by Richard Ford
He tried a twist, but Merreck anticipated the move, releasing one hand from his own denn’bok and grabbing Vance’s. With his own fighting pike flat against his forearm, he managed to get Vance in a chokehold.
Vance could do nothing. His stronger opponent held his weapon while the cold ferricite pushed against his windpipe. He could not even wriggle free. Merreck was silent, every muscle tensed. Vance could feel his opponent’s quick breaths in his ear as he slowly passed out from lack of oxygen. The last thing he heard before lapsing into unconsciousness was Durhan’s powerful voice ordering Merreck to release him.
Revelations
The now-familiar sight of the infirmary ceiling greeted him when he woke. This time though, he was the only occupant. His neck was tender to the touch, and clearing his throat sent a sharp pain down his windpipe. Anger flared within him as he jumped out of the bed onto unsteady legs. He had done everything he could. Made every concession and accepted the Anla’shok in the spirit he thought they would have wanted. And this was how he was repaid. It just wasn’t fair!
But what could he do? Normally when he was treated like this he would lash out, but Merreck seemed invincible. What was he supposed to do, shoot the guy? Vance realised the person he used to be would have seriously entertained that option, even though he knew he could not carry out the plans. Now, though, he immediately dismissed the thought before it formulated itself into a real idea.
He left the infirmary still angry, pushing past the startled Minbari healer and marching down the corridor to the dorm. Thoughts of packing and leaving entered his head, but like his murderous thoughts they were extinguished quickly--like the immediate flash of the flames that had consumed everything he owned upon his arrival here. Besides, he understood he would never be allowed to leave with the knowledge the Anla’shok had imparted, and the prospect of a memory wipe was terribly unappealing. He was going to have to ride this out. The job was too important to let one individual put him off.
The empty dorm was Vance’s clue that the rest of the acolytes were in lessons. He took the opportunity to take a walk alone. Doubtless the Anla’shok were watching, as their surveillance systems within the academy were unparalleled, but the opportunity to walk around alone didn’t arise much, and Vance needed the solitude.
As he walked the grounds of the academy, he realised just how much he took the beauty of the place for granted. It contrasted starkly with the dark knowledge held there and the grim responsibility borne by those who trained within its walls.
Eventually he came to the small building that housed the Night Walker contingent: two-dozen Minbari Warrior Caste specially seconded to the Anla’shok academy and bound to pledge their lives to its defence. Vance arrived as they began their changing of the guard ceremony. Each carried a ventar, holding the two-handed blades in front as they marched in their ritualistic formation. He stood spellbound as they circled one another, bowing on occasion, touching blades at others. All the while the banner of the Night Walkers was paraded between them.
As he leant against a towering minaret watching the scene, Vance felt humbled once more. He watched a ceremony outdating his own civilisations traditions by hundreds or possibly thousands of years, and yet they still held their customs in the highest regards. He felt self-conscious, as though he viewed something forbidden to his eyes, but he could not drag his gaze away. Slipping into the nearby shadows, he watched from the darkness, safe in the knowledge he was fully hidden.
When the Night Walkers finished the ceremony, half of them began to drill. Their ventars flashed as they practiced. At first they simply smashed their blades together like the Germanic duelists of Earth, but the strikes came faster and faster. Vance could see that many bore facial scars, and it didn’t take a genius to imagine how they got them. As the striking blades reached a crescendo of blurred, whirling danger, the warriors instantly retreated from their partners, walking back ceremoniously, then advancing once more and starting over again.
Vance didn’t know how long he stood observing the Night Walkers, but it could have been hours. He would have stood there for hours more had he not heard the deep voice from behind him. ‘Spellbinding, isn’t it?’
Vance spun to see the shadow-shrouded form of Turval, who had somehow managed to find him despite Vance’s skill in concealing himself. Not only that, but the old man also managed to advance silently on Vance’s position without revealing himself.
‘It is,’ replied Vance. ‘Their skill with the ventar must be unparalleled.’
‘Yes, its use is a dying art. Much like the denn’bok’s was some years ago. But that wrong has recently been righted.’
Vance suddenly thought back to his battle with Merreck. Watching the Night Walkers had taken his mind off it, but now the bitterness crept back in. ‘And some of us are better with it than others.’ Vance found it difficult to disguise the venom in his voice, even through the croaky sound his damaged throat made.
‘One cannot expect to excel at everything,’ said Turval. Vance had no answer. If he admitted it to himself, he would have had to say that sometimes that’s exactly what he expected. ‘You must put aside your anger,’ continued Turval. ‘Both of you.’
‘Try telling that to Merreck!’ Vance snapped.
‘Maybe if you had a certain understanding of events, it might help you to overcome your anger. Walk with me.’ Turval turned and moved away from the Night Walker barracks. He walked silently, seeming to glide through the shadows. They walked back toward the academy, skirting the numerous training halls and instruction rooms, heading straight for the Temple of Valen.
They walked into the Chapel, and Vance soaked in the sense of reverence and peace that pervaded the room, from its tiled floor to its lofty ceiling. Turval stood before the statue of Valen, looking up with a contented smile. ‘I know you felt antagonism towards your father for sending you here,’ said Turval.
‘At first I did. But I have since seen the wisdom in his actions, Sech Turval.’
The smile spread across Turval’s face. ‘That is good. But I still feel you bear him a certain antipathy. Much between you has not yet been resolved.’
‘With respect, Sech Turval, I fail to see what this has to do with--’
‘Indeed you do,’ Turval said, turning towards Vance. ‘You fail to see many things, much of which is no fault of your own. Ignorance is sometimes a valid excuse for the mistakes we make. I will set that to rights. Why do you think Merreck wants to see you fail?’
Several different answers popped into Vance’s head. Most of them involved assumptions that Merreck was a fanatical racist with a superiority complex who couldn’t talk to girls and was probably bullied at school as a youth. Other more colourful responses entered his mind, but Vance stifled them. ‘I have no idea,’ he replied.
‘The reason is something you could never have known before you came here.’
‘Something to do with Neroon?’ asked Vance, thinking that Merreck’s uncle could be behind a plan to sabotage the re-emergence of the Anla’shok.
‘Yes and no,’ replied Turval. Vance was getting annoyed by the increasingly cryptic answers. ‘It has more to do with your father.’
Vance was stunned. This was an answer he certainly hadn’t been expecting. He clenched his fists... it was happening again. No matter where he went or what he did, his father would always raise his stern visage and try to take over, try to influence or ruin or sabotage.
‘How much do you know of what your father did during the war between our people?’
‘I know he worked for various Special Forces units. Behind enemy lines on a number of occasions. Apparently he was decorated several times, but I have no idea for what.’
‘Your father was what we call “enkra’tak”. It is a little-used word, for there are few examples of people like your father in Minbari warfare, and it is not a part of the Jenaot’la, our Warrior’s Code. The Warrior Caste has always fought with honour, and enkra’tak are often frowned upon and seldom used.
’
‘Assassin,’ said Vance, recognising the word from his knowledge of the Warrior Caste dialect.
‘Yes,’ said Turval, ‘and apparently a very gifted one. He would often be placed behind our lines for several weeks, hunting our leaders--often killing from a distance, sometimes up close.’
‘I was under the impression that no human had ever killed a Minbari in hand-to-hand combat.’
‘We do not consider the use of a knife in the dark as hand-to-hand combat. It is murder, pure and simple.’
Vance flushed with anger at the twisted distinction. On countless occasions the Minbari had destroyed helpless or stranded EarthForce ships. Wasn’t that murder as well? Was that honourable? Turval nodded, as if sensing Vance’s thoughts. ‘Whatever the differences between our cultures’ moralistic views on war, the fact is your father was a very prolific and successful assassin. Toward the end of the war, EarthForce became even more desperate, and he was sent to eradicate a number of Minbari war leaders. It was a suicide mission, and he was not meant to return. During his mission he was partly successful, but before he could kill Neroon, the last of his targets, he was captured.’
‘So this is what it’s about. My father tried to kill Neroon, so now his nephew sees it as his personal goal to bury me.’
‘Not exactly. One of the war leaders your father assassinated was Merkhat, Merreck’s father and brother to Neroon.’
Vance had no idea what to say. If Merreck had been responsible for the death of his own father, he would no doubt have the same attitude. Even though he and the Colonel were not close--and sometimes Vance even hated the man--he was sure that he would want vengeance if his father was assassinated and Vance knew the identity of the culprit.
‘Neroon had your father tortured for weeks. Even beyond the end of the war. With his mother dead there was no one to care of Merreck, and Neroon took the boy under his wing, intending to hold your father captive until Merreck was old enough to take his own vengeance and restore his family’s honour. This may well have happened had the Grey Council not discovered Neroon’s plan and ordered him to release your father. Merreck feels he has been cheated out of his revenge.’
This information left Vance in a stunned silence. He wanted to hate his father but couldn’t now that he knew the truth behind his long absences. He wanted to hate Merreck, but the Minbari was only seeking a vengeance that Vance himself would most likely seek under the same circumstances.
‘I know this comes as a shock to you,’ said Turval. ‘When you first came, we did not fully know the truth ourselves. It would be no shame upon you if you wanted to leave and return to your EarthForce.’
Slowly Vance looked in to Turval’s sympathetic eyes. ‘What’s done is done,’ he said. Vance didn’t even know if he meant the words, but it didn’t matter. His head told him it was the right thing to say. ‘There are more important things than old feuds to consider here.’
Turval nodded, a smile returning to his face. ‘Of course, I will speak to Merreck on this matter.’
‘No,’ replied Vance. ‘We are Anla’shok. He said himself we would soon be brothers. It is between us.’
‘I understand. I must leave now.’ Turval glanced once more to the statue of Valen. ‘This is a good place for reflection.’ With that, he silently left the temple.
Vance stayed a while to enjoy the serenity of the Chapel. The long-dead face of Valen looked down on him, and he felt as though it were watching over him, reassuring him. With a renewed feeling of purpose, he walked from the Chapel and out into the streets of Tuzanor.
The beauty of the city could only be truly appreciated by walking its maze of streets. Vance lacked the time and inclination until now. His appreciation of architecture was limited, but even he had to admit the place was wondrous, easily matching the best Earth had to offer.
Though known as the City of Sorrows, Vance did not get any morose feeling as he wandered. The busy Minbari faces took the time to nod and smile and the problems he faced in the academy did not follow him out onto Tuzanor’s streets.
Vance came to a wide square, its edges lined with onyx and marble statues depicting various figures from Minbari history. The legends at the bottom of each statue were difficult to read, and Vance could not identify which Caste dialect they were written in.
Two of the statues were easily recognisable. Dukhat and the obligatory statue of Valen were in pride of place at the centre of the square. The others Vance could not name. Several Minbari generals with whom he was familiar were not honoured here. Many of the statues seemed to be representative of Religious and even Worker Caste members. Vance marvelled at a race that saw fit to revere its labourers and priests as highly as its war heroes.
In each of the four corners of the square sat small gardens, meticulously cared for without a bud or blade of grass askew. In one of the gardens, an ancient Minbari kneeled, busying himself with pruning a strange phosphorescent plant. Vance moved closer, fascinated by the man’s fluid motion and expert ability with his gardening tools. The longer he watched, the more the old man gave him the impression of a sculptor at work. Before Vance’s eyes the plant, which looked beautiful before, began to change shape, metamorphosing into another, even more beautiful creation.
The old Minbari stopped and leaned back, running his fingers down his rickety spine to iron out the rheumatic pain. Then he slowly laid down his pruning tool and turned to smile at Vance. As the man turned, Vance suddenly felt self-conscious, as though he had interrupted some kind of intimate act. Still, the old man merely smiled. Vance took a step back, nervously returning the smile and fully intending to leave the man in peace. As Vance backed away, the old man beckoned him closer. Vance stopped, surprised by the gesture. Slowly the old man reached down and picked up his gardening implement, holding it out to Vance. He then motioned to the strange-coloured plant.
With a nervous nod, Vance approached and knelt by the old man. He gingerly took the pruning clippers and reached for the plant. Still smiling, the old man firmly grasped Vance’s free hand and laid it gently on the plant, guiding the hand over the stem and touching his fingers to the leaves. Vance felt the plant, caressing its smooth edges and enjoying the way the leaves gently brushed against his skin. The old man then took Vance’s other hand, which held the gardening tool, and slowly moved it toward the plant.
At first Vance was reluctant to use the tool. The plant seemed perfect; it didn’t need pruning at all. But after a few seconds his free hand brushed against a leaf that protruded further than the rest. Automatically Vance clipped it at the base and allowed the leaf to fall to the ground. He looked back to the old man, seeking some kind of reassurance that he had done the right thing. The old man merely smiled, but gave him no hint of either approval or disapproval.
Vance turned his attention back to the plant, guiding his hand over its undulating leaves, feeling and testing the stems. He gently pulled each one out, allowing it to bend back of its own accord. Those that did not naturally settle back onto the plant, he clipped. The first few times he looked to the old Minbari gardener, but each time he was given no clue as to whether he had done the right thing, and he soon carried on of his own accord.
‘You have never seemed one who would easily take to the horticultural arts.’ Vance froze. He recognised the voice immediately. He turned to see Jerklenn’s serious face.
‘I’m not. I mean... he invited me.’ Vance motioned to the old man, then he clumsily handed the pruning tool back to him.
A smile broke across Jerklenn’s face. ‘I know that, Vance. Do you think you are the only one who can joke?’
Still feeling foolish, Vance stood. He bowed to the old man, who returned his gesture and returned to the plant. Vance brushed the leaves from his trousers, thinking they would probably now need cleaning, but he was surprised to see they were not stained or dirty at all.
‘Why are you embarrassed?’ asked Jerklenn. ‘I’m not. You just surprised me, that’s all.’
‘No. I
think I am the one that is surprised.’ She smiled even wider, and Vance couldn’t help but smile himself.
‘I heard what happened to you. I think you are brave to face him, even though you know that you have no chance of beating him.’
‘It’s good to know you have confidence in me.’
‘What is the point in giving you false hope? You cannot defeat Merreck. Not through any physical contest anyway.’
Vance walked away, not knowing how to respond to the obvious insult to his martial prowess, but Jerklenn matched his stride. They walked silently for some distance, leaving the square and disappearing into Tuzanor’s back-streets. Eventually Vance glanced over at her. ‘Well?’ he said. ‘What is it? Are you going to impart some great piece of ancient Minbari wisdom? Tell me how I can defeat my enemy by being nice to him?’
‘No. I was merely going to walk with you while you reflected. But if you wish to be alone--’ She turned to leave.
Vance sighed. No matter how much he tried not to, he always seemed to offend Jerklenn, one way or another. ‘Wait,’ he called after her. ‘I would. I mean I do want company.’
She nodded and returned to his side. They walked on and Vance told Jerklenn of what he had discovered, of his father’s past and Merreck’s vendetta. Jerklenn looked very sombre at hearing the news, almost panicked. ‘It seems you indeed have a problem. Merreck is of the Star Rider clan. Your father’s dishonour cannot be easily forgiven.’
Vance clenched his fists. The talk of his father’s dishonour angered him. The Minbari showed no honour in their slaughter of humans. Worse yet, despite what he learned about his father, he could not help but blame him for the current situation. ‘Why does everyone keep talking of his dishonour? He was doing what he had to do to fight an enemy that was dedicated to destroying the entire human race? Can anyone here understand that?’
Jerklenn nodded her head slowly, searching for words. ‘I understand. But perhaps it is you who does not understand.’ Her voice was strong and clear, although she kept her eyes on the ground in front of her.
