Гэрет Уильямс - Темное, кривое зеркало. Том 3 : След на песке

• Название: Темное, кривое зеркало. Том 3 : След на песке
• Автор: Гэрет Уильямс
• Жанр: Эпическая фантастика

Год 2260, двенадцать лет прошло после уничтожения минбарцами Земли. Земной флот с помощью своих союзников, Теней, повернул ход войны вспять и превратил Минбар в отравленный пепел. Попытка Синевала восстановить свою власть над выжившими минбарцами была сорвана неожиданным появлением их величайшего пророка и вождя, вернувшегося наконец после многих тысяч лет отсутствия.

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Kozorr had been the first to swear fealty to Sinoval, the first to accept his rule and the changes that would come with it.

So why did Sinoval feel so strongly that something was wrong?

He had left his own quarters on Cathedral; dark, gloomy, majestic surroundings that they were, and was momentarily surprised by just how much he had got used to them. When had Cathedral started to become home? None of his people could stomach being on the place longer than absolutely necessary, but he had adapted to it easily.

He had wandered through corridors and rooms abstractly for some time, until he found himself at the pinnacle, the control centre of the ship. As he climbed up the many steps to the summit, he noticed his headache getting worse. By the time he reached the top and looked out at the vast spread of space below and above and all around him, his skull felt as though it was about to crack open.

"What is happening?" he asked slowly, knowing there was no one around to answer.

"A terrible thing," came a reply. He turned to see the Primarch Majestus et Conclavus take the final step to the pinnacle. The summit of the tower seemed to widen with the arrival of the newcomer. Before it had been large enough only for Sinoval, but it could now fit both of them comfortably. Sinoval had a feeling it could accommodate an army if it had to.

"The Well of Souls has been violated," the Primarch said.

"What is this…. Well of Souls?"

"The source of Cathedral's power, the source of our power, and our purpose. We have guarded it since time immemorial."

"You seem very…. calm, if someone has infiltrated it."

"I am. The Well will not permit itself to be damaged in any way. But I am still Primarch, and the Well is a part of me, just as I am a part of it. And you are also a part of it."

"Me?"

"All who dwell in Cathedral belong to the Well."

"So what's happening to it? Someone has…. tried to damage the Well of Souls. Who would do…. oh, Valen, no."

"It is of no account. The Well will deal with the intruder in its own fashion. You will merely feel a little ill until it is done. Some have tried to harm the Well before, and none has succeeded."

"You don't understand. How do I get to the Well? Where is it?"

"At the heart of Cathedral. To a large extent Cathedral was built around it."

"I must get there. Now!" He made for the steps, but the Primarch placed a hand on his shoulder.

"There is an easier way." He pointed to the depths of space all around them. "Jump from the pinnacle. Wish yourself there…. and you will be. The pinnacle is…. everywhere, after all. And everything."

"I…. jump?"

The Primarch nodded.

Sinoval drew Stormbringer, his dark blade, and rushed forward, throwing himself into space. Darkness swallowed him, and he was lost from view.

* * *

There was no victory procession as the Babylon and the few surviving Drazi and Brakiri ships returned to Kazomi 7. There was no parade through the streets, no crowds waving banners and singing praises.

There was just the solemn acceptance that a war was under way, a terrible war that would have awful consequences for all of them. The Alliance had been born from the horrors of war, and more than any other power in the galaxy, it did not want to have to relive them.

The wounded were taken to hospital, the dead to the morgues. Delenn went to see her beloved, and Lyta Alexander…. she went to rest alone in her quarters. As soon as she arrived there however, she discovered she was not alone.

You were not permitted to go, shouted the Vorlon's voice in her mind. Ulkesh moved slowly into view.

"I had to," Lyta whispered. "They're my friends, and they asked for my help. I had to help them."

<You will obey us in all things.>

She turned on the Vorlon, her eyes flashing angrily. "Why didn't you tell me?" she asked. "There was…. a moment in the battle when the…. the Shadow ship…. tried to talk to me. There's someone alive in there, in all of them! A human!"

<It was not for you to know.>

"Then you did know! Why didn't you tell me?"

<You will obey us in all things. You will know that which we permit you to know. You will not defy us. You may rest now.>

"I'm not your property, or your servant!"

Ulkesh's eye stalk flared angrily. She was thrown backwards, her body striking the wall hard. <You are both.>

Then he left.

* * *

Warleader G'Sten of the triumphant Narn Regime and Lord-General Marrago of the glorious Centauri Republic had known of each other for many years. They had only met in person twice; once where G'Sten had been cornered at the battle of Dros, and again when Marrago had been captured when the base in Quadrant 37 had been retaken.

Each of them had closely followed the career and fortunes of the other however, taking a great interest in where his rival was, what he was doing, how he was progressing. This was true even in the years of peacetime.

There was a sort of mutual respect between the two soldiers and leaders of soldiers, a respect that neither held for the majority of those commanding them. Sometimes, your closest companion can be your worst enemy.

As the jump points filled the skies above Centauri Prime and the Narn fleets came into view, each of them was aware that this would be the final time they would meet in battle. G'Sten aboard his Pride of the Kha'Ri, Marrago on the Valerius. Each of them looked up and smiled once, in memories of old battles fought and won and lost.

G'Sten gave the order, and the Narn fleet moved forward. Marrago sat back, sure that his defences would hold.

All around them space shimmered and twisted, and the mind of every being on every ship was filled with screams.

The Shadows had arrived.

* * *

Delenn sat alone by the shrine, looking up at it and sighing softly. Her wish, her one wish now, was that John could have seen it built and completed. He would have appreciated it.

He never would, now.

Immediately after her return from the battle — the victory, she had to keep reminding herself — she had gone to see him. She had taken the familiar walk down the hospital corridors, past all the turnings and doors she had seen countless times on this journey in the past few months.

This time was different. John's bed had been empty. All the machines had been switched off. The chair where she had slept so often had been removed.

Her heart pounding, she had run in search of a doctor, of anyone she could find. She received the answers from the physician who had been treating John all along.

"I'm sorry, Delenn," the doctor had said. "We'd been monitoring his condition closely, but his heart suddenly failed. It had nothing to do with the infection…. We think it might be a hereditary blood-related condition exacerbated by the recent…. trauma. We managed to re-start his heart, but he slipped into a coma. We had to move him into quarantine, and he's now on full life support. I'm sorry, Delenn…. but he's not going to wake up."

"There…. there must be hope," she had protested.

"We can pray for a miracle…. but short of that…. nothing. I'm so sorry."

Delenn had gone to see him anyway, against the doctor's advice. It hurt so much to look at him from behind layers and layers of glass and plastics, look at him lying still, his body kept alive only by machines, his soul trapped forever in an unmoving prison of flesh and bone.

His soul…. She thought of Sinoval and his Soul Hunters. Sinoval had told her of how the Soul Hunters had saved him from death at the Battle of the Line. Perhaps…. No. She shook her head. Better that John's soul should go on, to be reborn again, and live again, and love again. Better that than to be trapped forever.

She was suddenly aware of a shadow cast over her, and over the forecourt of the monument. She looked up, and heard the sound of music in her mind. The Vorlon was there, Ambassador Ulkesh Naranek. This was the first time she had seen him since his arrival. He had refused all invitations to attend the Council meetings.

She did not know why — nor why he was here, by the shrine he seemed to abhor.

<He is dying.>

Not a question. A simple statement. Ulkesh knew that.

"Yes," she whispered. "He has been dying for months."

<We can save him.>

"What?" She leapt to her feet. "You can help him?"

<Yes. We can cure wounds to body and spirit. He will walk again. He will move again. He will be purged of his infection. He will live again.>

"Oh, Valen," she breathed. "Then do it, please! Heal him!"

<There is a price.>

She gasped, and staggered back. "What price?" she breathed.

<You. Leave here. Leave this place. Do not return. Go.>

"What?" She could not believe it. How could…? "Why? I have always followed you. I was Dukhat's heir. I let one of you share my soul. I…. Why? Why must I go?"

<There will be no answers. You must leave this place and go to the Darkness at the edge of the galaxy.>

That she understood, and a cold darkness washed over her. She straightened. "You want me to go to Z'ha'dum?"

<Yes.>

"Why? What must I do there?"

<Die.>

Chapter 3

They were light and beauty, and majestic power personified. She knew that she should fall to her knees and give thanks for their very presence. These beings had been worshipped by races such as hers almost since the beginning of their recorded histories.

She hated them now, hated them with a passion she had never been able to muster for any other living thing. Not even when she had made her fateful, terrible mistake to order the beginning of the war with Earth, had Satai Delenn felt such sheer loathing for any being.

And yet she stood there, still and unmoving, watching as their light filled her world, and as their power healed the broken body of the man she loved.

A single tear ran down her cheek, but she gave no voice to her pain. She had accepted this choice. They had presented her with the options, and she had accepted the offer they had made.

Her life, for his.

She cast her mind back many years, back to when she had still been Satai, had still been Minbari. It had been in the Hall of the Grey Council, when there had still been a Grey Council. Sinoval had been there, when he had still been a warrior and a leader, not a dictator who bargained with aliens.

They had been discussing the status of the new Rangers. It had been shortly after Branmer's death and Neroon's disappearance. Delenn, Rathenn and Hedronn had been arguing for caution, only to be butted aside by Sinoval's arrogant and all-powerful confidence. He had said something that had always stuck with her, and she had mentally sworn to prove his statement wrong.

She had failed.

He had been right.

"This is a time for warriors, not healers."

This time did need warriors. The healers would come later, but what was there to heal with everyone dead? You could not bring peace to an enemy concerned only with your destruction. She had once believed it might be possible, but not now. And it might never be again.

John was a warrior. Even Sinoval had acknowledged as much, in his own way. Delenn would never be a warrior. She could fight when she had to, but her heart was never in it. The terrible mistake she had once made always haunted her whenever she was at war.

John was a warrior, and she was not. At this time, in this place, a warrior was needed. There would be other healers after the war, but warriors were needed to end it.

She hoped he would understand. She would leave a message, try to explain what she felt, why this had been necessary. She had composed the message in her mind, remembering all the things she could never say to him.

She had no idea how long she had been standing there. She had preparations to make, things to do…. for the future. But she could not tear herself away from this place. She had to watch, had to be sure.

Finally there was a movement beside her, and he was there, light and power and beauty and malice and conviction all in one form. She understood now why Sinoval hated the Vorlons so, why he would risk everything to destroy them. At this moment, she felt the same.

<It is done.>

"He is…." She swallowed. "He is healed?"

<Yes.>

"Of the virus?"

<Yes.>

"Of his injuries?"

<Yes.>

"Of his pain?"

<Yes.>

"One night. You promised us that much, remember? We will have one night together."

<Yes. We promised.>

"Good." She breathed out, harshly. "Is he…? Will he need time to recover?"

<He is well.>

She turned away from the being she hated more than anything else in the universe, and walked through the door to the chamber where she had last seen John. He had been trapped by wires and tubes and glass, a prisoner in his own body. She did not want to continue, afraid of what she would see now. What if the Vorlon had lied? What if they hadn't been able to cure him? What if…?

There he was. He was…. Oh, blessed Valen. He was standing.

She ran forward and he saw her there, his face breaking into a wide smile. "Delenn!" he cried. He stepped forward and spread out his arms to welcome her. He could move. He could touch her, feel her warmth and her tears and her love.

She held herself against him tightly, crying with joy and sorrow and terror.

He said her name over and over again. She said nothing. There was nothing she could say.

* * *

Narn and Centauri. For so long these two races had been linked by bloodshed and hatred and war. A cycle of vengeance that would never end. The Narns sought preservation and freedom for their race and their world. The Centauri wished a return to greater glories and higher victories.

The karmic wheel had spun around and around these two races many times before, and now it looked as if the war would finally be over, and one side would achieve total victory.

The Narns had taken many of the Centauri colonies, including their biggest supply worlds. The Centauri Royal Court had been torn by in-fighting, by civil war, by an insane group of fanatics and by chaos spread with the best of intentions. A desperate Centauri fleet had been assembled to try to hold off the Narns.

Each side was confident of victory, but the price in blood and lives would be high.

The Narn fleet bore down on the Centauri homeworld.

And then a third side intervened. Space shimmered, and they were there, ancient vessels built for the dissemination of chaos. They screamed as they came into sight, and without the slightest hesitation they made for the Narn fleet.

The first Narn warship died within moments, torn apart by the Shadow ships. A second soon followed. In those few moments the Narn war machine turned from disciplined order into anarchic chaos.