P'au Stykera
I do not own Farscape, Paul Goddard, Virginia Hey or anyone else that happens to pop up in this.
Planet Valldon
Somewhere in the uncharted territories
He couldn't sleep
He had never been able to truly sleep, not the way the others did, not since...
Since...
Explosions fire, pain, hatred, death...
Mustn't think about it.
Air, light is pure, the light that was his breath.
He turned onto his side, one eye fixed on the window. Less than a day before, Aeryn Sun had stood. Beautiful Aeryn, she had been so close to the edge...
If it hadn't been for Rygel she may have...
But now she was gone. Aeryn was safe on Talyn, and secretly he hoped, prayed that she would be able to see through the pain and find happiness again.
She would, Aeryn was strong.
She was a lot like Zhaan. Zhaan was...had been...strong as well.
Zhaan.
He rose slowly, readjusting the clothe that covered the half of his face hidden from the physical spectrum, and moved to look out over the streets of Valldon. A world of mystics and criminals, where sickness and famine rose from every stone.
Death, thousands each microt, and each one he felt like it was his own. The pain, voices in his dead, a million strong throng of screams, periodically calling his name, cursing his existence in the world of the living they envied so much.
They tortured him, punished him for his ability to live when so many had died. The pain made him wrap his arm around his head...try to block them out...tear his head off...throw it away...far away...away from the voices. Overwhelming, the periphery of insanity.
Stark
"Zhaan"
One voice, whispering so soflty, gently...and yet louder than any of the others. Its sound touched the membrane of his soul, speaking his name so that it sounded like a hymn to the Banik, and the pain that threatened to consume him was replaced by pure joy.
He wanted, needed to hear that voice again, to feel the joy that had been forbidden to him for so long.
"Zhaan". He listened, shouted, whispered and screamed, but the voice did not return. There was only silence, a silence louder than anything for the emotional weight it bared.
She was trying to tell him something, trying so desperately, but it seemed that the periodic window, where the walls between dimensions were at their thinnest, gave her little time.
She was unable to talk to him here.
Or maybe she was unwilling.
Unwilling? His life, his soulmate.
Unwilling to speak to him after so long.
He wanted to laugh at such a consideration, but instead he let out a cry of desperation into the cold, unmerciful night of the pestilent world.
He had to know.
The first thing Stark noticed about the creature was the large bulbous head, out of proportion with the body that stirred against the confinements of the life pod.
The Seer woke and grabbed at a mass of air passing its tiny nose and mouth, as if the breath would be its last. Its pincer like arms widening to greet the newcomer as its four eyes rested to stare into the strangers one.
It's scrunched up looked up at him as would an affectionate child. "Banik".
Stark bowed as much as his sitting position would allow and the Seer returned to gesture.
"Shall...huh...shall we begin". The Seer's voice was high, rasping, like that of a dying man. Slowly Stark rested a hand over the vein covered head of the Seer. Deep inside, the Banik knew that what the See did was an illusion, a hoax, but perhaps with the energy it might just work.
He was no ordinary Banik after all. He was a Stykera born with the ability to channel the dead. He could open the door, all he needed was a guide, a road to follow, a pathway that only the Seer could provide.
"Gently, touch me the way you touched her...the way she touched you". Stark readjusted his hand, touching the Seer as he would a glass statue, worried that it the slightest force might shatter it. The life pod started to vibrate, the Seer breath even harder if such a thing was possible. "Pa'u Zhaan". It rasped.
Now was the time. With his free hand Stark reached up and grabbed at the cloth covering his face, pulled it away slowly. The true essence of what he was, his light, his soul, spilled out into the dark room. It sang into the silence, illuminated the shadows, travelling through the child like alien and into the next realm.
The Seer screamed and fell forward, unconscious.
Stark's physical body remained as it was...but where the light had been...the right side of the Banik's face was a void of empty black.
So bright
Stark 'walked' through the light, a collective of consciousness, a great link of minds young and old. Souls who had seen the birth of time, souls waiting to see the end of it, souls of greatness, souls of little value in life.
"Zhaan". He 'spoke' into the throng, filtered his way through them and focused, focused on separating one light into many, the one into the individuals. One individual, reaching out to him.
Stark
'Zhaan'
The light that was Stark glowed brightly as Zhaan reached out and 'touched' it. Gently, oh so gently, it began to embrace him, and in that small moment Stark forgot all about the pain of the last cycle, forgot that pain was even a concept he had ever experienced. The aurora chair was nothing but an illusion, dispersion by the Plokavians, Zhaan's death...all became distant nightmarish dreams.
'I have come, as you summoned me'
As quickly as she had approached Zhaan moved away, and with her went to protection, the shielding comfort Stark had desired for so long. She was moving back...no she was being called back.
Who was calling her?
I begged the Goddess that she would grant me the chance to tell you, but only now has she relented to my will, only now can you meet...
'Meet who'
Stark could 'feel' Zhaan's pain, the pain of guilt. His soul mate felt hatred for her self, guilt so powerful that it would swallow a weaker person. Zhaan bore it with pride, but deep inside it was starting to consume the essence of her being.
The light that was Zhaan 'turned away', faced the one that called to her and Stark saw the smaller, brighter illumination. Undarkened by sin, unburdened by the weight of pain, but also without the joys of life.
It had never known love or hate, had only ever known peace, for it had never truly lived to experience anything but the fire...
No! Had Stark been physical, he probably would have fallen to his knees, would have screamed.
Forgive me, I did not know
How could she have known? They had not thought it possible.
They had not thought it possible, so Zhaan did not know that she died with a symbol of their love.
With a piece of Stark within her burning form.
With child.