And so he had remained behind. The children who lived here had been overjoyed at this, perceiving it to be an honour. He had sighed at their lack of understanding, and had resolved to spend as much of the time as he could trying to teach them the truth that they had long since forgotten.
But he had forgotten a crucial truth as well: the universe is the master of time, not any beings forged of its soul. He had deluded himself into believing that, because he was immortal, he had all the time he would ever need.
War had come to this world, and the children here had been forced to flee. They had begged him to come with them, but he had refused. He had wondered idly if the meeting he had foreseen was nigh.
Alas, he had been wrong. The other children, the Vorlons, had come here, winning their phase of the war, winning the hearts and souls of those even younger who would be led by them for the next thousand years. They understood even less than those who had left Z'ha'dum.
Only one of them seemed even to want to understand. Its name was Kosh, and it had come to him, to talk and to learn. It had learned, something at least, but then it had left, ready to go back into the galaxy.
The Shadows had returned of course, and he could feel that the war was starting up again, as it had countless times since the beginning.
This time, though, he could sense that things were different. The ancient Cathedral had risen again, and the Well of Souls had chosen a mortal to be its next keeper. The oldest being in the galaxy remembered both, and dared risk a smile in memory.
The other First Ones.... they were moving, preparing. They could also sense that something was changing. They had tried to talk to him, only to be politely rebuffed. He was still waiting for the one who would come to him.
And now someone was here.
A choice would have to be made, of course. He wondered what the decision would be.
His wait was almost over.
* * *
"I have learned a great deal since I last met one of your people. I have seen much, and done much.
"I am not afraid of you. I am not awed by your power. I am not intimidated by your voice. I do not tremble at your footsteps."
Sinoval raised Stormbringer and extended it. The air seemed to crackle around it. He thought he saw the Vorlon flinch.
"This can hurt you. Forged with fire, forged with fury, forged with the essence of myself within it. It can hurt you. I can hurt you.
"You sent Delenn to her death. You tried to erase all records of this, but you failed. I have a message from her. Tomorrow I will show it to the Council of this United Alliance. Let them see what you are, and what you plan.
"Your day is done, yours and all of your foul race. I will break you."
The Vorlon's eye stalk swivelled and looked directly down upon him.
"But I do. You are one of the First Ones, a race older than almost anything we can hope to understand. You are millennia in advance even of we Minbari. You are powerful, ancient, possibly even immortal. You think you know all there is to know. You are the masters of order, the keepers of stability and stasis and discipline."
Sinoval smiled softly.
"There are older ways than yours, Vorlon. There are paths far darker than any you have ever trod. There are riddles you have never heard, and questions that you cannot answer.
"I am not afraid of you. I will destroy you.... each and every one of you."
"You should."
The Vorlon looked at him, its eye stalk moving slowly. A glowing, golden light began to emanate from it.
Sinoval chuckled. "I was going to tell you the same thing," he remarked. "Pray to whatever Gods you worship that we do not meet again. The next time we do, I will crack open that armour of yours and turn the light within you to darkness.
"Do you understand me?"
Sinoval turned and left. He could feel the voices in the Well of Souls rise in concern, but he ignored them. He had nothing to fear from the Vorlon. Nothing at all.
* * *
Corwin sensed something was wrong from the instant he set foot inside the compound. He couldn't explain it as anything other than instinct, which irritated him no end. He just had a feeling that something was happening.
Ambassador Sheridan showed the two of them into a small but comfortable waiting room, while he went off to get Delenn. Corwin looked around at the chairs, the desk, the pots of tea, and was struck by the complete absurdity of it all. He had not been sure what to expect on the homeworld of the enemy, but it had not been this.
Just to be sure, he had remained standing and passed up the opportunity to sample some of the tea. He had always been a coffee drinker anyway.
He looked at the Captain, who seemed to be perfectly at home here, and that was even more worrying. He was sitting on one of the chairs, flicking idly through an old issue of Humanity magazine that had been discarded on the table. Corwin caught a glimpse of the picture on the cover, and read the tagline. "Lieutenant Commander Ramirez — One of the New Generation of Earthforce."
"I wonder if they get a subscription out here," he muttered. The Captain looked up.
"Oh," he said. "Yes. Last October's issue, I think. Da.... He must have brought it with him when he came here. Something to read on the way, no doubt." He chuckled. "They're talking about the proposed line of ships for the new year. The Saint-Germain, the Dark Thunder and the De'Molay. According to the dates here, the Saint-Germain must be done by now." He shook his head. "I've missed a lot. All those months...."
"Who's the bloke on the cover? I don't think I recognise him."
"Oh, Earthforce's up-and-coming new star apparently. I don't remember the name, but that's not surprising. He'd be one of the new generation.... since Earth. God, he looks so young."
"He looks older than me. I think."
"The more things change, the more they stay the same," the Captain muttered. "I bet my superior officers were saying that about me when I joined. God, I never thought I'd get to be this old. Coming up to forty-five this year. That is old, isn't it?"
"Oh, ancient," replied Corwin dryly.
"And when I look back.... Just how did we get here? In rebellion against our Government, fighting a war against one of the oldest races in the galaxy.... in love with a Minbari.... Was there anything we could have done, do you think? Anything that could have prevented this.... all this?"
"I don't know. It's hard to look back and pick out one moment where everything went wrong. We did all we could, I guess. We did what we had to do."
"Yes, I suppose." He tossed the magazine aside. "It's just weird. I can't get my head around it all sometimes. I can see.... all the roads of the future stretching out before us, and I've no idea which one to take. Just what do we do now? If we took the wrong path before, then can we bring things back to where they should be? Is that even possible any more?"
"I think.... I think we just have to hope for the best. We can't give up. We have to keep trying."
"There must be another way. There.... I think you're right, David. You're a good man.... a good friend. How's Mary? I completely forgot to ask before."
"She's.... gone. I haven't spoken to her for months."
"Ah.... I'm.... sorry."
"Don't be. It's.... better for her this way. She's alive, and she's not worrying about whether I'm not going to come back one day."
"Oh, you will. You're going to outlive all of us."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence."
The Captain smiled, and for the first time since his revival he looked like himself. Corwin was about to say something when the door opened, and he turned. The Captain rose from his seat, obviously expecting to see Delenn.
It wasn't Delenn. It wasn't even Ambassador Sheridan.
It was a humanoid figure, an alien, dressed in long, flowing robes. I
ts head was scaly and high, with little horns rising from the back. It did not shimmer, and it did not hold a glowing orb, but Corwin still knew what it was.
"Drakh," he whispered.
"Yess," it replied. "Drakh."
"You're all dead," he protested. "We destroyed you at Minbar."
"You destroyed our fleets, our orbs, our magi. Our warrior caste is broken and gone. The rest of us.... remain. We bid you welcome.... to our home...."
"Where's Delenn?" asked the Captain. "Where is she?"
"She will be here.... soon. Yess."
"No," whispered the Captain. "Damn you. Damn you!" A weapon appeared in his hand, and he raised it. The Drakh's eyes twitched as if in surprise, and then its body was thrown back against the wall, a smoking hole in its chest.
"Captain, what...?"
"They killed her," he whispered, tears rising in his eyes. "They.... they killed her. Damn them! They killed her!"
"What? How do you know...?"
"I.... I just know. Come on. We have to get back to the ship."
"What are we going to do?"
"We.... we can't do anything here. I swear I'll be back, though.... and I'll blow this entire planet straight to Hell! Come on.!"
Corwin let the Captain pull him towards the door, and then his instincts took over and he started to run alongside him. "I thought you gave up your weapons," he said, as they began hurriedly strapping on their breathing masks.
"Something my.... my father taught me," he whispered. "Always be prepared for anything. I brought a spare."
Beneath their feet the ground began to shake. Almost as if the planet itself was shouting. Corwin stumbled and almost fell. As he staggered to his feet he saw another Drakh come round the corner towards them. This one was not alone.
* * *
"Congratulations," said Smith hurriedly. "You've just won the award for most irritating clich? of the day."
"What can I say? I'm an old-fashioned sort of guy. You aren't going to resist, are you? Only, I just had the place recarpeted, and blood would be very hard to shift. Play along nicely, and I promise you a reasonably easy demise. Try to kick up a fuss, and.... Well, there's a lady present, so I really can't go into details."
"I think my stomach's strong enough for the details," Talia replied. "Who's your contact at Interplanetary Expeditions?"
He swiftly raised his gun and shot it in her direction in one fluid motion. It struck her arm and she fell, wincing. "Not that old trick," he snapped irritably. "It's an 'ooh, let's ask him a sudden question so he thinks about the answer and you read his mind and find out everything' sort of thing, isn't it? Well, that was a 'let's shoot the telepath with a sleeper bolt so she loses her telepathic powers and couldn't read the mind of a Shredded Wheat' sort of response."
"What can I say?" she replied, trying to struggle to her feet. There was blood on her arm, and her eyes were unfocussed. "I'm an old-fashioned sort of girl."
"Actually, that's a fairly new response. There are other ways around telepathic scans, of course. Filling your mind with all sorts of gibberish, I'm told that works. You know, humming stuff, advertising jingles, maths. But then I was never any good at maths and I got fed up with all the jingles staying in my head. There's the psionic jammer I showed your friend of course, but that gives me a bloody awful headache, so I took it out. No, these work much better. Leave you with unpleasant reactions as well, or so I understand. Well, nausea, headaches, that sort of thing. How are you, anyway?"
"Just.... fine...." she replied.
"Good. I always like to hand on the merchandise in good condition. My contact gets very upset with me if they're a bit beaten up."
"We couldn't have that now, could we?" muttered Smith. Trace turned his gaze on him.
"Oh, look. It's the social crusader. What brings you here, then? Her, I can understand. She's poking around in my private affairs to see what I'm doing with her people, but you.... Just trying to impress a pretty lady, is it? Get inside her skirts, hmm?"
"I was looking for evidence I could use to bring you down," he said calmly.
"Why do you care, for God's sake? I've never done anything to you. At least, I don't think so. What, did I kill your brother or something and this is a revenge gig?"
"No. It's just knowing what's right. You're abusing these people. You're a coward and a sadist who lives off other people's misery, and I won't rest until you're finished."
"Oh, I was right the first time. A social crusader. Listen up, Superman, nobody cares! Sector Three-o-one is a dumping ground. It's where Main Dome throws everyone they can't be bothered sorting out. The Government's got enough problems up there without having to worry about a mass of gormless morons. I know these people, and they can be split into two groups: the people at the top, and the people at the bottom. It'll always be that way, and I'm damned if I'm going to be at the bottom. It's that simple.
"Now, people like you don't understand that, and you never will. Boys, take him outside and get rid of him. Don't do it in here, I don't want blood on the carpet. As for the body.... no lakes around here. Damn! Call me old-fashioned, but there's nothing like a good lake to dump a body into. Oh well, go for the second best. Find a construction site and lay him in the foundations or something.
"As for me...." He looked at Talia. "I've an appointment with a pretty lady."
* * *
Delenn's breath burned her throat, her blood seemed to have thickened in her veins, her mind was fogged, her vision unclear.
The whole planet seemed wrong to her, especially as they moved deeper and deeper into it, as if they were making for the very centre of Z'ha'dum itself. Ivanova seemed convinced this was the way to go, even when Neroon had to admit he had never been this far into the depths of the Shadow cities. Not even they liked going this far down.
There were no alarms, no klaxons blazing, no sounds of running feet chasing or cries of 'Hey, you!' Still, Delenn knew they were being chased. She could feel it, hear the whispered cries of the Shadows in her mind, feel the wrath of the ancient Enemies at her escape.
"He's this way," Ivanova kept saying. "I can.... I can hear him. He's been waiting for us. Damn, he couldn't have been a bit clearer with the directions, could he? How about arranging a taxi for us?"
Delenn did not stop to wonder at the wisdom of trusting someone who had tried to kill her so many times. Ivanova had her own personal demons to fight, and they had conquered her. It seemed that only now was she beginning to find some surcease from her private pains.
Neroon was silent, his face dark. The third betrayal. The completion of his doom. He would not leave this world alive, he knew that. So did Delenn, although she did not want to admit it even to herself. He had made his decision, but it hurt.... Oh, Valen, it hurt....
The tunnels they were in seemed to be growing narrower, and hotter. The downward slant had become less pronounced now, and the path was more level. They might even have been ascending slightly. There was a faint light, but barely enough for Delenn to see by. Neroon seemed to be managing better, although she did not have time to wonder about that.
There was a scuffling noise from above them, and a muttered curse from Ivanova. "Tripped over something," she explained, as Neroon helped her to rise. Delenn could feel a strange sense of.... of holiness. Something she had only experienced before in the shrines at Yedor and Tuzanor. She walked forward slowly, and knelt down.
There was a stone slab there, with a candle raised above it. There was something engraved on the slab, in a bold hand, but an ancient style. It was her own tongue! It was an ancient dialect of the warrior caste. She strained to make out the words.
"'Here was slain Parlonn, of the First Fane of the warrior caste of the Minbari peoples, at the hand of Marrain, now of no fane, no caste and no people. May Parlonn's soul ascend to the old Gods of his fane, to join his brethren there. May they forgive him his choices, just as they will surely never forgive mine.'" Neroon's voice grew still, as he looked at the last sentence.
"This is where Marrain killed Parlonn," whispered Delenn. "A thousand years ago."
Neroon bent down over the candle. It was untouched, having never once been lit. "Marrain knew he was not worthy to light this," he said softly. "He set it here for someone to come and light for him." He raised his hand, and the candle burst into flame.
"Ascend, Parlonn," he said. "Find some peace at last."
"Very pretty," said Ivanova. "They're coming for us. We don't have much time."
Delenn turned and closed her eyes. She could feel the pursuit nearing. "She's right. There is nothing more either of us can do here, Neroon. How much further is it?"
"Not much, I think. Just around that corridor and through that archway." Ivanova ran forward with Delenn and Neroon chasing after her. "Here we...." There was a sudden, startled cry, and as Delenn reached the archway she understood why.
There was a small balcony overlooking a vast chasm. Ivanova was perched precariously, trying to regain her balance. Slowly Delenn stepped out onto the balcony, very much aware that there was no parapet. She glanced down into the chasm and could see no bottom. Looking up, she saw faint glints of light a vast distance above their heads. A dome leading to the sky.
The sounds of pursuit neared, and Neroon stepped out to meet them. "They are here," he said in a hollow voice.
* * *
Corwin was limping and clutching at his arm as he arrived back on the Babylon, muttering angry epithets under his breath. That had been one journey he never wanted to repeat. The Captain had not been hurt, which would be a good thing if Corwin wasn't so unsure about just what exactly had happened.
"Captain," said Ko'Dath on their return to the shuttle bay. "We got your message." She did not make any reference to just how unclear the message had been. "We will provide an escort for you and Commander Corwin to Medlab...."
"No!" snapped the Captain. "I'm fine. I need to get to the bridge as soon as possible. Have they readied the jump engines?"
A Dark, Distorted Mirror. Volume 4. A Future, Born in Pain addm-4 Page 13