I may never return but I venture forth without fear. There is nothing to be afraid of in the dark places of the universe. I will serve without question because that is what I do. If death comes I will fight with the strength of the light. The darkness may claim me but I will not fade without resistance. In my final moments my foes will pay a dear price for my life. We are Rangers. We live for the One. We die for the One. We know that every moment we exist is a gift we must earn anew each day. If we must relinquish this life that others may live, we do so without hesitation. We go to the dark places where no one else dares venture. We are explorers that show the way between uncaring stars, charting the course that others may follow when it is their time to pass. We are the guards, the keepers, the seekers and the warders. We never waver in our vigilance and on our watch there is no shadow that can slip beyond our notice. We stand on the bridge between history and the future, allowing no darkness to pass.’
There was a pause, and Vance wondered whether to open his eyes. He dared not, for fear of breaking the spell Sinclair wove with his eloquence.
‘I am a Ranger,’ Sinclair began again. ‘Anla’shok tulat. Entil’zha Veni.’
With this, the Anla’shok that lined the walls surrounding the main hall repeated in unison, ‘Anla’shok tulat! Entil’zha Veni!’
‘Over the course of your training you will learn the Creed of the Anla’shok in full.’ Vance and the rest of the trainees took Sinclair’s words as a signal to open their eyes. ‘You will find it a comfort and a help to you during your time here and beyond.’ He paused once more, drinking in the sight of the men and women under his care. ‘All I can say to you now is good luck.’
With that he turned, unceremoniously, and marched from the great hall, closely followed by the other Anla’shok as Sech Turval walked to the front of the hall. ‘You have heard the words of the Anla’shok Na. Heed them well. Now, meditate on what you have heard. You will be called one at a time to face the Mark of Fire. If any of you wish to leave now and return to the rest of your fellows, you are excused without shame.’
Nobody moved. Vance immediately adopted his favoured position for meditation and found himself relaxing. His previous excitement at the thought of a real test disappeared in an instant, as did the strange juxtaposition of pride and humility he had felt at hearing the Creed.
Only minutes seemed to pass before Vance’s name was called, but when he opened his eyes almost half the recruits were gone. The rest were sitting silently at their meditations. Sech Turval stood over him, a grim expression on his face. Vance noticed the regal figure of the statue of Valen looming past Turval’s shoulder. Turval led Vance from the hall, and as he followed, Vance found it difficult to take his eyes off the statue. The alien face with such faintly familiar features was spellbinding.
As Turval led Vance through the corridors of the Anla’shok academy, he noticed the absence of other bodies. No Anla’shok carried on their business, no other recruits milled around enthusiastically. There was no sign of anyone who had left the hall before him to take the Mark of Fire.
Vance hoped for a glimpse of someone who had already undergone the trial. Maybe then he could gain some hint of what was to come that might have set his mind at ease. The winding corridors led them down to the lower levels of the academy. By now, Vance knew the building well enough to recognise they approached the landing pad where he had first arrived.
Turval silently led him out of a small side exit and onto the wide platform. No spacecraft occupied the vast landing pad. Fanning out in a line across the centre was what seemed to Vance the entire contingent of fully trained Anla’shok. Some of them were breathing heavily, one seemed to show the beginnings of a black eye, and they all stared directly at Vance.
His quick glance at Turval was not returned. Instead the Minbari marched to one end of the platform and turned to face the line of black-garbed Rangers. Vance followed, turning to face them as well, standing shoulder to shoulder with his tutor. They stood for several seconds, watching the impassive wall of Minbari Anla’shok stare back at them. The night was clear, and if the floodlights on the walls had not illuminated the platform, the array of glittering stars would have done
just as well.
‘You must pass to the other side,’ said Turval. Vance continued to stare at the seemingly impregnable wall barring his way. Turval reached into his robes and produced two cylindrical items. The first was instantly recognisable as a denn’bok, but not the training version Vance already owned; this was a genuine fighting pike. The second was much longer and had a switch on one side. ‘Once you begin the test, you may neither speak to nor strike out at those who would stop you reaching your goal.’
Vance frowned at Turval. ‘Then what’s the point in having weapons?’
Turval regarded Vance with his grim look. ‘Neither speak nor strike out,’ he repeated. ‘Step toward the line to begin. If you wish to decline the test, leave with me now.’ With that he walked away and through the sliding door. It closed behind him with an ominous, metallic thud, a lock slamming shut within.
Vance turned once more to the line of Minbari sentinels barring his way. They had obviously seen some action and met some resistance from the previous recruits. Great, Vance thought. Trust me to have to face them when they’re already madder than hell!
He glanced down to examine the second weapon, which was a long cylinder with a lockable switch to one side. Vance held it up and flicked the switch. The weapon started to give off a telltale hum. The unmistakeable feel of static electricity told him it was some kind of Minbari shockstick. Vance looked to his other hand and regarded the dormant fighting pike. Two weapons, but he wasn’t allowed to strike out. Obviously self-defence would come into play here, and by the looks of his opponents, anything more than self-defence would be met with little understanding.
After a deep breath, Vance took a pace forward. He flicked off the power to the shockstick and kept the denn’bok contracted. He would not tempt fate until he was provoked into using the weapons. He would try to resist his natural urge.
The Anla’shok reacted little to his approach. One or two straightened slightly, stretching a stiff arm or clenching a tight fist. Other than that, they looked on with little interest as Vance steeled himself, forcing one foot in front of the other.
They had no visible weapons, but their fighting pikes were probably palmed and ready for use. As he drew closer, this last thought proved correct as Vance saw some of them move their arms to the side, giving themselves room to extend their denn’boks safely.
This would be impossible. No gaps presented themselves, and if these Anla’shok were even half as good with a denn’bok as Durhan, or even Merreck, he stood no chance. But he had to try. The last two tests seemed all but impossible. Maybe this one was the same. Maybe, as he drew closer to them, ready to take the brunt of their blows, they would desist and allow him to pass. When he became a fully-fledged Anla’shok, he would be a brother to them after all. Hadn’t the Creed of the Anla’shok stated something about brothers and sisters?
Ten feet stood between him and the line. Those Minbari nearest him looked on, expectant of his next move. A surprise attack was fruitless against so many. He would have to test the line, see what their reaction would be.
Vance thought back to his sporting experience. His career in the EarthForce rugby team had been short lived. His reliance on personal excellence rather than being a team player had meant he was more of a hindrance than anything else. Furthermore, he was under six feet and around twenty kilos too light to make a dent in any rugby defence. However, what he had learned during that short time might just come in handy now.
As he approached, he saw the first Anla’shok move toward him, and he sidestepped to the right and away, rushing the Minbari next to him, who seemed unready for his sudden move. Unfortunately “unready” was the wrong assumption. Vance was more than three paces away when the Anla’shok’s denn’bok was out and ready, flashing forward. Durhan’s recent lesson on being ready at all times paid off, and Vance ducked just as the weapon shot forward. Before he could move back, a second pike jabbed out, catching Vance on his cheekbone. His momentum, along with the glancing blow, knocked him backward and off balance.
As Vance skidded on his rump, he saw the line of warriors advancing. His tentative attempt at breaking through was their signal to move in. Jumping to his feet, Vance flicked on the shockstick. A quick twist of his wrist extended his own fighting pike. His sudden move did nothing to slow the steady Anla’shok advance, and he skipped backward, hoping to buy some time as he planned his next move. In the short time it took them to close, Vance had no flashes of inspiration. All he could do was charge.
With no gap to run into, Vance tried to aim for the adjacent shoulders of two of the warriors. He attempted to block each of their weapons, a speculative double parry at best. He was surprised as his raised denn’bok deflected the Anla’shok to his right. Instantaneously the second incoming blow glanced off his shockstick and hit his shoulder. As though an iron girder had fallen on him, a numbing pain coursed through his body, and he couldn’t tell whether his collarbone had been fractured or not. Either way his left shoulder was useless.
Despite the blow, Vance kept moving forward. He barrelled through the two warriors, who tried to flatten him rather than halt his advance. He could see the other side of the platform ahead! Two double doors sat there, beckoning him forward.
Without looking back, Vance pumped his legs and left the line of Anla’shok behind him. He kept hold of the denn’bok, despite its weight. Past experience taught him never to relinquish a weapon when it might be needed, no matter how slim the chance.
Adrenaline coursed through him as he realised nothing stood between him and his goal. A hundred metres away sat victory! If he could sprint the distance faster than the Minbari, the Mark of Fire would be his!
A swooping noise preceded a solid bar of mnemonic ferricite cutting through the air behind him. The pike, aimed at his legs, hit its targets with a solid thump. Vance’s legs were swept away in an instant, and he hit the ground as though he’d been shot by a PPG. He tried to get up quickly, but the first Anla’shok was already upon him. As he stood, his legs still numb from the thrown denn’bok, he felt a hard blow against his rump.
This incensed Vance past the point of rational thought. His goal had been right in front of him, and now it was taken away. The Anla’shok raised his denn’bok for another blow. The feel of the hard alloy in Vance’s palm was too tempting. Even though he’d fallen, Vance managed to hold onto the fighting pike. It must have been for a reason.
As the Anla’shok drove his blow downward, Vance parried. A second Minbari warrior joined the fray. All thought of reaching the other side of the landing pad slipped from his mind. Vance stepped in as the Minbari advanced and thrust one end of the denn’bok towards his opponent. In his eagerness to reach Vance, the Anla’shok had dropped his guard. Vance’s counter-strike hit him full on the bridge of the nose. Vance saw the satisfying spray of blood as his pike hit its target. He saw nothing more as two more Minbari joined the fray, denn’boks at the ready.
The shower of solid blows drove Vance to his knees. He had fought back and failed the test, but the lesson was not over.
I guess I should have meditated, he thought as he lapsed into unconsciousness, regretting his sudden rash challenge, as he knew the Mark of Fire would never be his.
New Beginning
The blurry infirmary ceiling was spinning. Vance felt like he was resting on a broken twentieth-century turntable that kept resetting itself before getting halfway round. Vance tried to sit up, but the spinning got worse before he could rise to his elbows. Something strange about the bed registered in his buzzing brain. It took him a minute to realise the bed was fully horizontal, rather than at the forty-five degrees he was now accustomed to.
Vance raised a hand to his numb face. Swelling closed one of his eyes completely. His busted lip throbbed next to the dressing on his cheek. The shoulder battered by the denn’bok was sore but not broken. Strangely, despite the condition of his pulped face he still felt relief, as a broken bone would have kept him out of training.
He turne
d his head to examine the rest of the infirmary. Three of the six beds were occupied. Squinting a little, Vance recognised faces, although he couldn’t remember, or had never been told, the names. When he’d been at Earth-Force boot camp for as long as he’d been at the Anla’shok academy, he’d made a point to learn the names of everyone in his billet. He was suddenly ashamed. He spent more time worrying about being the best and proving his worth than getting to know his fellow recruits. A real warrior would know better than this. His fighting brothers and sisters deserved his respect, whether they had combat experience or not. He came here to prove a point, but he only nurtured some twisted sense of self-satisfaction. Trying to prove himself the best, as always. Out on that landing pad, he proved unequivocally that he was not. He had lost control, lashed out and this foolishness led him to having the crap beaten out of him.
From now on, things would change.
‘You don’t look that bad.’ William’s irrepressible voice was welcome, more welcome than any other voice he could have heard, including the guys back at EarthForce. Few people knew what he was going through right now. William was one of them.
Vance smiled--which caused him no small amount of pain--and turned his head. The shiny grin on William’s face matched an equally shiny black eye. ‘Yep, it seems it was worse if you fought back.’ William looked over Vance’s battered body. ‘But as you can see,’ he said pointing to his eye, ‘even curling up into a ball got you something of a beating.’
‘Did anybody pass?’ asked Vance.
William paused, as though unsure whether to disclose the information. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘your friend Merreck managed it. But no one else. If it’s any consolation, he is amongst the walking wounded as well.’