Whom God Sends
By Glyphically
"Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand."
William Butler Yeats
~.~
Susan.
There was the sound of pounding waves and wind that whisked past her ears.
Susan.
Ivanova stirred restlessly in her sleep.
Susan. It's time to come home.
With a jerk, Ivanova came awake, her heart pounding at the familiarity of that voice. It was a sweetly husky voice, a voice that hadn't haunted her for decades.
She sighed. Every night this week, it was the same thing. Why now? She had purged that voice from her dreams long ago. Hadn't she?
She tossed and turned restlessly for a while, then got up, bent over and limping heavily, for a splash of vodka. She didn't drink very much anymore, not here on Minbar anyway, but she kept a small stash for emergencies.
She settled back in bed with a groan. Damn arthritis. She was definitely feeling her years tonight. Finally she drifted off, her dreams filled with the thundering song of the waves.
~.~
"…the last living thing you are ever going to see. God sent me."
A black Earth Force destroyer crossed the vid screen, an energy beam lancing out as it fired its weapons. The announcer continued, "That was the beginning of one of the most fateful and nearly fatal battles for then Commander Susan Ivanova…"
The now General Susan Ivanova (retired), turned off the documentary in disgust. "Always they harp on that speech, always," she muttered. "I don't know what I was thinking." She turned away from the office monitor sharply and cursed as her bad foot, broken years before, twinged sharply and caused her to stumble.
"Entil'zha? Are you all right?" The young Minbari Ranger who was her aide appeared at her side in an instant. She handed Ivanova the polished wooden cane that the former General usually used to get around.
"Yes," Ivanova snapped, glaring balefully as she took the cane. "And quit calling me that, Elyenn. I'm retired from that too."
Not intimidated in the slightest and used to Ivanova's moods, Elyenn merely smiled. "You are still Entil'zha in our hearts, Susan."
Ivanova waved her off with a grumble, but there was no longer any heat in her response. The young woman was as much her companion as aide, and while she didn't really mind her fussing, she was irritable enough this morning to not want to admit it. Elyenn was of the clan of Mir, so through some complex and mysterious Minbari genealogy that Ivanova hadn't quite figured out, the young woman was related to Delenn. She was always completely composed and never intimidated by anything, which reminded her of the former Ambassador. Perfectly suited to 'manage' an irascible old warhorse like me. Changing the subject, she asked, "Have all the arrangements been made for my trip?"
"Your shuttle has been prepared and one of the White Stars is standing by." Elyenn hesitated; the deepened lines on Ivanova's face this morning troubled her. "I do wish you would let me accompany you. You have been so tired lately and not eating well. I worry about you."
"I appreciate your concern," Ivanova said wearily, her burst of temper gone. She placed a hand on Elyenn's shoulder and squeezed lightly. "But it really isn't necessary, and I need you to see to things here in Tuzanor."
Elyenn had the strangest feeling of foreboding, but she hid her concern and merely bowed. "It shall be as you command, Susan."
"Thank you," Ivanova said. She returned the bow and Elyenn turned and left the office.
Ivanova eased into her desk chair with a sigh. This time tomorrow she'd be on her way home. Home to Russia. It would take a week to reach St. Petersburg, and then another day to her dacha on the Barents Sea. The place had come to her at her father's death, having been in the family for generations. She hadn't been there since she was a small child, when she had loved to race the wind and gulls along the high bluffs, and always there was the sound of the sea. The demon-haunted sea that had taken possession of her dreams.
Only this morning she had awoken to the imperative, "Go. Now." She shivered at the memory and rubbed her temples. She had seen a mist-veiled face this time, and bright sun shining on golden hair.
~.~
The shuttle dropped Ivanova off at the St. Petersburg space port. She only had one bag with her, so she bypassed baggage and headed for the exit. A large monitor in the waiting area that was being watched by clusters of travelers flashed an old picture of her. It had been taken at her promotion ceremony to General and an announcer mentioned the "The great General Ivanova," and then something about "hero returning home."
Ivanova cursed to herself and didn't wait to hear the rest; she ducked out as quickly as she could before anyone recognized her. "Can't leave me in peace even now," she muttered. She was wearing her long Minbari style robes, so it wasn't likely that she would be recognized, and luckily it was late in the day so that there weren't quite as many people around as there might have been, but there was no point in taking chances.
Finally she made it to the exit and stepped out into the open air of Earth for the first time in years. Fatigued by the trip and leaning heavily on her cane, she stood and just smelled the air and looked out over the cityscape for a few minutes. She was hit by a poignant feeling of déjà vu; the city hadn't seemed to change from what she remembered growing up.
When she collapsed with exhaustion into her hotel bed that night, she was asleep almost before her head hit the pillow. Her dreams were clearer and more intense now the closer she got to her destination.
The sapphire-dark sea was beckoning and calling her home.
~.~
The ground transport from St. Petersburg dropped Ivanova off in the village of Pechenga after almost an entire day of rough road had jarred every organ in her body. Unlike the busy city, it was nearly silent in the small village. She could smell the sea from here, and the estuary glittered in the late afternoon light. The historic old monastery dedicated to a medieval monk could be seen in the distance, its log walls silvered with age, its twin domes gleaming white in the sun. Small clusters of people were strolling slowly along the main street, murmuring quietly to one another and enjoying the last of the day. She was leaning on her cane and letting the tension of the ride ebb from her when someone appeared at her side.
"Susan! It is so good to see you." Pyotr Syomin was a tall ruddy faced middle-aged man with a full head of iron grey hair and neatly trimmed beard to match. Being careful of her cane, he swept her into a bear hug.
Ivanova smiled and hugged him back tightly. "It is good to see you too, Pyotr. How is your family?"
"Good. We are all good. Come in, won't you?" He led her into his small store. Rows of shelves were on the left, while a long counter of polished wood ran towards the back on the right. "Lena just made tea." There was a small table with a samovar in the back, and he pulled out a chair. "Here, sit and rest. You must be tired from your journey. My son Misha won't bring the car for a little while yet."
Ivanova sat and gratefully accepted a cup of hot tea. "Thank you, it's been a long week. I don't travel so well anymore."
Once Pyotr had made sure that she was well supplied with anything she could want to go with her tea, he went and rummaged under the counter and pulled out a box. "Here. When I knew you were coming I went through my father's things to find these." He smiled, reminiscing. "I still remember him referring to you as 'sestrenka' you know."
"Little sister? I haven't been called that since… well it doesn't matter." She pulled a picture out of the box and laughed. Pyotr's father had been her brother's best friend, and the picture was of the two of them holding her up on their shoulders between them. "He and my brother used to tease me when I would tag after them. Your father used to pull my ponytail, but never so hard that it hurt."
"Yes, he was heartbroken when Ganya died. For the rest of his life, he watched your career closely. He was as proud of you as your brother would have been." Pyotr picked another picture out of the box and looked at it for a moment before handing it to her. "And your mother too, he always spoke of her fondly."
Susan looked down at the tiny picture and felt tears well up. Her mother's face looked back at her, young and happy and… whole. "She was so beautiful, wasn't she?"
"As are you. You look just like her, I think."
Somehow that thought didn't hurt as much in this place where she had so many happy childhood memories. Pyotr gave her a pat on the shoulder, and went to tend the store, leaving her in peace. Susan sipped her tea and looked through the old pictures and let the recollections of laughter and love and friendship fill her up. She was almost startled an hour later when he appeared at her elbow and said that it was time to go.
~.~
Misha waved as he pulled away, but Susan did not see. She looked around lost to all but memory.
The dacha was on a bluff that jutted out into the Barents Sea. It sat on a small rise well away from the edge, and was backed by a band of trees that protected it from being viewed from the road. The area around the house was native grass that gradually gave way to rockier ground at the edge of the bluff. The cottage was a two-story wooden log structure with a peaked roof and the typical Russian onion dome. The dome had once been painted deep blue with gold stars, and though weathered, the colors could still be seen. Traditional carved gingerbread eaves shaded large windows on three sides that faced the sea, and a broad porch ran all the way around. Even though it was still early in the summer, her mother's roses that climbed the porch railing and gate trellis were in full bloom.
She laughed out loud in delight as she hadn't done in what seemed like forever. A few moments were spent burying her nose in the roses and she plucked one to carry with her. She could hear the sea and headed in the direction of the setting sun, breathing deep of the salt tanged air. The uneven ground was a struggle with her cane, but she had to see the waves breaking. With each step, the years lifted from her heart and the darkness that had filled it for so long faded away.
Susan stood at the edge of the bluff until the sun disappeared completely. The tide was coming in and large rollers crashed on the rocks below. Above the noise of the surf, she could hear the sounds of the gannets and guillemots that were nesting by the thousands on the cliffs. Gull-like kittiwakes wheeled overhead, crying out to one another. She closed her eyes and imagined that she was running against the wind that blew in her face, just as she had done as a child. Impervious to the chill, she remained until the sun had slipped completely below the horizon before turning to head back to the cottage.
She dreamed of her mother that night. Not the despairing and depressed woman drugged on sleepers that had committed suicide, but the woman full of energy and life who was never without a smile on her face or laughter on her lips.
When Susan awoke to the morning sun on her bed, she swore she could feel her mother's kiss on her forehead and her mental caress in her mind.
~.~
Susan spent the whole next day getting reacquainted with the house. In the past it had always been painful to remember this place, but now she seemed insulated from the hurt. She roamed the house in a happy haze, touching everything and remembering.
Here were her mother's porcelain figurines that she had loved so much. And the fine bone china teacups that she had let little Susan drink tea out of like she was a grownup too. She could almost smell Mama's cooking, and there was always an extra cookie to tuck into Susan's pocket when she ran back out to play.
And her father's chess set, that he had painstakingly taught her the game with. She could hear the echo of his voice telling her how each piece moved. His case full of books was still there too. Susan ran her fingers down the spines and remembered falling asleep in Papa's lap as he read to her. She touched the strings of the antique balalaika that leaned against the wall next to the bookcase, but didn't pluck them. Who had played it when she was very small? Her mother's great uncle Something-or-other who's name she couldn't quite recall.
There was the model of an old sailing ship that her brother had made. She traced the delicate little spars and remembered "helping" Ganya by finding little pieces of wood for him to carve. Susan laughed softly, realizing that he had probably sent his pest of a little sister to find those pieces in order to get her out of the way without hurting her feelings. Her favorite doll was sitting right by the ship, as well as a set of matryoshka arranged in a neat row.
By lunch Susan was tired and her foot was bothering her, so she eased herself down on the couch, her doll still in hand. She idly rearranged its dress and little scarf, remembering her mother sewing them. She had tried to teach Susan to sew, but the little girl had been too full of energy and couldn't sit still long enough to learn. Her mother had laughed and given up finally, sending her out to play. Smiling, Susan leaned her head back and closed her eyes, her mother's laugh still echoing in her mind as she drifted off to sleep.
The call came again as she slept. The pounding blue-green sea summoned her, and the soaring gulls cried her name in a voice that belonged to someone else…
Pyotr caught her just as she stumbled on the steep rocky path down the bluff to the water. "Susan, what are you doing down here?"
Susan snapped awake in an instant. "Pyotr? What are you doing here?"
"I just asked you that," he said worriedly. He took her arm gently and helped her over the top onto the bluff's edge. "You should not be down there. And where is your cane? Come to the dacha, I brought you dinner that Lena packed."
Susan looked around her, confused at what she herself was doing there; she had no memory of leaving the cottage. But she willingly took Pyotr's arm and returned with him. She could have sworn someone had been calling her name.
Later, after Pyotr had left and she was alone with the dacha and her memories, Susan recalled what John had told her long ago. Something that G'Kar had said before he left Babylon 5, about the walls absorbing the words and thoughts of the people within them. She was surrounded by ghosts within these walls, the lingering pieces of the souls of those she had loved and lost. Where once they had tormented her no matter how far she had run, now she was comforted by their embrace. She made another pass through the house at twilight with the lights out and she could dimly see the spirits dwelling therein.
"But I will admit that the part of me that is going will very much miss the part of you that is staying," she said aloud to the silent house.
~.~
Susan awoke after midnight, the bright light of the moon streaming across her bed and a name on her lips. Without thought she rose and went downstairs and out onto the porch. The burnished silver beam of moonlight was a pathway at her feet, drawing her forward, and she followed it gladly.
Standing under the moon at the edge of the bluff looking down on the sea below, Talia appeared to her in the shards of moonlight glittering on the water. She felt warm suddenly, as if someone had stepped up behind her and wrapped her in their arms.
The vision on the water gave her a shy sweet smile and beckoned. The wind whispered in Talia's voice and she strained to put words to it.
I've been waiting for you, love. Come to me.
Inexpressible joy welled up in Susan's heart and tears streamed down her face as she started once more down the steep and narrow little path to the sea. She hesitated when she reached the edge of the water, suddenly aware of the quiet of the night… no birds called, the wind had stilled, there was only the water and the vision of Talia before her sparkling on the waves.
Come home, Susan. Time to rest now.
"Wait for me, Talia. I'm coming." Her footing sure and steady now, Susan stepped into the icy water and waded out heedless of the waves that buffeted her. Her love never stopped calling and Susan never stopped responding until she reached those welcoming arms and at long last was reunited with her heart.
If the nesting seabirds on the rocks knew when she finally disappeared beneath the foaming surf, they kept the secret well.
The End