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

He closed his eyes and began to concentrate. He could feel her. A million souls on Tarolin 2, and he could see them all. Hers shone brightest.

He stepped forward and the pinnacle faded away. He did not fall, instead the air seemed to warp around him. He could hear voices whispering and crackling as he continued to walk. His eyes remained closed. Opening them would.... not be wise, even for one as experienced at this as he was. There were many dimensions that could be seen if one chose to look. Mortal beings looked at the realm they called hyperspace and thought they knew it all. They did not realise that space could be travelled in other ways.

And there were beings on the other side, straining to break through. Monsters, abominations, horrors, beings so filled with hatred that they wanted to wipe out everything on this world. He could feel them, but he was not afraid. The Vorlons would keep them back, and the Well of Souls would fight them if they came.

There. Here she was. The Primarch stopped and willed himself to slip between the worlds again. There was a rush of air and a burst of light. He opened his eyes and found himself in the corner of a room. He stepped forward into the light.

He could see her now, facing the door with her back to him. She was seated at a desk, writing something, flipping through papers, hard at work, buried in her responsibilities, hoping no doubt to be free of her suffering through her duties.

The Primarch sighed. She had had a hard life, and no doubt things would become no easier. Mortal beings had a terrible burden sometimes.

'My lady,' he said formally.

She started, and turned. For a moment a flash of panic crossed her face, but then she saw who it was and her fear turned to surprise.

'You thought I was someone else,' he said. 'A face that haunts your dreams.'

'Some faces that used to,' she replied carefully. 'How did you get in here? There are guards on the door, and no other way in or out.'

'No other way accessible by mortal beings,' he replied. 'I have other ways, and I thought it wise not to let your guards know I am here. This meeting must not become known to Sinoval.'

'I.... see.' She rose from her desk and went to a nearby table. There was a small pitcher of a clear liquid there, and two glasses. She poured a glass for herself. 'Do you wish something to drink?'

'The need for food and drink has long since passed me by. It has been so long since last I drank, I fear I have forgotten how.'

She returned to her seat by the desk and turned the chair round. 'You've come to talk about Sinoval, haven't you?'

'Very perceptive, my lady.'

'I.... saw him when he returned. He wanted to see Sherann. He has.... a plan. Something's going to happen, isn't it? Something.... bad.'

'He wishes to....'

'No!'

The Primarch paused, mildly surprised by the conviction in her voice.

'No. I don't want to know.'

'You are his conscience.'

'I was his conscience. Not any longer.'

'What he is planning.... I will not say it is not laudable. It is a strategist's approach to things. The work of a master tactician. I have heard his plan, developed with the unknowing aid of your friend Sherann. It may well work.

'But the price.... He must not do this. It will damn him, and all of us with him. I have tried to explain, but his anger, his darkness is such that he will not listen. Too many betrayals recently, too many defeats.... he has lost too much.

'Only you, my lady. Only you can turn him aside from this path.'

'No,' she whispered. 'No.... I cannot.'

'My lady....'

'Don't call me that! I am tired. Tired of all this. I'm not a warrior. They are trained from birth to give up everything for the sake of our people. They will sacrifice their lives, their friends, their families.... their loves.... for the greater good, the good of our people. I'm not a warrior. They fight, they die!

'I build.'

'Then build a better world. Talk to him! He will listen to you.'

'No. I will not.... become involved.... in whatever he plans. He can go to war, he can shed innocent blood, he can do whatever he wishes. I will remain here, and build.'

The Primarch breathed out slowly, and nodded. 'I understand.' She was his last hope. He knew what he had to do now. It would not be easy, he could feel that, but it would have to be done. 'People will die, my lady. A great many people will die if Sinoval continues to walk the dark path he walks now.'

'There are worse fates than death.'

'Yes,' he said, with complete understanding. 'Yes, there are. You have suffered enough for one lifetime, my lady. I will leave you here.... to your building. Be at peace, and be happy.'

He turned and left. It was time to return to Cathedral and prepare himself for what was to come.

There are worse fates than death.

* * *

A great man.

Am I a great man?

Sonovar stood alone on the bridge of the E'ibrek K'Tarr, lost in thought. Ramde Cozon was deep in discussion with the other Ramde of the fleet, and maybe even with their authorities. Sonovar knew very little about the social and governmental organisation of the Tak'cha, and he did not care. He knew their strength in battle, he knew their fanaticism, and he knew their never-ending desire to atone for their sin. That was enough for him.

'Am I a great man?' he whispered to himself, looking around at the empty room.

What is a great man? He had asked that question countless times, of himself, of his teachers, of Kats, of Kozorr.... What was the standard of greatness? What was it that made Valen or Nemain or Varmain great people? Was it even anything that could be measured?

He had to know.

For only if he knew the answer could he become great himself.

Forell had once come to him, appearing from nowhere in the slimy way he had, sidling up to him. He had remained there in silence for several minutes before asking a question. It had seemed simple enough, but it had taken Sonovar a very long time to formulate an answer.

'What do you want, great lord?'

'I want.... I want to be a hero. I want to be in all the books and lores and tales of history. I want my name to be written alongside that of Varmain, or Marrain, or Valen himself! I want to be great.

'I want to be great.'

Forell had hesitated for a moment, and then smiled. 'Then all this you shall have, great lord.'

For as long as he could remember, Sonovar had wanted to be a hero. He had always believed in the right of the hierarchy, of the leaders of the Fanes and the clans, and ultimately of the Grey Council itself. He would ascend that ladder, in time.

And yet he had watched as others less able than himself had climbed. He had observed as workers and priestlings raised their cronies and blocked the true warriors from advancing. He had served the Grey Council all those years, and what had he to show for it?

It had taken two people, one his greatest idol and the other his greatest enemy, to show him his true mistake.

Kalain had raised him to the Grey Council, and had then proceeded to abuse and profane that sacred institution. He had tortured and violated Kats in that most holy of places, in a sickening display. Sonovar had watched, confused and puzzled and privately revolted, but he had done nothing, because he believed. Kalain was of the Grey Council. Therefore, surely anything he did was for the good of Minbar?