To Dream in the City of Sorrows (29 page)

The great structure loomed before them in the dark, moonless night, dark except for a flashing beacon at the very top, and a soft glow of lights at the landing area. There was no light at all shining from inside the palace, and Sinclair assumed that all the windows had been turned from clear to opaque, to prevent any light from escaping.

The first thing Sinclair noticed on landing was how many guards were about. During his only other visit to the palace, when he had agreed to become Ranger One, he had seen fewer Minbari throughout the entire building than he now saw on the landing strip, and near the palace entrance. The next thing he noticed was how utterly quiet it was. When the sound of the flyer’s engine died away, Sinclair heard nothing else but the muffled sound of his and Rathenn’s footsteps.

The guards were Minbari military caste, heavily armed, and gave Sinclair the uneasy feeling he was about to run a gauntlet when they quickly and silently formed two facing lines. Rathenn lead Sinclair through the line into the building.

Guards also stood at attention everywhere Sinclair looked within the palace, which was also filled with a nearly tangible hush, and even more dimly lit than during his last visit. But as before, Rathenn led him quickly and effortlessly through the maze of halls and stairs, and brought him at last to a wide hallway that ended in a massive set of doors, guarded by nine Minbari warriors, four on either side, and one standing front and center. The guards moved quickly to open the doors before Rathenn and Sinclair. As on his first visit, Sinclair found himself standing in a small antechamber, which became pitch-dark when the double doors closed behind them. Then a smaller door in front of them parted and slid open, letting in a faint glow of light.

Sinclair entered a cavernous room. At the far end, near the back wall, Jenimer lay in a bed tilted at a forty-five-degree angle and set high enough off the floor so that the Minbari leader’s head was nearly at the level of those standing nearby. Tall, flickering candles set in elaborate floor stands were just behind the bed and provided the room’s only light. At the foot of the bed was a single tall staff, set into the floor, holding a Triluminary.

On one side of the bed stood three doctors, looking on with grave concern, but doing nothing else. On the other side of the bed was an elderly female Minbari, who had noticed Sinclair’s and Rathenn’s entrance. Sinclair saw her gently touch the Chosen One’s arm, and whisper to him. Who was she? She showed an intimacy with the Chosen One Sinclair had never seen anyone else take. It must be Jenimer’s wife? Jenimer had never discussed his personal life with him, and Sinclair had believed it impolite by Minbari standards to ask.

Jenimer turned his head just a little, but nothing more. From where Sinclair was standing at the other end of the large room, it seemed as if Jenimer’s eyes were closed. No one else in the room moved, and nothing else happened. In the heavy stillness, he thought it unwise to ask any questions of Rathenn, standing nearby, so Sinclair took a moment to look more carefully around the dimly lit room.

There were a great many other Minbari in the room, more than he had first assumed, most half hidden in the shadows at the room’s edges, all silent and motionless. He tried to get a better look at who was there.

The first one he recognized was Neroon as their gazes locked briefly, the Minbari warrior having taken his eyes off Jenimer for one moment to observe Sinclair. Neroon managed to convey disdain as he turned his head away from Sinclair and back toward his leader. Neroon stood with his head covered by the hooded cape the Grey Council members wore, and Sinclair assumed that the other hooded figures around Neroon comprised the rest of the council.

Elsewhere in the room, Sinclair recognized a handful of representatives from the Council of Caste Elders, and wondered if the entire council was present. There were many more Minbari he did not recognize at all, from the very old to the very young. He even saw one young Minbari with a sleeping infant in her arms.

He did not see Ulkesh, but something told Sinclair he was somewhere nearby, maybe even standing in one of the darkened areas his vision could not penetrate.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sinclair saw Jenimer’s wife move. As he turned his focus back to the bed, he saw her bending toward her husband, listening. The Chosen One’s hand gestured slightly. Jenimer’s wife straightened, looked in Sinclair’s direction, and gestured for him to come forward.

Sinclair glanced around to make sure he was indeed the one being summoned, then crossed the empty center of the large room to Jenimer’s side. As he did, Jenimer’s wife moved a discreet distance away.

The Minbari leader’s eyes were closed, leaving Sinclair unsure what to do. Should he say something or wait? Finally, he decided he should say something, and in a soft voice said: “Chosen One?”

Jenimer’s eyes flickered open, and the hint of a smile crossed his features. He reached out to Sinclair, who took Jenimer’s hand between his own hands, and bent down a little closer.

After another moment, in which Jenimer seemed to be gathering his strength, he spoke in English, in a barely audible whisper. “Remember me kindly.”

Sinclair found himself fighting back unexpected tears. “With the greatest affection,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “And friendship.”

That seemed to please Jenimer. Sinclair went to release his hand, assuming that was all the Minbari had the strength to say, but was surprised when Jenimer tightened his grip on Sinclair’s hand, and spoke again, this time in the religious-caste dialect. “Continue to dream. You dream for us all.” Then he closed his eyes and released Sinclair’s hand.

When Jenimer’s wife returned to the bedside, Sinclair backed away slowly, then turned and walked back to his original place by the door.

What did Jenimer mean? Sinclair wondered. Was it a reference to the proverb the Chosen One had told him when they first went to Tuzanor, that to dream in the City of Sorrows was to dream of a better future? It seemed likely that’s all Jenimer meant, with the added implication that his work with the Rangers was the way toward that better future. And yet if Jenimer had simply wanted to reinforce his wish that Sinclair continue to function as Ranger One, he could have said so more directly.

But perhaps it was simply the Minbari penchant for poetic ambiguity. He had never told Jenimer of the nightmares that regularly tormented him, so the Minbari leader could not have known what a conflicting image the word dream summoned up for Sinclair.

Once again, Jenimer’s wife motioned for someone to come forward. Sinclair saw a moment of silent confusion among the members of the Grey Council until it became clear that Neroon alone was being summoned to Jenimer’s side.

Neroon hid his surprise with a posture of dignity, then briskly walked over. Jenimer’s wife moved away to give them privacy. As with Sinclair, Jenimer reached out to take Neroon’s hand in his clasp. The stiff-backed warrior bent closer to Jenimer, his stern expression softening just a little. Jenimer whispered to him and released his hand. Jenimer’s wife returned to the bedside. Neroon straightened, and walked much more slowly back to his place, an unreadable expression on his face.

As the old Minbari bent down to talk to her husband, Sinclair continued to study Neroon, who stood stiffly alone, keeping what Jenimer had said to himself.

Then Sinclair realized there was a flurry of activity around Jenimer. All three doctors were at his side, checking him, conferring in soft, urgent tones. Jenimer’s wife stood just a little behind them, and Sinclair recognized the rigid control of grief he saw in her face and posture.

One of the doctors went to the back wall, opened a hidden panel, and a previously unseen door slid open. Instantly nine guards entered, each carrying a folded section of a dark fabric screen that they quickly set up around Jenimer’s bed, cutting it off from view.

Rathenn was at Sinclair’s elbow, speaking quietly. “Follow me, please.”

The entire wall behind them, which contained the small door through which they had entered, now parted at the center and moved aside to reveal the large main doors. These were opened by the guards. Rathenn and Sinclair were the first to leave, followed by a long single-file line of silent mourners. In his quick glance back, Sinclair did not see any Grey Council members among them.

Sinclair was too stunned by the sudden loss of his friend to ask where they were going or for what purpose. As ill as Jenimer had been from the first moment Sinclair had met him, it was hard to believe that such a powerful personality was simply gone.

Rathenn led Sinclair into a dark room illuminated only by faintly glowing crystals set flush into the floor, which he used to find his way through the room. Sinclair followed after him, and found himself growing irritated. Why the hell don’t they just turn the lights on? he thought. What is going on now?

He heard the room fill with people, though no one spoke. After a few moments, absolute silence descended. Sinclair stood there, waiting with the rest, but growing more and more angry. He knew it arose from his tremendous sense of loss, but damn it, why couldn’t the Minbari do anything in a straightforward fashion?

A faint beam of light grew slowly to dazzling brightness in what Sinclair now assumed was the middle of the room, not too far from where he was standing. Overhead, he now saw a huge multipart mechanism, like a massive abstract mobile, rotating silently. Sinclair had been in a room like this once before, as prisoner on the Minbari warship. The Minbari were far too fond of the motif to suit Sinclair.

Neroon, his hood thrown back, stepped into the light, and spoke in the warrior-caste dialect. “The Chosen One’s soul has returned to the great void from which we all arise, and to which we will all someday return,” he said in a loud, clear voice, devoid of emotion. From the assembled Minbari in the darkness arose a rhythmic murmur, as if in unison they were chanting a prayer. Sinclair tried, but could not make out the words. He turned to where Rathenn had been, but Sinclair found he was now standing alone, with no one other than Neroon in sight.

Neroon waited, his head down, motionless, silent, as if lost in thought, until finally the voices died away. He raised his head and began to pace slowly away from Sinclair and around the outer edge of the circle of light. “Our leader has at last gone to the sea, but he left us with his final edict, which he entrusted to my safekeeping with his last breath.”

Neroon stopped in front of Sinclair, and regarded him with a contemptuous look that his carefully neutral voice did not convey. “It was our Chosen One’s sole last wish that Jeffrey David Sinclair of Earth be ordained, in the proper ceremony, before a quarter lunar cycle concludes, as Entil’Zha to follow in the sacred way of Valen. And thus it shall be done.”

Neroon bowed his head slightly to Sinclair. A second later, the room was plunged into total darkness, causing Sinclair to involuntarily tense against a possible attack in the dark. He willed himself to relax – not even Neroon would do such a thing at this time, in this place, and waited for whatever was next.

Light filtered into the room from above, as skylights slowly turned from dark gray to clear glass, letting in the early morning sun. Neroon was still standing square in front of him, and Rathenn was once again at Sinclair’s side.

Sinclair started to ask Rathenn for an explanation, but the Minbari held up a hand, indicating Sinclair should wait. When the room had emptied of everyone but Sinclair, Rathenn, and Neroon, and the last door was closed, Rathenn spoke.

“As a Satai of the religious caste I will prepare you for the ceremony, Anla’shok Na, as our departed leader has decreed.”

“And I am Satai of the warrior caste,” Neroon said, all the contempt now back in his voice. “I do not know why our departed leader chose me for this unhappy task, but I will carry out my duty and oversee the preparations for the ceremony.”

“But you’d rather not,” Sinclair said.

“The Chosen One’s last decree is sacred,” Neroon said bitterly, then turned to leave. Sinclair stopped him.

“Satai Neroon, no one heard that decree but you. Jenimer did not say anything of it to me.”

Neroon regarded Sinclair intently.

“So, I’m curious,” Sinclair continued. “Why did you go ahead and make public an edict that you so obviously disagree with, when you could just as easily have said nothing at all?”

Rathenn looked scandalized at just the idea.

Neroon was scornful. “Only a Human could ask such a question!”

“Maybe,” Sinclair said, not at all insulted. “But I don’t believe that only a Human would think it. If you can tell me with absolute truthfulness, Satai Neroon, that the thought never even crossed your mind, you don’t have to answer my question.”

Neroon glared angrily at Sinclair but did not answer right away. Finally, he said: “I will answer your question, but only because I have no reason not to. I honor our leader’s last request because it is my duty to do so. Because I had come to respect the Chosen One as a person of will and strength, all the more impressive because of his physical frailty.

“And because I am told, whatever else you may be or represent, that you do not believe this outrageous falsehood about the transference of our souls to your Human species any more than I do. Yes, I was told the story when I joined the Grey Council. Had I been told at the Battle of the Line that this was the reason we were surrendering, I would never have stopped fighting.”

“And you’re proud to say that?” Sinclair asked. “Proud to admit you would have carried on with genocide? Even now?”

Sinclair wondered if he didn’t see just a trace of uncertainty in Neroon’s eyes.

“The past is dead. What concerns me is the present and the future. And if the Rangers,” Neroon emphasized the English word disparagingly, “are to be mostly Human, I see little harm in a Human Entil’Zha. As long as he does not fancy himself to be Minbari, or covet any position of power among my people. But know that we will be watching carefully.”

“See,” Sinclair said, “we have more in common than you want to admit.”