Темное, кривое зеркало. Том 3 : След на песке.

"Oh…. that's Nelson Drake. He's a…. bodyguard of some sort for Mr. Trace."

"And this Trace is…?"

"A good man. Oh yes, a really fine man. He really cares for us here in three-o-one. He looks after us, makes sure no one's causing any trouble…. you…. you know how it is."

"Protection rackets." Smith sighed. "Why don't Security do anything?"

"Security? Hah…. They don't care about us here. Mr. Trace…. he…. he cares. He looks out for us."

"Based on what I've just seen, I don't think I'd want to be looked after by people like him. I think it's time to take a trip to see someone. Which way is it to the local Security Headquarters?"

* * *

The Shadow ship stopped dead in space, paralysed and helpless, held there as if by a giant hand from heaven.

"Now!" roared Corwin. "Hit it!"

Forward cannons blazed into life and rammed into the body of the vessel. It trembled slightly.

The other two ships bore down on the Babylon, seeking to free their companion. A Drazi Sunhawk darted forward, striking at the nearest of the ships. The Sunhawk's blows slid off the black, living surface, but the ship turned, momentarily distracted.

Brakiri ships moved forward, the telepaths on board straining to hold back the Shadows. The remaining ship bearing down on the Babylonstopped, struggling to move forward. The other ship turned and fired, and the Brakiri ship died in a silent explosion.

The forward cannons on the Babylonstopped their assault on the trapped vessel. It collapsed and disintegrated before their eyes, dead.

The Babylonturned and moved to protect its allies.

* * *

Valen had walked into darkness many times. Kozorr knew most of the tales about Valen, but the one he kept thinking of was the descent into the pit at Z'ha'dum, to rescue Derannimer and confront the traitor, Parlonn.

Had he known fear as he walked alone into the darkness? He must have done. Above him there was fire and bloodshed, as the Vorlons and the Minbari fleet led by Marrain attacked the Shadows' homeworld. It had been one of the last battles of the Shadow War.

Kozorr didn't like to think about how it had ended. Derannimer had been saved, Parlonn defeated, but the cost…. had been so high.

He had not spent much time in Cathedral. The place…. unnerved him in some way. He had been content to lead from the Valentha, or from the other capital ships. Cathedral had always seemed a dark place, more like a stronghold of the Enemy than a focus of leadership for the Minbari. Sinoval was happy there, but then he had been bewitched by the Shagh Toth.

Kozorr had not actually seen many of them in his journey down into the bowels of Cathedral. Those he had seen had been further up, in the towers and turrets and vast, measureless halls. He supposed the engines must be down here somewhere, but something else would be here as well.

The corridor was getting smaller and narrower. He was having to duck to get through it, but he was certain this was the way. There were lights embedded in the walls, so he could see. Small globes. He thought he could hear soft whispers of conversation from them.

Finally the corridor ended at a door. It was vast, much larger than the corridor had been. Puzzled, he turned round, and saw an impossibly wide and tall hall stretching back into darkness. He had just come down there…. it had not been so huge before.

Who comes? asked a voice from nowhere. W ho seeks answers in the Well of Souls?

The Well of Souls. This was the right place then. According to Sonovar's alien allies, Valen had once come here, a thousand years ago. That story had not been known to Kozorr, or indeed to any Minbari. The Tak'cha claimed to have been there however.

They had also told him what to say to gain admittance.

"I am one who comes in the memory of Valen's bargain, and in acceptance of his sacrifice."

There was a moment's silence, and then in an instant every light around him went out, leaving him in utter darkness. He did not show any surprise or fear, although he felt both. He was a Minbari warrior, after all. Valen had come to his place and gained entry. He would do no less.

You may enter, Child of Valen, Child of Twilight, Child of Fire. Enter, but leave behind that which is required, in acceptance of his sacrifice.

He knew what that meant. In all honesty he had no intention of leaving anything behind, but the gift that was necessary had been brought with him, just in case. The Tak'cha had advised him that forgetting it would not be a good idea.

The door did not open. There did not seem to be any hinges, or any mechanism for opening. It was simply that one minute it was there, and the next minute it wasn't. Breathing deeply, Kozorr crossed the threshold and stepped into the Well of Souls.

All the breath left his body at his first sight of that ancient place. He could not feel anything, smell anything, hear anything. It was as if all his normal senses had shut down, and new ones had sprung up in their place.

There was one thing he did know, one thing he had learned from the Tak'cha. This was a place where the dead did not rest. It was a place where they lived.

It was a vast chamber, impossibly vast, larger than the Temple of Varenni which housed the Starfire Wheel, larger even it seemed than the library at Yedor, or the Temple of Remembrance at Tuzanor.

It seemed to be made out of stone, but a type he had never seen before. Dotted everywhere in the walls were tiny specks of light. There were millions of them. Each one, he knew, was a captured soul. He also knew that they were speaking somehow, although not by words or sounds or telepathy…. but by…. something else.

He walked forward, lost in a dream. He dared to look up, and found himself staring into space. The stars were above him, but none he recognised. No constellations he knew could be seen, nothing familiar. Were they even stars, or just more souls?

He was snapped back to something resembling reality when he found himself in front of a small shrine. It was a pathetically humble thing, but he knew what it represented, what made it one of the holiest places in Minbari history.

A small altar of stone, marked by two words, and a small white flower, perfectly preserved despite the hundreds of years it had been there. Valen himself had laid it there, speaking the words that were now marked on the shrine. He had come here to this very spot, a thousand years before. The histories did not speak of that moment at all, and of those who knew of it — the Shagh Toth themselves, the Tak'cha — none of them would say why.