A Dark, Distorted Mirror. Volume 4. A Future, Born in Pain addm-4

by Gareth D. Williams

  In a thousand years, he would return. There always had to be a balance. Sonovar did not understand that now, but he would. There was enough time for both of them to learn.

  For now, this was a ship only of the dead. Which was fine, for it was the dead that Sinoval, Primarch Majestus et Conclavus, had come to meet.

  He found the chamber where the final battle had taken place, where he and Sonovar had fought the undead monster the Shadows had sent against him. Sonovar's body lay where the last breath had left it, slumped in the corner, the wounds from the Shadow Beast still terrifyingly visible.

  "You had decided for yourself by the end, Sonovar," Sinoval said softly. "You knew what you were, and what more can any of us ask for?"

  He said nothing more. It was not Sonovar he had come to see.

  He sensed the new arrival long before he heard or saw or smelled him. Sinoval had trained his five senses as well as anyone, and his perception was acute. Lately, however, he had discovered a new sense one of life and death, one of many minds speaking and thinking as one. The Well of Souls was a part of him now, just as he was a part of them.

  Then came the smell, the smell of death. He knew who it was to be then, and straightened, his hand brushing against Stormbringer, his darkly forged pike. A soft warmth greeted his touch, one that he could sense even through the fabric of his glove.

  "Greetings, Primarch," said the voice, one filled with age and understanding and great wisdom.

  "Greetings, Forell," he replied. "Or would you prefer another name?"

  Even without his new senses, he could tell that the thing before him was a dead body. He had been a warrior before he was a Soul Hunter, and he had been one of the best. Even a child could see that the wounds that marked Forell's body were fatal. Half of them would have been fatal. But still he moved, still he spoke, still a dark light shone within his eyes.

  It was Sinoval's other senses that could detect the dark cloud hovering above the Minbari's body, sense the forces moving him, manipulating the husk for their own purposes.

  For one, final message.

  "Names are forgotten now," he said. "We are the nameless, the lost, the reviled. All we wanted to do was help them to the stars. How did you know to come here again?"

  "I just knew."

  A faint, revolting smile touched Forell's mangled face. "As we knew you would."

  "You have a message for me, yes?"

  "Yes. One last message.

  "For millennia we tried to create people, to change the younger races for the better, to mould them and shape them and make them better, make them better in every way there is. We wished to show them the stars.

  "The being we tried to create is you. You, Primarch, are a force of pure chaos, a bringer of anarchy. Where you walk, buildings crumble, cities die. You bring change. You brought change to your people, to the Soul Hunters, to Cathedral. You are everything we wished the younger races to be.

  "But now we are gone. We are lost and reviled. Our teachings will not be remembered. Our ways will be forgotten. They have won.... or so they think. Let them have their brief triumph. Let them have their single few moments of cold, sterile, passionless order.

  "We have you.

  "Destroy them all. For us. For yourself. It does not matter. They tried to kill you. They will try to destroy your people. They will try to destroy the whole galaxy, by making them things they are not. There can never be order, never be the uniformity they demand! And in demanding it, their discipline will go so far as to leave only death behind. Only the dead are ordered."

  "No," Sinoval replied dryly. "They aren't. Believe me. I know."

  Forell smiled again. "You would. Well then, not even the dead are safe from them. You are the only hope now, not just for us, but for all that lives.

  "Avenge us! Remember us! Help them all to the stars. Free them from order, before it kills them all."

  "A galaxy of order will destroy all that lives, yes," Sinoval said softly. "But so would a galaxy of only chaos. Did you ever realise that?"

  "No.... but now we do. Such is the prerogative of hindsight. After all, why do you think we left?"

  "You have told me nothing I did not already know, and everything you have asked of me, I would do already. Maybe you made me too well. Or maybe I just made myself."

  "Maybe. Well, our last message is delivered. Now we can rest."

  "Wait! There is one thing I wanted to know. One thing you can tell me."

  "Yes?"

  "What is it like.... beyond the Rim?"

  Forell smiled again, and in that one instant, everything changed. The hatred, the anger, the death.... everything was gone, replaced only by a child–like sense of wonder, a sense that even the oldest who lived could find something new.

  "Beautiful," was all he said. "Truly beautiful."

  Then the body slumped to the ground, dead once more. Sinoval smiled slightly, and turned to leave.

  Once again, and for ever more, it was a ship only of the dead.

  * * *

  It was going to be a beautiful day.

  The sun rose slowly, the sky becoming crimson, the land becoming alive again. A dead world, one devastated and torn and poisoned, was now coming slowly, ever so slowly, back to life.

  Satai Kats saw the sun rise as she arrived back on Minbar, and she smiled. This world was her home again. It was the home of all her people again. It was the home of the new Grey Council.

  For a thousand years they had remained among the stars, distant from their people, both literally and figuratively. No longer. The Grey Council were of the people now, and would be so always. They would work with the people, live and die with the people.

  It was ironic, she thought. But after Kalain's purge, and the bombardment and the wars and all the grief and the loss and the torture, it was the worker caste who had changed Minbar. It was their philosophies and beliefs that had changed the Minbari people.

  Oh, some of the warriors lived still, but Takier was the last vestige of an old way, and he knew it. Also, unlike many of his caste, he had accepted it. Tirivail and Lanniel were the new order of warriors, changed, stronger, wiser.

  And, although no one mentioned his name, although he was reviled and hated, everyone knew who was responsible.

  They called him the Cursed, but Kats would never think of him that way. Never.

  Her heart soared at seeing her home again. Kazomi 7 was a wonderful place, filled with majesty and power and hope, but Minbar was her home. It was good to be back.

  Of course, her good mood had more than just her return home to recommend it. Someone was waiting for her.

  Her husband. Ah, that felt good, just imagining it. Her true love, her protector. Her husband, the man who had abandoned caste simply to be with her.

  She knew exactly where he would be this morning. On the balcony of their quarters, watching the sun rise, marvelling at the joy of life. She wished nothing more than to be with him now, looking at their brave new world together, not talking in words, but communicating in ways for which words would never suffice.

  She moved through their home quickly. There were servants, a concept she did not entirely like, but accepted. It was a noble position to work, was it not? She smiled at them, and shared a few words with each. She was not surprised to be told that her Kozorr was on the balcony.

  The sun hit her eyes as she stepped out onto it, and blinked quickly. He was there, sitting still and silent, looking out across the horizon at their world. His leg had been crippled two years ago, protecting her, but he preferred to stand rather than sit where possible. Now he sat anyway. Once he would have been too proud to admit he needed to sit, and would have stood until his leg gave way and he collapsed.

  Now he was different, changed. Both of them were.

  She moved up beside him and knelt down at his side, looking up into his face.

  He was still, and his eyes were staring directly at the sun, unblinking.

  His hand was cold.

  Someho
w, she had always known this day would come. Sinoval had not told her everything, she had sensed that, but she had not wanted to ask, not wanted to know. Kozorr had been brought back to life surely that could not have been forever, but equally surely they deserved a chance at their new life.

  Gently, Kats kissed his cold hand, and laid her head against it, looking at the sun until a cloud passed over it. Then she began to make preparations for the funeral.

  * * *

  The news of her death hit him suddenly and unexpectedly, completely out of the blue. It should have been over now. There should not have had to be any more deaths. Not one.

  But this?

  "I'm sorry, David," Lianna said softly. "It was just.... one of those things. She must have been feeling ill for months, but she didn't tell anyone. Not even me. We needed doctors and she just kept working. But.... then.... it was too late...."

  "There's nothing.... nothing anyone can do," Corwin whispered. "Nothing."

  Lianna shook her head. "She didn't even want me telling you, but.... You have a right to know, I think. It's too late now anyway. I got her a nice plaque on the wall. There isn't room for graves, you see."

  "I understand. I'd.... I'd like to come and see it. If that's all right?"

  "Of course it is. Why wouldn't it be?"

  "Given the way we ended it. And well.... with Michael...."

  Lianna shrugged. "Old news now. Not that I don't miss him, but.... No, I do miss him. every single day I miss him, but mostly I can get by. I'm even.... well, I'm seeing someone new. He's nice."

  "Oh."

  "Don't judge me, David. Please. It's been a year and a half now. Besides, Frank needs a father. Believe me. I know."

  "I know. I wasn't. How is Frank?"

  "Boisterous," Lianna smiled. "He's going to be a lot like his father. I can't tell whether that's a good thing or not yet, though. And you. I've been hearing things. Even all the way out here. The war never got to us, but you did. Mary read everything she could find about you, and insisted on boring us all with it."

  "It was.... mostly over–rated."

  "Come on. If even half of what we heard was true.... Well.... a lot of people owe you a lot."

  "I didn't do half as much as I could have. It doesn't matter now. It's over. It's all over."

  "The war?"

  "Everything. It's going to be different now. Very different. All most of us have ever known is how to fight. Now.... we're going to have to learn something much harder. How to live."

  "You'll be fine. It gets easier, David. Believe me. It never stops hurting, but it does get easier." Lianna paused. "Mary never stopped loving you."

  "I don't think I ever stopped loving her. I'll.... I'll come over and see you and Frank as soon as I can. There's still a bit of mopping up to do over here. The Dark Stars are still going to be needed, but I think I can get some personal leave."

  "You deserve it."

  He paused. "Lianna. Have you heard anything about.... Bester?"

  "No, not a word. People are saying he's dead."

  "I don't believe that."

  "No, me neither. I guess he'll come back when he's ready. Whatever he's done.... he never did anything wrong by me or Michael."

  "I guess not. Look, I'd better go. Something's bound to come up soon that needs my attention."

  "Yeah, probably. David?"

  "Yes."

  "Take care."

  The signal ended, and Corwin stepped back from the screen. Slowly, each movement jerky and painful, he went over to his desk and pulled something out. It was a small box. He opened it. Inside was a wedding ring.

  He had never stopped loving her, but sometimes love involved letting go. Right? He had told himself that a thousand times, and he had never hated her for leaving. Never. She had just seen her best friend's husband die in an ultimately pointless display of heroism, and she could not bear being with someone likely to die in the same way.

  He had told himself the war would soon be over, and that when it was.... he would find her, go to her, and ask her again. He would give up being a soldier, give it all up and just live peacefully.

  And now she was dead. Gone. Never to return.

  He had seen some wonderful things, some terrifying things in his life. He had seen Z'ha'dum, Vorlon fleets, the terrifying presence of the Drakh, even Cathedral, a legend filled with beings who could save the dead.

  And yet there had been no one to save Mary when she had died of a tumour. Something that mundane and banal. In a life where he had been threatened by Minbari, Drakh, Shadows, countless alien races, even his own people, to have the woman he loved die of something so.... normal.

  He put the ring down. He could hardly believe it.

  That was when the scream hit him. Light filled his mind and he fell, her scream echoing from every wall, from every sense. He could feel her pain, and he could feel her die.

  "Carolyn," he whispered, as he slipped into unconsciousness.

  * * *

  This was unusual, unprecedented. Unique even.

  The Well of Souls certainly thought so.

  Sinoval had been standing on the pinnacle of Cathedral, looking out at the galaxy, thinking deep thoughts and formulating his plans. He was working out how much time he had to prepare, where to go to first. The war was over now. It would take time for the Vorlons to secure their control over the galaxy. He had time to be ready to resist them.

  That was when he sensed the warning from the Well of Souls. It was not in words, more a feeling, but that did not matter. He could sense it.

  Intruder.

  Somehow, someone had got into the Well of Souls itself. No one entered there without the permission of the Well, without paying the price demanded, or without the permission of the Primarch himself. No Soul Hunter would dare go there unless summoned, and who else was there? Cathedral was in a dead system, hidden, walking on the edges of perception.

  The Vorlons? Were they launching an attack this early? That would mean they had managed to find him so quickly, which he did not believe. The Shadows? Was that whole meeting with Forell some sort of gambit, a deception to set the seeds for revenge?

  Or was this something else entirely?

  Sinoval moved forward and stepped off the pinnacle. Nothingness welcomed him as he fell. He shaped it to his will, much as the whole of Cathedral was so bound. He was now the master of Cathedral, the voice of the Well of Souls, as the previous Primarch had been before him.

  Space shimmered around him, hyperspace moved, and he could see the sparkling lights of the million spirits that made up the Well of Souls, an entity constructed of the last remnants of the first race of the galaxy, of those they collected. A memorial to pride and sin and mistakes.

  And also, howling just beyond the horizon, were the monsters of the other world. Beings cast out and banished from this reality, kept in their own dimension, just waiting for an opportunity to break through.

  A problem for another day, if ever.

  The vast chamber appeared around him as Sinoval alighted gracefully. He could see the sparkling lights of the soul globes, feel the souls within them. Not trapped, not prisoners. They were free, more so than anyone he knew.

  "Are you there?" he asked, knowing full well the answer. He was still not experienced enough to have fully adjusted to the other ways of speaking.

  We are always here, came their voice, a multitude of voices and languages and thoughts in one.

  "There is someone here. An intruder." There was little point in looking manually. The Well was infinite, or practically so. It was shaped by the wills and desires of those that had given it form so long ago. Much easier to find this intruder by asking the Well itself. "Where?"

  Always here. She came by invitation, by ancient right.

  "What right?" Sinoval asked. There was a great deal about the Well he did not know. Although theoretically the entire Well was open to him, he could immerse himself in it until every star in the galaxy died and he would still not know ever
ything.

  The First sent her here. To talk, Primarch. To talk with you.

  "That would be my cue, I think."

  From nowhere, or perhaps from everywhere, a human woman appeared. She was tall, with long brown hair. Sinoval supposed she would be considered pretty by humans, except for the scars adorning the side of her face and the hideous damage to one eye. She was dressed in a simple human uniform of grey and black, and seemed unarmed.

  Of course, appearances were often deceptive.

  "And you are?"

  "A messenger. Or an ally. Maybe a friend, that I don't know yet. God knows I've no reason to like you.... but the past is over, hmm? I've got a message for you."

  "I am listening."

  "You're doing this the wrong way."

  "Doing what, exactly?"

  "This. All of this. Let me see if I get this right. You want to bring down the Vorlons, yes. You want to defeat them, cast them down, sow their ground with salt, blow their planets apart from space. You want to destroy them."

  "I want to destroy them, yes. This is not their galaxy any longer. What they are doing is wrong."

  "Right, dead on in fact. But why is it wrong? Because it's only half of what's there. They lie and they deceive and now they think they've won, but they haven't. They'll destroy everything they're trying to save and not realise what they're doing. Their balance is gone now, gone for good, and it won't be coming back. Everything's skewed.

  "That's where you come in.

  "You're going to build an army, right? You've got the Soul Hunters, you've got this insanely cool flying castle here, you've got a hidden planet somewhere full of Vindrizi. You're going to put together an army and challenge the Vorlons.

  "It won't work."

  "Why not?"

  "You can't beat them with weapons. All you can do that way is kill them, and that won't work. You'll just replace them with something worse. Maybe even yourself."

  "I have no wish to rule. Not any longer."

  "You say that now. Hell, people can change. I certainly have. You have to change your thinking as well. This isn't a war you can win with weapons. Oh, they'll be a part of it, but they aren't it. You need the truth. The Vorlons aren't necessary any longer. All of us, all the younger races.... we can make it to the stars on our own. We don't need them.