He wished he had never heard the answer.
That would end the strife, that would reunite his people.
"You are there, Sonovar," he whispered. "I can feel you. You aren't dead yet."
No, Sonovar was a warrior. He had chosen his last place. He was preparing himself, waiting. He was not dead yet, but soon.... very soon, he would die a warrior's death.
Sinoval closed his eyes and let the Well of Souls wash over him. He was unsure how the previous Primarch had felt this experience, but then he had been present at the actual creation of the Well and had known that he was a conduit, an extension of it. Sinoval had lived thinking of the Soul Hunters as abominations, monsters, demons from legend. For any true Minbari the very concept of the Well of Souls was a terrifying thought, a strike at the heart of everything he believed in and cherished.
Sinoval was no longer fully Minbari, but then he was not yet fully a Soul Hunter either. He was somewhere between the two, and so his thoughts were mixed.
He was not and never had been a poet, or he might have been able to put the experience into words. As it was he could envisage only the whispers of countless voices, as if he could hear the entire conversation of a planet just inside the next room. Different voices, different languages, different ages.... all in one, and yet separate. A musical symphony of a million different instruments and voices.
Sinoval gave up. He simply could not describe it. The Well existed on an entirely separate plane from this one. It could see through to this realm however. It could see the dying.... and the damned.
Sonovar was there, on the bridge of his ship. He was the last Minbari alive. Blood stained his hands and face. Not all of it was his own. Some of it came from those who had chosen to follow him. Sinoval sensed the thing that the Shadows had sent after him. Sonovar was evidently too insignificant for them to concern themselves with directly, so they had sent one of their minions.
The Well could feel it, and each voice trembled slightly. They knew what it was. Just one being, just one monster, but that was enough. It crackled its presence across both realities, poisoning the worlds of the dead. It was a true abomination, once a member of a great, enlightened and noble race that had fallen, and fallen far. It now lived only for death, to kill, and to raise up those it had killed, desecrating the bodies and souls of the dead, creating an army to serve itself.
Did you know I would be here? Sinoval asked himself. Is that why, of all the countless minions in your servitude - the Drakh, the Zener, the Z'shailyl, the Wykhheran.... is that why, of all of them, you unleashed this?
The Shadows were evidently not finished with him yet.
He knew how this worked, although he had never done it before. The previous Primarch had been able to manoeuvre through hyperspace effortlessly, but then he had been a scion of the eldest race, and had known things about the universe few others could match. Sinoval knew the procedure and he knew the dangers, and that had so far prevented him from using this latest of his abilities.
Have no fear, came the voice of the Well. We are ever with you.
"I never doubted it," he replied. Then he stepped from the pinnacle and floated through space, until the world between worlds claimed him.
* * *
There were voices, hateful and loathing. There were hands and claws, spindly, yet filled with strength. They reached out to scratch him, the smell of death heavy. There were images of a mighty city, vast beyond comprehension, built on the bones of the dead.
Sinoval ignored them all.
He knew the history. He knew how the Vorlons had once tried to open a gateway to heaven, to storm the celestial gates and threaten the gods themselves. He knew of the demons they had brought through to this reality, a race of powerful, ancient evil who had slaughtered all that lived within their own universe and sought to do the same here. They had been beaten back, driven into their own barren, dead existence. But still they reached through, seeking gaps in the fabric of hyperspace.
Sinoval cursed the folly of the Vorlons, one more feather on the scales that weighed against them. They had driven back the aliens, yes, but not all of them. Some had remained, some had fled, mortally wounded, and been found by the Shadows. There they had been enslaved, their power sapped and broken, their genetic tissue modified and altered, enhanced and.... directed.
That was why they were here. They could feel one of their number nearby, spreading their creed of hatred and death to races they had never even imagined.
Sinoval ignored them. They were evil, yes.... but they were not here. They could not be here.
Like blood–red water, the mists of hyperspace slipped past him and he appeared in the world of flesh, in the hallway of Sonovar's derelict and dying ship.
A harsh, ululating wail rose up. There was a whip–crack that tore the air in half. And there was a smell, a stench of death that filled every corner of the ship.
"Look at where your ambition has brought you, Sonovar," he whispered. "You now rule only the dead."
Sinoval lifted Stormbringer and felt its darkness glow, rising up at the thought of what was to come. He began to sing as he went into battle.
* * *
Sonovar was ready to die.
The pain was less now. Even the shame and the humiliation were almost gone. Yes, he had been used, manipulated, controlled, but that did not matter. He had turned against his controllers and waged war on them, as much as he could. Now he was to face down one of their minions, a mighty adversary. He would die as a warrior should.
The smell came to him first, and then a gentle swishing noise, the sound of long tentacles caressing the corridor walls of his ship. It was here, searching for him. He had come here to make his last stand. Let it find him. Let it come for him. This was his ship after all, the last thing other than his blade and his soul that he could call his own.
He stepped forward and raised his pike. The broken fingers of his left hand clenched around it with no pain. His blood–filled vision did not prevent him from seeing. The shattered ribs, the mangled leg, the agonising pain in his head, none of them mattered. He had transcended pain now, moved to a place where he was something beyond mortal. This must have been how Kalain had felt at the end. He had tried to explain to Sonovar, but understanding had not come then. Now it did.
You are dying, Sonovar.
Sinoval's words came back to him, and this time they did not bring anger, but an ironic smile. "Yes," he rasped. "I am dying. We are all dying. But some of us.... some of us die great deaths."
The air trembled as the minion of the Shadows came into view. It was much taller than Sonovar himself, and shimmered half–in and half–out of sight. Not of this dimension, it was not bound by many of its rules. It was an abomination, a creature that existed only to kill.
"Yes," Sonovar whispered. "Yes." This was a worthy foe. It did not matter if he lost here. What other warrior could claim to have been sent to his ancestors by such a beast?
One black eye focussed on him, and there was a warm wind blowing in his mind, a wind that brought the stench of rotting meat with it. He saw in his mind's eye a world filled with the dead, their bodies raised up to walk, to serve, and to be killed once more. He sensed the unbelievable hatred these things felt for all that lived, from the greatest warrior to the smallest bacterium.
"No!" he roared. A lifetime of meditation, of preparation, of mental, spiritual and emotional equilibrium had taught him well. He cast off its mental image and stepped forward. Limbs moving without obstruction, body moving without pain, soul moving without fear, he struck at it. They had fought before, over the weeks this creature had been roaming his ship, but they had been nothing but skirmishes. This was the final battle.
A tentacle brushed against his side and a dart of pain shot up his arm. His fingers trembled and tensed on the pike, but he kept his grip and lashed out, stepping backwards cautiously, watching the beast move, waiting for his opening.
A number of things happened at once. He heard a song of h
is ancestors, a warrior song, proud and triumphant, in a deep voice. The beast turned, darting around, something between fear and hatred shining in its bearing. Sonovar moved.
Pain swept outwards from the mind of the creature, exploding in Sonovar's body as a tentacle tore into his leg. At the same moment his pike struck its body. Despite the beast's distraction with the newcomer, a tentacle slid around the pike and tore it from Sonovar's grip. There was a horrific sound, and Sonovar screamed as he saw his weapon snapped in half. Wielding part of his pike - his pike! - the beast smashed a blow into his chest, shattering ribs and grazing his heart. Sonovar fell, blood spilling from his wound.
You are dying, Sonovar.
Our greatest weapon is the enemy you tried and failed to kill.
The voices swimming in his mind - Forell's, Sinoval's, his own - faded as the song began to rise. He blinked, shaking droplets of blood from his eyelids, and struggled to stand. He could see someone fighting the creature, a Minbari, a warrior singing a song of battle and glory.
Sonovar's eyes widened and he smiled, beginning to sing himself. This was one of his ancestors, one of the warriors of his past, come here to mark his passing with glory.
He sang louder, still struggling to rise. His ancestor was fighting well, but the minion of the Shadows was an ancient, powerful evil from a universe that was not this one. It was wounded and seemingly afraid, but it was still powerful, still evil.
Through crimson vision, his eyes lit on the broken half of his pike. One half was still in the grasp of the beast, but the other.... was within his reach.
His ancestor moved forward, landing blow after blow on the creature.
Sonovar darted to his side, scooping up his pike in numbed, broken fingers that seemed three times their normal size.
"I am Sonovar!" he roared, and hurled the broken pike with all his might. The creature's eye opened, flickering darkness, and the broken pike penetrated the dark orb, shattering it.
The beast fell, its tentacles folding up into itself, its body becoming ethereal, as if it did not truly exist in this world. It slid to the floor and passed through it, returning to the dimension that had given it birth, returning now, in death.
Sonovar smiled, and slumped back to the floor. He had won, and such a victory! His ancestors would be proud. Now he was ready to die.
"You did well," said the voice of the spirit that had come to his aid, and his smile broadened. Then he started. He knew that voice.
"But then," Sinoval said, walking forward, "I never doubted it."
Sonovar began to laugh; hollow, mocking laughter. "Well.... you have won."
"Yes."
"It's over."
"Yes."
"It doesn't matter, anyway. It never did. Win or lose, I no longer care. The warriors of the future will hail my name, they will follow my legacy, they will remember my deeds.... and they will know me. Maybe they will accept me as a great man, maybe they never will.
"I know this, though. I have lost the war, yes.... but in my own way, I have won. And that is enough. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, Sonovar. I understand you all too well."
"Ah.... I think you do. This is the way it should have been. A warrior's death, a death in battle. Not from Deathwalker's legacy, not from Forell's machinations. I go to join my ancestors now. You have won, the Minbari are yours."
"No. They are not mine, and no, you are not going to your ancestors."
"What do you mean?"
"I will be leaving them. While I am with them, there will always be war. They will not follow me, Takier and the others, and if they do, it will be from fear. I will be leaving now. I am done with this world for the time being.
"But I will be taking something with me. I want you to know, Sonovar. I am not doing this because I hate you, nor to punish you. I offered you a chance to talk, a chance for peace, and you refused me, twice. You will die now, yes.... and if you do, you will be reborn, and it will happen again. There is something in you, a spark. It may take you to greatness, or it may take you to damnation. I cannot let either happen, not to you."
"What are you saying? Do you plan on saving my life?"
"No.... preserving it."
Sonovar's eyes widened. He could feel his heart slowing, and at that singular realisation, it almost stopped. "No! You can't! You wouldn't!"
"We will talk again, once you have had a chance for redemption, as another did.... we will talk once more, Sonovar.... in a thousand years."
"NO! You can't.... Please.... you can't! How can you...? I am Minbari. I am a warrior.... I deserve to die.... I...."
Sinoval was humming, and a small globe had appeared in his hands, tiny whispers of mist forming around it, sheathing it, shrouding it.
"No! Damn you, Sinoval! Damn you! You wouldn't dare!" More and more of his blood was seeping free. No! He couldn't die, not like this, not knowing what was to happen....
"I'll curse you! I'll hate you forever! I'll curse you, Sinoval!"
Sonovar bowed his head, tears streaming from his eyes. "You can't...." he whispered, wishing he had just one last burst of strength. Just one more.
"Nooo...."
His body slumped, and his soul departed. Sinoval captured it easily, and held the globe up. He could feel the soul raging and thrashing within it, and his dark eyes revealed his grief.
Then he turned and made his way back to Cathedral.
* * *
It was done, at last. It was done. The chapter that had begun.... where? Perhaps when Sonovar led his ships to Tarolin 2? Perhaps when Sinoval had left Minbar on his pilgrimage and handed over power to Kalain? Perhaps when the Minbari came to Earth? Perhaps even further back, when Valen had first appeared before Marrain and Parlonn?
Anyway, it was done. This chapter was over.
Sinoval knew this as he walked to the meeting he had arranged. He was strangely calm, perfectly at peace. He knew now where his destiny lay, and there truly was no other way.
He could hear Sonovar's cries, even now. He could not accept what had happened to him. He would, though it took him a thousand years. Sinoval had broken an ancient law by returning Marrain to the flesh. A balance had been necessary, but more than that. To let Sonovar die would be to let his madness return, his chaos spread. Now there was a chance for him to learn, to seek and gain redemption. It would be a slow process, but it would happen.
And then, in a thousand years time, would there be another? Another traitor and oath–breaker who had turned to darkness, who needed to die and yet live on to maintain the balance that would be broken when Sonovar finally passed beyond?
Sinoval did not know, but he did know that he would be there when it happened, in one form or another.
They all rose when he entered the chamber, with varying degrees of respect. He cast dark eyes across the room, lingering on each one, noticing blackly just how segregated they were.
Takier was sitting beside Tirivail, his expression one of dark resignation. He was a true warrior, a man who would rather have fought to the death than surrendered, an option denied to him. Now he was expecting nothing less than execution, or worse....
Lanniel was some distance from them, although on occasion she and Tirivail exchanged glances. Sinoval had been told what had happened upon the delivery of her message, and he had smiled. One cycle broken there, although it would take time for all wounds to be truly healed.
Kozorr was also present, although he looked uncomfortable. He no longer wore his warrior's uniform, but a simple worker's smock. Kats was beside him, her eyes and bearing radiant, her hand gently in contact with Kozorr's.
Another worker was next to her. Lurna, daughter of the former Satai Durlan. She looked every bit as uncomfortable as Kozorr, but there was sternness in her eyes, a grim determination.
And sitting together, but clearly alone, were Gysiner and Chardhay. Both had all but disappeared after the fall of Minbar. Sinoval had expected them to be causing trouble, but had been pleasantly surprised to le
arn they had been working to repair the damage on Tarolin.
All of them reacted when he entered, from a gasp of shock from Lurna, to muttered prayers from Gysiner and Chardhay, to an understanding smile from Kats.
Sinoval, like Kozorr, had abandoned the garb of a warrior. Unlike Kozorr, he now wore the black and silver robe of the Primarch Majestus et Conclavus. A circlet rested on his forehead, within which was set a brilliant red stone. Stormbringer was at his side as ever, and it seemed to be shining softly, reflecting the silver of his robe.
"I thank you for coming here," he said, walking up to the table. "There is much to be decided, the future of our people to be arranged. And you will be the ones to do it."
Kats realised his meaning first, not surprisingly, and her eyes widened.
"I abdicate my position as your leader. I give up all rights to dominion over the Minbari. I, and Cathedral, and all Soul Hunters will leave Minbari space. The Minbari people can never be as one again while I am here, and so I depart.
"I have two final acts as leader. My first is the pardoning of all who allied themselves with Sonovar. He himself is gone, and there is no gain in pursuing those who followed him. Takier.... I believe you will do as you see fit for the good of our people. With my departure, there will be little left for you to fight over, correct?"
"As you say," he replied stiffly.
"My second and truly final command is that the Grey Council be reformed. I broke it two years ago for good reasons, but now those reasons have gone, and the Council is needed again. As before, there shall be three workers, three warriors and three religious, and as before, they shall rule our people together, nine voices as one. It was the war with the humans that began the beginning of the shattering, and that is now over. It is time for the Council to be reformed. How that is done, who sits upon it.... all those things I leave to you. That is no longer my role."
"You will leave Minbari space?" Takier asked. "And never return?"
"No, I will never return. My work here is done. I have made many mistakes, and done some good, but I am needed here no longer."
A Dark, Distorted Mirror. Volume 4. A Future, Born in Pain addm-4 Page 60