StarCraft: Dark Templar: Twilight

by Christie Golden

  On the sleeping pallet next to him, a figure stirred. Vartanil recognized him as Korlendir, and extended tentative thoughts to his friend.

  “Korlendir, are you well?” He could have probed to find out for himself, but refrained, knowing that Korlendir, too, must have suffered greatly in breaking free of the Sundrop.

  “Drained. Exhausted. Empty.”

  Vartanil nodded. He felt the same way. “But that will pass, and we will be free of Ulrezaj’s deception. The Sundrop has left our bodies, and now we can again meet in the Khala.”

  “…yes. This is true.”

  Vartanil looked about. “I see only former Tal’darim here. Where are those who aided us?”

  “Gone, no doubt, to sit in the Khala and purge themselves of the taint of having touched our minds.”

  The thought was laced with so much bitterness that Vartanil recoiled. “I am certain that is not the case.”

  Korlendir turned to look at him. “Truly? I am not. What I said to those whose minds touched mine was harsh and angry and terrified. I would have felt sullied were it my mind that had been exposed to such filthy thoughts.”

  “Perhaps. But the Khala teaches us compassion above all else. Those who sat with us gave us a link to what it is to be protoss…. They did so out of caring.”

  Korlendir had no answer to that. At that moment, the door opened. Several protoss entered, bearing clean robes. One of them Vartanil recognized as Rishagar, who had sat with him a long time. The protoss, smaller than most and almost painfully slender, drifted toward him, warm affection rolling off her.

  “You wake, friend Vartanil. And your mind is as clear as the waters of the Shushari pools. I am so very pleased.”

  She placed the clothing on the bed, and he rose and bowed to her. Rishagar extended her hands, palms up, and Vartanil imitated her. Energy formed and glowed softly in the space between their nearly-touching hands.

  He met her in the Khala, and the beauty and wonder of the union caught him by surprise. It had been so long, and he had grown used to his isolation, though he had never learned to not miss the connection, the ache for it.

  Sore trials you have had, my brother, and it was more than words, more than thoughts, he felt this mental communication. But you have survived. You have come home.

  Vartanil could not hide the slight reluctance he felt at the words, and Rishagar’s puzzlement floated around him. Scorning words, he held in his mind’s eye and his heart encountering Jacob Jefferson Ramsey, and Zamara, and Rosemary Dahl. He showed her the desiccated corpses of what had once been worshipful Xava’kai, the whirling dark raging monster that had descended upon the fleeing preserver and her host. She had sat with him and comforted him mentally as his body rid itself of Sundrop, but now she felt the craving, the terror of the inexplicable separation from the Khala, the joy at the reunion at this deep level.

  Gently they drew apart, warmth filling both of them. “So it is true, what the terran female has said.”

  “It is true. Zamara must be found and saved—as must Jacob Ramsey. He is a friend to the protoss. We have had so many casualties; it would grieve me if he were to be another one.”

  Rishagar nodded. “Executor Selendis will want to speak with you. And with you, Korlendir,” she added, drawing the other protoss into the conversation. “Once she has met with you all, you are free to leave.”

  “And go where?” Korlendir was angry. “This is not our home. Our home lies in smoking ruins, crawling with zerg. And we sit here doing nothing about it.”

  “Executor Selendis, too, is passionate about our homeworld,” Rishagar nodded, her calm a contrast to Korlendir’s agitation. “Once she is informed, she and the hierarch will decide what the best course of action must be. But truly, this is your home now, Korlendir, as much as it is mine. The dark templar have done their best to make us welcome.”

  It was only because he had so recently been with Rishagar in the Khala that Vartanil picked up on the slight hesitation. Directing his thoughts privately to her, he asked, “Is there trouble here on Shakuras then?”

  “Only what was to be expected—ancient enmities cannot be solved in a day, or a year, or even four years. But most of us are working hard to recover our former kinship.”

  Vartanil understood. Such divisions ran deep. He had seen one of the dark templar at the gate, Razturul was his name. Unlike most protoss from Aiur, for years Vartanil had known only a touching of minds, not souls. He had been denied the Khala because of the Sundrop; in a way, while fanning hatred of the dark templar among the Forged, Ulrezaj had actually been forcing those under his control to become like their exiled brethren.

  “It is all…very complicated,” he said finally. Rishagar half closed her eyes and warm humor washed over him. He shared it with her. But beside them, still angry and more than a touch confused, Korlendir sat in silence.

  Hard on Rishagar’s heels had come the executor. Korlendir had come to know that a female now occupied the place of power where Tassadar had once stood, but it was still unusual. Raszagal, the late matriarch of the dark templar, had led her people for many centuries. He had learned that among the dark templar, females in positions of power were not at all uncommon. But he was unused to such things. There had been none among the Conclave, and few among the templar. To see this powerful female in her beautiful, shining armor, to feel her gaze upon him, was unsettling.

  It was with reluctance that he followed her lead and stepped into the Khala again. Worn out from both the physical and mental toll the detoxification had taken on him, reentering the Khala in the company of such a strong spirit as Selendis was more jarring than comforting, more intense than soothing. Nonetheless, her pleasure that he had escaped was genuine, as was her concern about the terrans.

  The human female did not lie, then. There is a preserver’s spirit trapped inside the human male. And she, too, was in the grip of the Sundrop.

  She drew from him everything. Korlendir did not fight Selendis, but he could not hide his agitation from her. She was brief, and before she withdrew, she thanked him and sent calm to him. It helped somewhat.

  Had union in the Khala always been like this? Korlendir was a templar. He had, along with every other protoss he had ever known, loathed and slightly feared the rebellious dark templar. Such he had been taught. But now it made him feel too vulnerable, this intimate joining, with no feeling, no thought, hidden from this stranger.

  Selendis was clearly troubled by what she had learned. Nonetheless when she had finished, she bowed to him, and moved toward Vartanil. Korlendir was free to go now. There was a place here, in the capital city of Talematros, where records were kept. Korlendir, like all the others, had been encouraged to go there and locate his family. If he could not—if his family had perished on Aiur—he would be welcomed by Selendis and the other templar. No protoss was without a place, a position, a role to play.

  Except Korlendir.

  He found that he did not particularly care if his blood family had survived. The Forged had become his family, with the Xava’tor as its head. The Sundrop had calmed and comforted. Perhaps it had indeed driven them out of the Khala, but after what Korlendir had just experienced, he was not certain that was a bad thing. They had been close under the care of the Xava’tor. Even though the Benefactor had been revealed to be of dark templar origins—a dark archon, no less—Korlendir wondered, keeping the thought shielded, if perhaps Ulrezaj had been wronged.

  Korlendir glanced over at Vartanil. He and Selendis sat palm to palm, and the young khalai was deeply at peace and happy. For a moment, Korlendir envied him.

  He sat for a while longer, then rose and left the building.

  He did not head toward the record chambers, nor the templar tower. He let his feet take him where they would. They took him through the city, bathed in the near-constant twilight and pocked with the strange architectural designs he was beginning to understand were typical of the dark templar. Korlendir glared up at them once, then lowered his head. He wa
lked almost all day, until the buildings began to thin and the purple, hazy sky above him opened up. Finally, he lifted his head, and his eyes widened at what he beheld. He knew what it was, even though he had never seen it before.

  It rose majestically in the distance, towering over the blasted landscape that encircled it. Four triangles that met at the top, it seemed at first to Korlendir to be comprised of multicolored lights. He realized as he drew closer, breaking into a loping run even though he had been walking for hours, that it was a solid crystalline structure.

  The xel’naga temple. The reason that the dark templar had chosen to settle here instead of anywhere else they had discovered on their long journey. They had taken its presence as a sign, and now, as Korlendir hastened toward the temple that seemed a shining beacon of hope, he took it as a sign as well.

  For the last few years, he had dwelt in such a place. Deep beneath the surface of Aiur was a labyrinthine world of swirling, beautiful, luminous harmony, and the Forged had made it their home. Not all of it, for the Benefactor forbade them to explore certain areas, but much of it. The xel’naga had made those chambers beneath Aiur, and they had made this heart-stoppingly beautiful temple that reached toward the swirling blue clouds.

  He slowed as he approached, wondering how he would be received, and stood hesitating on the stairs that climbed upward. A sound reached him; a sort of humming, singing sound, more melody than random noise. For a moment, he closed his eyes, the better to simply listen to the song. Then, still listening to the haunting sound, Korlendir opened his eyes and craned his neck, gazing raptly at the sheer beauty of the structure. A thought brushed his, gentle, soft.

  “Welcome, brother, to the temple of the xel’naga.”

  Korlendir turned to regard what must be one of the acolytes of the temple. The figure, light gray in color, bowed deeply. He was dressed in white robes that draped his body with artful effortlessness. In the light of this sacred place, the garb seemed to have a soft radiance of its own. Peace flowed from the acolyte.

  Korlendir, templar born and bred, gave the acolyte a stiff and formal salute. He felt large and awkward amid this place of seemingly fragile beauty, next to this delicately made tender of the temple, whose name he knew was Taarim. The chambers beneath Aiur were kin to the one he stood in now, but subtly different.

  Reading his surface thoughts, Taarim brightened. “Ah! You are one of our lost brethren from our ancient and longed-for homeland, returned to us. Welcome, welcome indeed. What brings you to the temple?”

  “I—do not know,” Korlendir answered truthfully. “I did not feel like I belonged anywhere else.”

  He did not meet Taarim in the Khala, not quite, but he freely opened his thoughts and experiences to the younger protoss. Taarim did likewise, and Korlendir learned that those of the Shelak bloodline were now the main guardians of this temple, even though they were not dark templar. They had a long history of understanding and protecting xel’naga artifacts, so it was no difficult decision to turn the care of this precious place over to them.

  “Yes…I and the other Shelak descendants were born to care for this place,” Taarim said, spreading his arms wide and seeming to embrace the temple. “But others are sometimes called to come here, others who are not of Shelak lineage. Judicator or Khalai or…” and Taarim half closed his eyes and tilted his head, “…Templar caste, it matters not here. Even some of the dark templar have stayed, working together with us. The songs of the crystal are merely pleasant sounds to some. To others, they sing to their very souls.”

  Emotion flooded Korlendir. He staggered and Taarim caught his arm with steady yet gentle support. “You have endured much,” the Shelak said. “Come, my brother, for if I am certain of anything, I am certain you belong here.”

  Taarim steered Korlendir inside. Almost overwhelmed with a sense of belonging he had not felt since Alzadar had disrupted the calm and tranquility known by the Forged, Korlendir let himself be led into a cool alcove. He sank gratefully to the floor, which was covered with soft pillows. The illumination was provided by glowing crystals, which hovered gracefully as though borne by unseen hands. All around him still, the crystals sang.

  Other acolytes were there, and more drifted in, piqued by curiosity. Korlendir saw that Taarim had spoken truly, for while most of those he saw were clearly of the Shelak bloodline, others were from different castes. Indeed, he even saw the sharp, spiked features of a dark templar.

  Taarim began to speak. He told of the day four years ago when, frightened almost beyond reason, thousands of terrified protoss fled from their homeworld to this twilight world of Shakuras. He told of Tassadar’s sacrifice, the attack of the zerg upon Shakuras, the need to harness both traditional and dark templar energies to activate the great crystals, the Khalis and the Uraj, in order to save a second protoss world from the zerg. Korlendir listened raptly.

  He had been raised to believe that it was the templar who protected the protoss. And in times before, it was. But now he realized that it was the Shelak who had always kept alive what it truly meant to be protoss. The Khalai caste built the infrastructure, harnessed science and technology, and created beautiful things simply because beauty was as necessary as air and light. The Judicator caste defined the laws and kept to the true path, and the Templar caste protected the physical bodies of the protoss.

  Beyond and deeper than all this was the true essence—the knowledge of the xel’naga, the Wanderers from Afar, the Great Teachers. They and their wisdom were there before the protoss found even the Khala, and they and their wisdom were here now, at this vital juncture in time, at a crossroads for protoss history.

  “Let me be part of this,” Korlendir all but begged, his skin mottling with deep emotion.

  “You already are, brother, by coming here today,” Taarim assured him. “Do you turn from your path of templar, then? Do you seek to be a guardian of the ancient things, a protector of old wisdom, and a harbinger of a glorious future for our people?”

  “With all that I am, I do.”

  They met in the Khala then, and Taarim could see the sincerity in Korlendir’s heart. Taarim turned to another white-robed protoss and nodded. The other bowed and hastened away.

  “There is no turning back when you start this path. For this is a path of deep secrets and lore and knowledge. There is more to us than this simple temple, my brother. Far, far more. If you betray us, retribution will be merciless and swift.”

  “I understand.”

  And then joy leaped in Korlendir as he detected a familiar, sweet, cloying scent.

  He had come home indeed.

  CHAPTER 6

  IF IT HADN’T BEEN FOR THE FACT THAT HE WAS dying and that Zamara had a universe-shattering secret she needed to share, Jake thought he might never have been happier.

  The place was gorgeous. He could understand why Zeratul—or indeed any sane member of a sentient species—would see this place as a refuge. Too, there were all kinds of remnants of alien races, which Jake spotted longingly as the small vessel flew with startling speed and silence over the planet’s surface.

  Maybe one day I’ll get back here, he said to Zamara as the enticing pile of clearly non-naturally-occurring rubble below him retreated into the distance.

  I hope you do, Jacob. But we must find the most likely spot to encounter the prelate. We wish to be found, not hide amongst ruins.

  Jake sighed. I used to love doing that. Hide amongst ruins.

  But now you are at the forefront of a battle that will change everything.

  If I live long enough to tell anybody.

  We will. The firmness of Zamara’s reply was heartening.

  So, what exactly are we looking for?

  The place where Zeratul either is…or to which he will return. I will know it when I see it.

  Jake’s mind went back to worrying about the warp gate. Zamara seemed to think it would eventually open for them.

  Yes, Jacob, as I said before, I think at some point we will be permitted o
n Shakuras. However, I would imagine that all gates that open onto Shakuras are closed at this time. Unless Rosemary and the others can convince the protoss that the information I bear is more important than a possible invasion of Shakuras, I doubt they will open the gates any time soon.

  Oh great.

  Do not lose hope, Jacob.

  He tried not to. He really did. But the headaches were growing more frequent and more severe, and he knew that despite her calm demeanor and words of reassurance, Zamara, too, was worried that time would run out on them.

  I should have been faster, Jake sighed. I lingered too long. I gave them enough time to shut the gate before I tried to go through.

  True, said Zamara mercilessly, and Jake winced slightly. But it is difficult to blame you for your desire to see the destruction of Ulrezaj. I admit, I, too, would have taken pleasure in knowing for certain that he was no longer a threat. Regardless, what is done is done, and regret serves us nothing.

  He nodded, still gazing at the landscape unfolding beneath him. If it hadn’t been tinged with that peculiar yet soothing rose-gold wash, it would look like the holovids of old Earth he’d seen. Meadows, oceans, trees, mountains…glorious.

  Tell me about Zeratul.

  I will show you. But it will take…context.

  Trusting her completely, Jake let her take charge of piloting the vessel—she was anyway, really, he was more or less just along for the ride—and opened to the wave of memories.

  Clad in the glorious, graceful ceremonial armor that was his right to wear as a high templar and the leader of the vast protoss fleet, Tassadar stood on the bridge of the Gantrithor, staring out at what remained of the human colony they called “Chau Sara.”

  “It is done,” he said, sorrow tingeing his mental voice.

  Jake tilted her head and regarded—

  “Holy crap, Zamara, I’m you! I mean, it’s you!” Jake had always had an instant understanding of whose identity he was sharing in these moments. He was that protoss, as well as himself, but it felt odd to be both Jake Ramsey and Zamara, whom he had come to know so well.