A Dark, Distorted Mirror. Volume 4. A Future, Born in Pain

'Of course, my lady. Anything. What do you wish of me?'

She told him.

* * *

Lunacy. Absolute lunacy.

Oh, he had tried to protest, tried to insist that there was someone more suitable, but she would have none of it. No one could dissuade Kats when she set her mind to a task.

'But I am no priest.... Surely one of the religious caste....'

'We wish it to be you.'

'Have.... have all the rituals been performed?'

'Some, but not others. Some we could not perform, others were not appropriate. The old ways are gone now, Sinoval. They can never come back, so why should we be shackled by old customs? We have been thinking about this....'

'We?'

'Well.... I have been. We want this to be you. No one else will.... It would not be the same.'

'But....'

'I understand that you must go, and I understand that I may never see you again. We both do. But will you truly go without leaving us anything to remember you by?'

'No.... No, I could never deny you anything, my lady. Nothing that was in my power to give you. Allow me some time to prepare.'

She had smiled, a smile that could have outshone stars.

And so it was that Sinoval, Primarch Majestus et Conclavus, Master of Cathedral, found himself performing the ceremony that wed a warrior who had given up his weapons, and a worker who carried hers in her heart.

It was far from being a traditional ceremony, but then that would have been impossible anyway. For one thing there was no holy ground, except for the vast chapel that was the Well of Souls. There were no witnesses apart from a million souls of the dead, their spirits joined in happiness and wonder.

Never before, the Well told him, and he was sure he could hear the Primarch's voice foremost in the music that came with the words. Never before has there been such joy here, and from only two souls. We thank you for this experience, Primarch. It is not something we had imagined we would feel.

'Never before has there been such joy,' Sinoval mused, knowing that Kats and Kozorr could not hear his words. He knew full well the blood and torment that had forged this place. 'And it is doubtful there will be again, not within their lifetimes certainly.' He knew what neither of them knew. Kozorr was dying. One day, very soon, his life would just.... stop.

'But they have the present, and they will always have their memories. Perhaps, in the end.... that will be enough.'

And he had something to take with him as well, something to take on his lonely and barren war, a war that would never end. He had their happiness, their smiles, their joy.

And he had the sheer pride as he ended the ceremony. It had been a mix and match of various cultures, various words and deeds, but it ended as so many did, across worlds and races and nations.

'You may kiss.'

And they did.

Sinoval smiled. His war beckoned, but as he looked at the two of them, so very much in love, it was the first time he had had even the slightest idea of what he was fighting for.

And for that he thanked them.

Chapter 3

'Well, at least that's over now. We can begin preparing for the future.'

'I do not believe we have much of a future. Not any more.'

'Oh, you do. It just isn't the sort of future you might have imagined you were going to have.'

* * *

The End.

I have no face.

Not any more.

This morning I did. This morning I had a face, I had a name, I had an identity. Now I have none of these things. I have a crown that gives me a headache, a throne that I do not like sitting in and an image in a mirror that I do not recognise as myself. I do not have a name. I have a title.

It is Emperor.

The room is quiet. I am the only one here, alone.... alone with my throne, my crown, my robes. Alone with the two bodies on the floor and the ghosts of my friends.

There is a hole in the corner. It is marked with shadows, a place where my friend used to stand, saying nothing that did not need to be said, merely watching. He does not stand there any longer. He is gone, and he will not be returning.

Who am I?

I am the Emperor.

I am nobody.

I am Emperor because a madman did not want to be, because he would rather die than take the crown and the throne for himself. There was a time when I was determined to deny him his final laugh, to prove him wrong, to create a dynasty that would endure beyond myself, deep into the future. I would not let him win.

I was blind. We were all blind, because he has won. Not in the way he might have foreseen, but he has won all the same. I will be the last Emperor of the Centauri Republic, and the people to come after will curse my name for my weakness and my failure.

I have no name. All who knew it are gone.

I sit down on my uncomfortable throne and hear the angry words still hanging in the air. I look at the body on the floor and remember that I used to have a name, even a face.

Now I have nothing.

Congratulations, Cartagia. You were right. All along, you were right.

Who am I?

No one.

* * *

The Beginning.

The memory was still fresh. The image of that.... nightmare passing across the sky, blotting out the light. The echoes of its long scream still sounded in his mind.

For one moment he almost forgot who was next to him.

'Blessed G'Quan,' the Narn pilot was whispering. 'You were right....'

For that one moment their struggle had been forgotten. Londo looked at his opponent again, seeing him with new eyes. The Narn was shaking, trembling with a revelation long hidden. He had seen religious fanatics in the streets of the capital, and the Narn had the same gleam in his eyes.

A few moments ago they had been trying to kill each other. Then they had heard that scream, and the thing had passed overhead.

Londo was half–afraid it would return to destroy them. Then he wondered if it could care. What were they to creatures such as it? Nothing more than insects, than microbes. He knew somehow that it was immeasurably old, an ancient and terrible malevolence. And he knew, he knew in the whispers and cries of the insane and in the dreams of dying men.... he knew that these creatures would come to his home.

'Blessed G'Quan,' the Narn said again.