He carried on talking. Forell merely listened, and occasionally he smiled. That was a truly hideous sight.
12. The Capital, Centauri Prime, January 8th 2261.
She had never been in this part of the capital before, in spite of the fact that it was a mere half-an-hour's walk from the Palace itself. But then, a well-bred, ambitious lady of the Court would have no reason to come to such an area.
Mariel had always prided herself on knowing a little more than most ladies of her station. Knowledge was power after all, and it never hurt to have a few snippets of information that might, over the course of time, possibly be of some minor use. Where to find a good poisoner, for example, or just who exactly was carrying on which indiscretions with whom.
She had always had ambition, and had dared to hope this might one day take her to as high a position as a lady could reach in Centauri society. It was bitterly ironic that, had she done nothing and sat at home like a good, dutiful little wife, she would now be at that zenith, instead of that.... that harridan Timov.
Mariel had spent the last few months under virtual house arrest at Londo's estate outside the capital. She was unclear exactly what Londo-dear knew about her part in the attack on Kiro's estate, but it was clear he knew something. Or possibly he just generally suspected her of misdoing, not entirely unjustifiably. House arrest, no doubt telling all his friends she was 'indisposed' or 'ill' was about the only proper solution. You couldn't execute a lady of the Court after all, and certainly not the wife of the Emperor.
She had been incredibly bored these last few months and had entertained herself in whatever trivial ways she could. Seducing the captain of the guards set to watch her had provided a moment's diversion, but apart from that she had been reduced to embroidery, other vacuous pursuits and keeping up with the news from the capital, which Londo had insisted on giving her. Only one piece of information had made her happy — and that was the news of the discovery of Elrisia's charred remains.
Plotting a means of escape from her 'prison' had been easy enough, but what was the point of escape, if there was nowhere to escape to? Not until she had received that.... strange message, had she any plan for what to do after leaving the estate.
It had come the day before, pushed into her hands by a common servant, one she didn't think she had seen before. That was not unusual, she rarely paid any attention to her servants. The message itself had been scrawled in a powerful, authoritarian hand and had been simple. A set of directions, and the word 'Come'.
And so, out of boredom, excitement and eager for a chance to escape this dreary prison, she had come.
The directions had been to the merchants' area of the capital, to the warehouse district. She had never been here before, but the directions had been surprisingly clear, and she soon found herself at the building. It seemed abandoned to her, and she remembered hearing that trade had been slacking off due to the.... troubles earlier in the year. Jarno had spoken of little else, she recalled with a sigh. What did trade matter? Let merchants deal with such things, wasn't that what they were for?
She looked around, wondering why there didn't seem to be anyone there. It was night, and the lanterns and lights of the Court seemed far away. The area was more run-down than she had thought possible.
There was a sudden movement behind her, and a man appeared out of the darkness. He was dressed in rags and dirt, but what was left of his clothing proclaimed him a serf. A peasant. "You are late," he said in a firm voice, one filled with power.
She was about to reprimand him for his insolence when she caught his eyes, and recoiled. They were blazing with an impassioned madness, fury and a yearning for revenge. She knew what he was now, and she began to tremble.
"Still," he continued. "It does not matter. The Lord will see you now." She turned, about to leave, when his hand caught her arm in a tight grip. "The Shadows have whispered to our Lord, and he has summoned you here. You cannot decline his will. You cannot ignore your destiny."
She cried out in pain as his grip on her arm tightened. He abruptly let go and pulled his arm away. "He is this way," he said, gesturing towards the side doors of the warehouse.
Hesitantly she stepped inside, knowing that there was little hope of flight. Her mind was beginning to calm, and she could see the possibilities here. So, these.... people had a social structure of their own. The peasant had spoken of a Lord, no doubt a grubby little madman.... But still, where there was a structure and a Lord, then Mariel was more than capable of attaching herself to his side.
The warehouse was dark, and she stumbled at first. "She is here, great lord," said the peasant at her side. He moved forward easily, and she could only just hear the sound of his movements. He seemed able to see perfectly.
"Who is there?" she asked. "Who...? I can't see anything."
"Fire," whispered a stern voice, and a light blazed by her side, and at various points throughout the room. Blinking, she looked in the direction of the person who had spoken, and the breath caught in her throat.
It was Lord Kiro. He was holding a small torch in his hand, examining it closely, with affection. The flame seemed to reflect from his skin and shine in his eyes, which were filled with the same madness as the peasant's. His once-fine clothes were reduced to rags, but he wore them with the authority of an Emperor. The marks of his torture still remained on his skin and face, but he wore them proudly.
"Fire," he said again, studying the flame in the torch. "It is a purifying instrument of all that is holy. The Darkness speaks to me through it, as it speaks to us all. Fire is the tool the Darkness will use to purge all that is wrong and wicked and flawed from our world, so that all may be rebuilt."
He raised his head and looked directly at her. "Fire.... It purified the Lady Elrisia, or so I am told. Come to me."
She hesitated, and contemplated turning and bolting for the door, but strong hands grabbed her and pushed her forward, throwing her to the floor at Kiro's feet. As she looked up, she saw that the chair on which he sat had been made up into a mockery of the Purple Throne on which Londo was probably sitting even now.
Kiro bent over and held the torch next to her. She cried out and shrank away.
"The Darkness speaks to me," he hissed. "It speaks to us all. The Centauri have always been the most favoured of all races. We have been gifted with the talent of future sight. We see that which is to come. We see our own deaths. We see.... so many things.
"We see the Darkness that is to come. It speaks to us. Does it speak to you?"
"Yes!" she cried out instantly. "Yes.... it speaks to me. I can hear it."
"What is it telling you?" he whispered, his face so near to hers.
She thought quickly. Flattery was always a powerful weapon. "It tells me that.... it tells me that you are its chosen servant.... you are the one who will be raised above all others, and that I am to serve you and obey you in all things.... for you are our Lord.... and our saviour, and our master."
"You lie," he said, smiling. He sat back, and resumed his contemplation of the flame. "But it is of no matter. I had you brought here to thank you." He brushed his hand through the flame, and smiled, closing his eyes. "You began the process of my purification. You brought me to the flame, and with your scourge and your pain I was made anew, all the better to receive the wisdom of the Darkness.
"I brought you here to thank you for that.... and to reward you. The day will come when I will sit on the Purple Throne, and you will sit there beside me, and the two of us.... we will rule a world of flame and death.... and the Darkness will speak through us all. The Darkness will come."
"The Darkness will come," whispered countless voices from the shadows.
"I am.... honoured, Lord," she whispered. "Deeply honoured. I.... I understand the role for which I have been chosen."
"No," he said. "You do not. Not yet. But you will." He held the torch close to her face, and smiled. "You will."
She did not scream. She was a Lady of the Royal Court, and she would
not scream. And she did not. And by the time it was over she did understand, and she did see, and the Darkness did speak through her.
13. Z'ha'dum, The Rim of Known Space, date unascertainable.
The shuttle emerged from hyperspace and Delenn looked out at the dark world below her. She had seen Z'ha'dum before, but only in visions and dreams and whispers of the what-would-be and what-might-have-been. This was the first time she had ever seen the place itself.
Shadow ships were waiting for her, a great many of them. A message was coming to her ship.
She was not afraid, she had embraced her destiny here. She knew what she had to do, and why she had to do it.
She had come to Z'ha'dum to make atonement for the sins of her past, to make amends for the future, and ultimately, she had come to Z'ha'dum to die.
Part 1 : The Fiery Trial Through Which we Pass.
And Valen asked the Nine, 'Will you follow me into Darkness, into Fire, into Storm, into Shadow, into Death?' And the Nine said, 'Yes.' Delenn has never asked John Sheridan that question, but for him the answer is clear. He will follow her. Into Darkness. Into Fire. Into Storm. Into Shadow. Into Death? To Z'ha'dum.
Chapter 1
"If we cannot fight together, then we will surely die apart. Our enemies have no regard for historical hatreds, for ancient enmities, for feuds born of bloodshed and misunderstanding. To those who seek to destroy all that we are, we are all one and the same: races to be destroyed.
"If our enemies see us as one, then why can we not see ourselves so?"
Excerpt from Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar's Speech of Unity.
* * *
There is a world, far and distant, out on the Rim. It has been a dead world for so long.
A thousand years ago a great and terrible war was brought to this world. The final battle lasted for many days, but ultimately an evil was driven from it, and those who had pursued the war returned to their homes, content to rest, to bury their dead, to raise their children, to tell stories.
And to forget. Forget, they did, relegating the war to just another legend, to tales of heroes and courage, to a time long ago, a time that held no relevance for the present.
It is the curse of mortal man to forget. Mortal beings cannot learn from their mistakes, for they are doomed to keep forgetting them.
Time has passed. Generations have come and gone. And the Darkness has returned once more.
Z'ha'dum, once a dead world, now teems with life again. The ancient race who for a thousand years hid in secret, have come back to their ancestral home, to their temples and cities and wonders of old. They have come back, and they are ready to go to war once more.
This time, they know they will not lose. This time, they will be careful. This time, they will be ready.
The Shadows may be long-lived. They may be an ancient race, older by far than many can comprehend. They may possess wonders far in advance of the younger races.
But for all that, the Shadows are still mortal.
And it is the doom of mortals to forget.
A ship comes to Z'ha'dum. They are surprised, but eager. This is not what they have planned for, admittedly, but it is something they have wanted. They let it come. They are pleased.
They have forgotten so much, particularly how to hear the one who lives below. The one who is not mortal, and who does not forget. He has begun to speak at last, but no one can hear him. There will be many deaths before anyone can truly hear him.
A ship comes. See. It is here....
* * *
She still does not entirely know why she has come. As she looks at the dead, crimson world beneath her, Delenn of Mir contemplates the last time any of her people were here. The climax of the last Great War against the Shadows. Valen had led his mighty fleet here, and brought to an end many years of war.
As she looks at it from this perspective, Delenn of Mir is very much afraid that there are many years of war still to come. Unless she can end it here.
And if this war is won, as was the last, what then? A wait of another thousand years before the killing starts once more? A peace more terrible than any war?
She has been sent here by a race she once thought to be her allies. She does not understand the reason for this, but that does not matter. She has sent all the information she has to the one who might be able to understand.
She is thinking about Sinoval now. She hopes he received her message. It would give him some satisfaction to know he was right. He would take great pleasure in being able to say 'I told you so'.
But he would never get the chance, at least not to her.
John can walk now. He can move, and touch, and live.... Cured both of the injuries sustained in the Battle of the Third Line and of Deathwalker's terminal virus, he can live once more. The United Alliance has its general, one far more able to pursue this war than Delenn herself.
But she will be able to do one last service before the end.
She brings the shuttle into orbit, looking at the planet below her. She has seen it before only in recordings, in dreams, in visions sent by the Vorlons. She has never been here before. It looks dead, abandoned, still scarred by the ravages of war and time.
She prepares the message she is to send. This is Delenn of Mir, leader of the United Alliance of Kazomi Seven. I come here in response to an invitation by David Sheridan. Please provide directions to a suitable position on the surface.
This done, she sits back, ensuring it will broadcast itself on a repeating cycle. She thinks back to the time she had been given the 'invitation', and to the aftermath. She had turned Ambassador Sheridan down, knowing the invitation to be a trap. Now.... she was here anyway.
She should have told John about his father. She should have told him. Just one more legacy of regret to lay upon all the countless others heaped up over her lifetime.
--- We read your message, Delenn, — -- says a voice over the audio-only channel. She recognises it immediately, and sits bolt upright. Ambassador Sheridan. John's father. --- I will admit to being surprised, but questions can wait. I am transferring the co-ordinates of a landing site just outside the capital city. You will need suitable breathing equipment when you are on the surface, but we will be able to provide that if necessary. The other external conditions may be.... uncomfortable for you, but I am sure you will be able to cope. Living conditions inside the city are more than adequate, I assure you. — --
"I have received your co-ordinates," she replies. "I am setting course now."
--- Don't worry, Delenn. We won't let you get lost on the way. — --
Her systems begin to beep at her. She feels a slight chill.
Outside her shuttle, three Shadow ships shimmer into view. She hears their loud screams in her mind.
They will not let her get lost. Not at all.
Delenn of Mir prepares herself to set foot on Z'ha'dum.
* * *
They had been incredibly vocal in their protests. Virini, the Minister for the Court, had claimed that he had not been given enough time to organise the whole affair, what with the need for personal servants, aides, valets, bodyguards, an alteration to the itinerary, pacifying those who would have to postpone their appointments....
Durano, Minister for the Interior, gave calm, rational reasons for the need for the Republic to have its focal figure at home during this time of crisis.
Marrago, Minister for Defence and Lord-General of the Republic's Armies, spoke of the need for the Republic to be seen to be in a position of strength. The Emperor going personally to meet an alien alliance would surely be seen as a sign of weakness.
Of all of them, only Timov, Minister for Resource Procurement and the Emperor's First Consort, had given him anything like support.
She had reminded him to wrap up tight, not to eat any alien food, and to get enough sleep.
When Londo Mollari, esteemed Emperor of the mighty and glorious Centauri Republic, set his mind on a course, it took a great deal of effort to dissuade him from it.
Still, he could see all their points. The Imperial Barge should by all rights have been accompanied by at least three warships, and there should have been numerous advisors and bodyguards. As it was, the Republic could spare only one warship, the Valerius, under the command of the Emperor's nephew, Carn Mollari. The Narns might have been driven from the homeworld with remarkably little effort, but that did not mean the danger was over. One warship was all that could be spared.
And as for bodyguards, the Imperial Guard was needed to maintain order on the homeworld. The Shadow Criers had subsided, but not entirely disappeared. Londo had his personal cadre of one hundred guardsmen, and, most important of all, he had Lennier. He would be fine.
He was standing on the observation deck of the Imperial Barge, looking out at the multi-coloured delirium of hyperspace. It was amazingly similar to the flashes at the back of his eyelids whenever he was hung over, a state he had mercifully been free of for some time now.
"Are you there, Lennier?" he called out hesitantly. There was a movement.
"I am here," said a soft voice. Londo was constantly surprised by the Minbari's habit of concealment. He seemed to melt into the shadows even in places where they were no shadows to melt into. With this knack, and with his frequent silences, it was easy to forget he was about.
That made him the perfect bodyguard of course, but a difficult person to talk to.
It had been Kazomi 7. Something had happened there to turn the gentle keela poet into someone who.... scared most people, even Londo sometimes. He trusted Lennier as he trusted very few others, but still.... few others understood why the most powerful man in the Centauri Republic kept a Minbari around.
Lennier had recently taken to not wearing his sunburst badge, the insignia that marked him out as one of G'Kar's Rangers. He had offered no explanation for this omission.
A Dark, Distorted Mirror. Volume 4. A Future, Born in Pain addm-4 Page 4
