Fury rose up in Elric at the hurt that Galen had sustained and he spoke through clenched teeth. “I vow to you, Galen, that if Elizar survives this war, we will find him, and we will kill him.”
Blaylock stopped beside them, and Elric tried to hide his anger, nodding silently in greeting. Galen did not need this intrusion. Yet Blaylock would want to be certain of both Elric’s and Galen’s loyalty.
“You have done well, Galen,” Blaylock said. “Elric has trained you to be a skilled mage. The information you brought may save us all. I hope you will rest now. We will depend upon your help to reach our hiding place safely.”
Galen’s voice had gained the stillness of his face. It was even, controlled. “I will help you,” Galen said. “Though I wonder who will help everyone else.”
January 2259
— chapter 17 —
In his residence on Babylon 5, Kosh watched and waited. By the Earth calendar, it was the close of one year and the beginning of the next. The Humans celebrated the new year while events cascaded toward war.
As the Vorlon buoys sang their perceptions to him, Kosh swam in the currents of history-in-making. Within their song, he slipped from planet to planet, observing, absorbing. On the rim, the forces of chaos gathered at the site of their ancient home, rapidly building their resources. They had spread now to the surrounding systems, a growing maelstrom that hungered to overrun all.
On Centauri Prime, the Centauri celebrated the destruction of the Narn outpost in Quadrant 37, not realizing who had struck down their enemy. The Narn defeat gave new energy to old dreams of conquest and glory, and they spoke of regaining Narn territory, of reconquering their old foe. The dream of the maelstrom infected them.
On Narn, horror at the deaths of ten thousand of their kind was turning to fury. They had suffered enough, and would suffer no more. They determined to exact revenge.
On Earth, a murdered president was mourned, his death believed an accident, and a new president was sworn in, one beholden to the darkness.
Even here on Babylon 5, the one named Morden moved freely, forming alliances and spreading chaos like a pestilence.
Yet order, too, had its strength. Sinclair was even now receiving the directive to step down as commander of Babylon 5 and accept the post as ambassador to Minbar. There, his development could continue under more controlled circumstances, and he could take charge of the Rangers, a source of light to fight the darkness.
Delenn was in the midst of a transformation, a fulfillment of prophecy that would reveal the connection between Human and Minbari, the order underlying the universe. This connection would encourage the Humans to ally with the Minbari, and so with the Vorlons. And the key to that new alliance would be the new captain of Babylon 5, Sheridan.
Slipping through the song of the buoys, Kosh reached at last those who hung precariously between order and chaos. Their great power could be the pivot on which the war turned. The images from the buoys were less clear here than elsewhere, since they needed to remain distant to escape detection. Yet the fabulists sent many messages to each other, and over one thousand years of watching them, Kosh had learned how to intercept these messages. Those the buoys had perceived clearly, as they had the movements of the fabulists and their ships.
Kosh slipped through the data streams, re-creating the song of the fabulists’ assemblage. The pestilence called Morden had moved among them. Then a flash of great energy, as great as the energies commanded by the Vorlons. One among the fabulists now wielded immense power.
Two ships had left. Just a short time ago, one of those ships had arrived in a system on the rim marked by darkness. The symbol on the ship was that of the student of their accomplished leader, Kell.
Earlier this night at the assemblage, a burial fire had marked the death of one too young to die. After that, the assemblage had become quiet, their festivities subdued. Their leader had left, searching for his lost student. The remaining four who led the fabulists had met without him and decided upon a course of action. They had called all to gather and delivered the grave message. They would take no side in this war. They would leave known space.
Kosh slipped from the song and found himself alone again in his simple residence. Among the Vorlons, distrust of the fabulists ran deep, and some would doubt the truth of their decision, believing it a deception, a trick. Some even supported the destruction of all the fabulists, before they could join the ancient enemy. To assuage those doubts, Kosh would continue to watch the fabulists until they left for their hiding place.
Yet most of his kind would be relieved at the decision of the fabulists. Let them be gone. Let them be forgotten.
For his part, Kosh would mourn their passing.
It was the end of the convocation and the end of the Earth year 2258. Yet for Galen it felt as if this was the end of much more.
This last night was usually marked by raucous celebration, great displays of magic, passionate fights and hasty reconciliations. Yet tonight the mages stood in silence, their displays in the clear night sky mournful, somber. Elric coordinated them, incorporating Galen’s suggestions. For Isabelle, glowing lines of warp and woof wove through the sky. For Burell, starbursts bloomed brilliant gold and red poppies rained down. A few shooting stars fell like tears.
An hour ago, the Circle had gathered them all together, telling them of the return of the Shadows, of Kell’s resignation, and of the betrayal by Elizar and Razeel. They had explained the necessity of retreating to a hiding place, had gone over the plan by which the mages would destroy their homes and places of power and gather at a safe site to prepare for their migration.
Galen sensed the mages were uncertain, but they were also afraid. The deaths of Isabelle and Burell terrified them. They would follow the plan. They would follow the Circle despite the absence of Kell.
As would Galen. He had no fear of death or the Shadows. Yet he had made a commitment to the mages. He had sworn loyalty to the Circle. He had spoken the words of the Code. Despite Kell’s deception, and all it had brought, his commitment bound him. Elric had spoken truly. Galen had not broken the Code when it might have saved Isabelle. How could he break it now?
He had planned to die with Isabelle, yet stubbornly he persisted. It was but the latest in a long string of failures—failures of skill, failures of planning, failures of character. Isabelle had told him he must transcend himself. She had said he’d completed the first step, opening himself to another. Yet even in that he had failed. He had never told Isabelle he loved her.
Galen remembered how they had laughed that morning at Ko’Dan’s house when they’d made breen. He hadn’t realized how happy he’d been. Now Galen had been left behind, as had Ko’Dan, who had moved to Zafran 8 to escape the memories of his wife. Yet it is in my memory of her that I find the most joy.
Galen found only pain in his memories of Isabelle, yet he would cherish each one of them.
Thinking of her smile that morning, Galen wondered what had happened to the breen, and whether the relay hidden inside the container was still aboard the Khatkhata. If so, he should be able to access the probes they’d planted on the Narn crew, even if they had reached the Thenothk system on the rim.
Galen closed his eyes to the glowing tapestry in the sky, visualized the equation to access the relay and the images it received and recorded from the probes. The relay responded and Galen requested the images currently being transmitted by the probes. Since the ship had a crew of ten, ten images spread out before him in his mind’s eye.
The images came from different angles—one probe planted on a forehead, another on a hand—and moved as the crew moved. It took him a short time to become acclimated to the views. The leather-clad crew seemed to be working in the hold, unloading the sleeper tubes G’Leel had told them about. Apparently the ship had arrived at Thenothk.
Galen requested coordinates, and discovered that the Khatkhata was in the Omega sector, on the rim of known space. The system was known as Tau Omega. If this wasn’t
the home of the Shadows, it must be close.
They were all working, even G’Leel and the captain. There was considerable grumbling among them; Galen translated and discovered they were complaining that they had to unload this cargo themselves.
This is not our job, one said.
We should never have agreed to take these damn mind-walkers, another said. He rapped on a tube. She might know who I am. She could come after me when she wakes up. That’s what they’re going to do with her, isn’t it? Wake her up?
For what we’re getting paid, Captain Ko’Vin said, you should be selling them your mother. Now stop asking questions.
One of the tubes dropped to the floor. This one moved, the first Narn said. I swear.
Don’t be an idiot, Ko’Vin replied. Let’s get this done, and then we’ll all go out and get drunk.
The first Narn wrestled the tube back onto the wheeled cart, pushed it toward the air lock. A shadow fell over him, and the Narn jumped.
“Where is your captain?”
Galen shivered.
The Narn pointed over his shoulder.
“That doesn’t do me much good if you don’t get out of the way.”
It was Elizar’s voice.
The Narn backed up, and Elizar strode into the hold, marking his way with a platinum staff. Tilar followed. Somehow, beside Elizar, he looked like an anxious assistant.
“You are the captain?” Elizar said.
“Yes, sir,” Ko’Vin said.
“You’re loading this cargo into the wrong vehicle. It should be going into my lift, which is to the left here.” With a precise gesture he extended two fingers toward the air lock.
“But, sir.” Ko’Vin pointed to Tilar. “This man told us your lift was to receive only one tube.”
“He made a mistake.” Elizar turned on Tilar.
“Yes,” said Tilar, “I made a mistake.”
Elizar turned back to the captain. “One of these rejects”—he indicated the tubes with a flourish of his hand—“is to be my servant. My secret weapon. But to find one suitable servant, I must test them all. I’ll be lucky to find one with the proper qualities in this small bunch. Could you carry no more?”
“This is all we were given,” Ko’Vin said.
Elizar scanned the interior. “Very well then. Be quick about it.”
“Yes, sir.”
Elizar strode from the hold, Tilar following.
Get to it, Ko’Vin said unless you want to be turned into spoo. That was a techno-mage. And that one does not tell fortunes, he ruins them.
Galen broke contact with the probes, keeping his eyes squeezed shut.
He hadn’t been prepared to see Elizar again. The restless energy raced through him, and he realized his body was trembling. Elizar’s life went on too, as if nothing had happened. He was across the galaxy, yet it felt as if he were in the next room. Galen wanted to go into that next room and crush Elizar in his own private universe.
How could Galen leave, knowing Elizar went on?
Galen opened his eyes to the sky. Isabelle had said she would show him a sign. It was a foolish promise; he was foolish even to think of it. The universe had no pattern, meaning, or justice. It cared not whether Elizar lived or Isabelle died. It cared not whether the Shadows triumphed or the mages were killed. All was chaos.
The energy within him gathered itself, ready for his command. Galen wanted to use his spell of destruction on the whole thing. Kill this damned uncaring universe. Kill himself. Kill Isabelle, who had sacrificed herself for him. How dare she?
Morden was right, Galen thought. He was just like the Shadows. All he wanted was destruction.
Something touched him, and Galen jerked away.
It was Fa. Her hand hung in midair, his father’s ring on her smallest finger.
The energy was ready to erupt, if he gave it the slightest direction. “Go away,” he whispered.
Fa backed away, regarding him with fearful eyes.
His father, his mother—both had died senselessly. There was no reason or pattern. People saw patterns because they wanted to see them, just as people believed he could tell fortunes because they wanted to believe he could tell fortunes.
If only he could have seen the future.
He knew the tricks, knew what to say or do to convince someone he could see the future, or change the present. But they were tricks, not magic. People liked to believe in magic, and so they saw magic.
Even the mages liked to fool themselves, disguising their abilities with flourishes and stage dressing to make acts of technology appear magical—to turn a simple hologram into a vision, a sound wave into a spell of protection.
Who were the mages, he thought, but mortals who wished to appear as gods?
He had wanted it just as much as the others. He had wanted to control events, to inspire awe and wonder, to perform acts that seemed miraculous. Yet something in him had changed. Those acts, once so captivating, now seemed pathetic and futile. There was no magic. They did not control events. They were not gods. They did not live forever.
Now he saw through the illusions and misdirection, through the manipulation and intelligence gathering, through the hocus-pocus and mumbo jumbo and staffs and cloaks and runes and circles of stone—to the simple power underlying it all. The power of the tech. The power of destruction.
He had aligned his thoughts and his spells into neat, regimented columns, and there, at the base of those columns, he had found it, the fundament upon which they were built, the power that allowed them to pose as gods. Elizar had known that power was important. With it, a mage could fly through the air. He could shower poppies from the sky. Or he could kill. Each made his own choice.
And so, as fire bloomed across the sky, Galen realized who he was. Kell had given him only part of the answer. Kell had made him realize that he was the techno-mage who carried the secret of destruction, the secret that must never be used. Yet there was more to it than that. Now he had found the rest, and knew truly who he was: he was the mage who carried the power of destruction, and who rather than use it, had let Isabelle die.
Table of Contents
—chapter 1 —
— chapter 2 —
— chapter 3 —
— chapter 4 —
— chapter 5 —
— chapter 6 —
— chapter 7 —
— chapter 8 —
— chapter 9 —
— chapter 10 —
— chapter 11 —
— chapter 12 —
— chapter 15 —
— chapter 14 —
— chapter 15 —
— chapter 16 —
— chapter 17 —
Casting Shadows (The Passing of the Techno-Mages #1) Page 35