Chapter 20: Ceremonies of Light and Dark
It wasn't every day that a warrior could look upon a living legend. Zha'Valen'Venni might not have been a sentient being, and might have been nothing more than trapping of metal and iron, but it was living all the same. And as Neroon came closer to the station, flying in the Minbari flier, he was amazed that even the Humans could not see it. Sure, Minbari technology was much more sophisticated than what the Humans had, but surely they couldn't be so blind as not to see the massive station sitting outside their door.
His mission was simple. His lord Marrain had sent him to take command of the Rangers. They were leaderless, adrift. And he'd bring them back and give them purpose against the defiler Kalain.
Yes, he could give them purpose.
"This is Alyt Neroon of the Wind Shields to Zha'Valen'Venni," he said as he opened a hailing channel to the station.
"This is Anla'Shok Brimarri, Second of the Rangers," a stern proud voice, (a voice of a warrior Neroon, noted) announced himself, "What business do you have with the Anla'Shok?"
"By order of Satai Marrain of the old Grey Council I have been sent to take over control of the Rangers of Valen," Neroon said, using the formal language and naming them as Valen himself had called them. Anla'Shok had only been a nickname Valen had used that had become the name for them that most Minbari associated with that vaunted order of Warrior-Priests.
"You shall find that to be harder than you would expect, Alyt Neroon of the Wind Shields," Brimarri replied, "Make your way to Docking Bay 17."
"Thank you," Neroon said, and followed the directions into the opening of the station. As he approached and took one last glance at this silent testimonial of history, something struck him as odd. He'd seen one of the human stations as he approached and he had to confess, this Minbari Station seemed to be almost identical to the one he'd seen.
As his ship settled into the docking bay and he stepped out of the open cockpit, he looked as an Anla'Shok honor guard was there to met him.
"Follow us," the tallest of them said, clearly not Brimarri, who had a deeper voice. The man's bone was Worker Caste.
But, Nerron had no time for personal distaste. He had a job to do here. He assumed he'd have to prove he was worthy of leading the Anla'Shok. Maybe some tests on his prowess with the denn'bok, which he had been trained by Sech Durhan himself when that great man had been younger. Maybe his lineage would come into question, but he could trace his genealogy back to Rashok, who had served Valen faithfully until his betrayal.
They led him down a corridor filled with Tak'cha going about work maintaining the station and Anla'Shok as they move about. How they seemed to work in harmony. But Neroon came not for peace and fuzyy feelings. No, he came to lead them to war.
They led him to a turbo-lift and stepping inside one of the Rangers called out, "Chambers of Entil'zha."
The turbo-lift rose and he watched them, his eyes scanning them. He was looking for their weaknesses. They were remarkably well trained at composure, but the one infront he could kill first. The Minbari's head was bent back a bit, and a quick thrust could break his neck. The Minbari to his right's foot was twitching out of a built up energy that wanted to be released. The quick kill would make him react, but not fast enough. A quick trust between his ribcage and a twist would break his ribs and he could then turn and cut the throat of the other Minbari who was lazily looking to the side. Yes, he could kill them all in a few seconds.
How not could he lead the Anla'Shok?
The lift stopped and the doors slid open and he followed the guards as they marched out and headed down a hallway. About five doors down they stopped and the door slid open.
"Enter," the lead Anla'Shok said.
Neroon smirked as he stepped inside the Private Chambers of Entil'zha and found sitting there a man. A human. Wearing the robes of the Anla'Shok. The human looked up with him and stood, and in an accent akin to a Minbari's said, "You are Alyt Neroon?"
"Yes," he said, "And who are you who defiles the Anla'Shok with your presence?"
"I am Marcus Cole," his eyes flashed, "The successor of Lennon. Ranger One. Entil'zha."
"Over my dead body!" Neroon said, "You cannot lead the Rangers. Only Minbari can lead. I was chosen by the Grey Council itself."
"And I was chosen by the Vorlons," Marcus replied with fire rising in his soul, "And your Grey Council is dead. I lead the Rangers."
"I invoke Denn'shah!" Neroon snarled, grabbing his denn'bok and pulling it from his belt.
"To the death?" Marcus Cole smiled sadly. "So be it. But, let us do it where all the Anla'Shok can see it. Then they can witness for themselves if I may lead them into darkness and shadow."
"If you wish to humiliate yourself in front of the entire Anla'Shok," Neroon smiled gleefully, "Who am I to refuse?"
G'Kar watched as the creature, standing four feet above anyone in the room swept forward, his shimmering body barely registering in his mind before Tu'Pari collapsed on the floor, his chest exploding in a mass of brown flesh. Ta'Lon swung his sword around, and slashed at the air. The creature screamed as he was struck but lashed back, kicking backwards and Ta'Lon couldn't move fast enough to escape the foot.
G'Kar reached for his own blaster, but felt a hot flash of pain as a great gash appeared in his leg and he fell. The pain burned fiercely, but he dodged the next strike, the pain giving him clarity of sight and thought. He rolled towards Ta'Lon who was already collecting himself, but his eyes were those of a dazed Mol'keren bird. He grabbed Ta'Lon's sword and pulled it out of his hand and set an on-guard defensive stance and waited for the creature to move before he slashed, swinging the blade as hard as he could.
The blade connected and sank deep into whatever it was that was attacking them, but the creature yanked hard and G'Kar, unwilling to let go was pulled from the ground, knocking Ta'Lon over when his heels connected with the Narn's chin and was sent spiraling over and smashing into the wall and sliding down next to Mollari. He looked up, red spots appearing in his vision from the hit to the back of his head.
Mollari muttered and came to and blinking slowly looked up at the creature. Grunting, he shoved himself up the wall, standing tall against the monster and staggered forward. Obviously he is not thinking clearly, G'Kar thought amusedly to himself as Londo reached up his hands in balled fists and prepared to strike the creature. But before Mollari could do anything, he was thrown across the room, tumbling over Tu'Pari's bloody mess of a corpse and landed against a couple steps that led to the upper level of the room.
The creature advanced, blood trailing it's every movement. Blood that sizzled as it touched the ground and burned into the metal plating. The creature stood above Mollari and prepared to strike, Mollari unable to even so much as move.
And then, with an explosion of light that grew with such intensity that the creature exploded violently with a mess of black chitin flying everywhere, there stood a man.
"Sorry about that," the human said, "But I do hate it when people try to mess up my plans. WarMaster G'Kar I presume?"
"Yea...yes," G'Kar muttered, forcing himself to sit up.
"I am Galen," the man bowed, pressing a hand to his chest and holding his staff out, "A Technomage. I do not want you to kill Londo Mollari. He fights the darkness that you have seen stretching forth it's hand. He fights to preserve Centauri Prime from the Shadows. Or, as your people call it...the Ancient Enemy."
"So..." G'Kar said, squinting at the being in front of him, "You also want me to end this war?"
"Oh yes," Galen said, standing tall, "The greatest victory the darkness can achieve is when good men fight. But, the war will not end until the current Emperor is removed from the throne. Unfortunately, this Emperor cannot be removed by poison or anything the Centauri would normally do. I want you to give my allies on Centauri Prime the chance they need."
"What are you..."
"I want you to conquer Centauri Prime, until the one we've decided should be Emperor is ready."
The day was decidedly too bright for such a solemn occasion. The burnt remains of her husband had been brought to her, but they were so burnt that there was no way for her to recognize her husband. The investigator at the door had told her there had been a fire at a bar where her husband had gone too, and he'd died along with seven other patrons and the bartender, who wasn't able to get the doors to open, not noticing they had been locked.
Lyta had sobbed furiously. She thought she had used up all her tears when she had lost Zack. But, there had been such a love for Byron that her heart couldn't handle it. As she sat at the funeral, looking at the casket, which was ready to be lowered into the ground, she looked up into the sky and wondered how dare the weather be so perfect on a day she had lost her husband.
As she sat there, her eyes swollen from the tears which had finally stopped, a man walked up beside her.
"May I sit down?" the man asked and she looked up at a smug man who seemed to be genuinely concerned for her.
"Of...course," her voice cracked as he sat down. That's where her husband would have sat. He always preferred sitting on the right side of her. Felt he could ward off evil spirits if he sat there. Or some other d-n, loveable nonsense.
"A shame," he said, sitting back, matching her posture, "He was a good man."
"And how would you know that?" she demanded, her voice more angry then she had meant for it to be.
He shrugged. "Night of his death I asked him if he'd sign on with my company," he replied, "Nice and polite man. He even said yes. But, now he won't see the rewards his actions could do."
"He was that," she spoke with a sad chuckle, "But now he's gone. I'm alone."
She buried her face in her hands, as another torrent of tears spilled out of her eyes. In a friendly manner he placed his hand on her shoulder. The hand felt unusually warm, but she didn't notice.
"You are never alone," he said, "You still have friends that care for you."
"Oh yeah?" she asked, "Who?"
"Your husband mentioned a...Zack Allen," the man said after a pause, "Seemed mighty...preoccupied when we came to that subject. Guess he didn't like him much."
"No," she muttered, her thoughts turning to Zack, inexplicably. She was no longer focused on the funeral as she was the man she had loved before her husband. Not her first lover, but definitely the one who was more passionate towards her than any other man. The whole funeral gained secondary importance in her mind.
"Until later, Mrs. Gordon," the man said, standing up and preapring to walk away, "I'll leave you to your thoughts."
Morden stepped away from her, smiling to himself. No Keepers. No Drakh magi. No, the power of suggestion that would overwhelm her every thought until she would believe she'd explode and die if she didn't fulfill her desires. And those now were Zack Allen.
They stood in the Assembly Hall, the great Entil'zha of ages past looking down on these two men as they prepared to fight to the death. And the Anla'Shok looked on in apprehension.
On one hand stood Marcus Cole. A human. The first Entil'zha not a Minbari. He had been touched by the Vorlons, endowed with knowledge and wisdom. They had adopted him into their ranks as easily as they would have any Tak'cha or Minbari.
On the other hand stood Neroon of the Wind Shields. He was known by all. His reputation was nearly as great as Sinoval, Dukhat or Shakiri. All these men stood at the height of Minbari perfection. Neroon himself had slain thirty humans in hand to hand combat and his fleet had killed over a hundred thousand humans. He was good at it, very good.
And Marcus Cole was human.
The stood barely a foot from each other, their denn'boks pressing against each other. Neroon was the taller of the two by a few inches but as they stared into each other's eyes, there seemed no difference in height or confidence. Both fought for a perceived right. A right to rule. A right to lead. A right to live.
Suddenly they sprang back, Marcus holding his denn'bok behind him in the air. Neroon had his lowered, his hands gripping the middle of the fighting pike. They circled each other slowly, waiting for the other to lash out first. Those who watched seemed to see a fire roaring around them, and the lit fuse of an explosive waiting to go off.
At last it exploded, and Marcus leapt first, bringing his denn'bok down. But Neroon's position was perfect to block and then throw Marcus off balance. As Marcus stumbled forward, Neroon swept the back of his denn'bok around and slammed it against Marcus' back. Not enough to hurt. But enough to get his attention.
"Playing games are we?" Marcus laughed as he advanced, his denn'bok coming to the attack, and Neroon pulling it out of the way just in time to force Marcus to overexert himself.
"I want you to realize that this is pointless and give up now," Neroon smiled grimly, "i have no desire to kill you, human. Just give up and surrender the title of Entil'zha to me, and you can walk free."
"Is that it then?" Marcus grinned, finally connecting with Neroon's fighting pike and shoving the tips to the ground, making them both bend close to each other, "I've been blessed by the Crystal Queen of the Vorlon Empire to lead the Rangers. What have you got? Nothing but the mewling of a toothless old cat who hasn't realized it's already dead."
The back of Neroon's fighting pike swung forward with a twist and slammed hard against Marcus temple and he staggered back, bloody flowing from a bleeding cut. Neroon pressed the advantage and jammed the fighting pike towards his opponent's stomach. Marcus gripped both ends of the denn'bok and connecting with the edge of the Minbari's pike forced it away, but Neroon twirled into the throw and was right by Marcus' side, and using his elbow connected with the side of Marcus' skull, next to the eye. Marcus staggered sideways, trying to balance himself.
"Are you sure this old cat is as toothless as you thought?" Neroon snarled, advancing slowly on Marcus, holding the denn'bok to his side, "I am offering you a chance to leave this place alive. Why is that so hard to accept? The Vorlons. Bah! Where were they when your world fell, when your people went cold and hungry from want? Where were they when your proud warriors fell before a foe they could never hope to defeat? You owe them nothing."
"But above all," Marcus snarled, "Remain true to one's self!"
His hand was impossibly fast and it cracked alongside Neroon's jaw, sending a broken tooth flying. Marcus swept his denn'bok towards the floor and connected with Neroon's leg which swept out from under him and he fell to the ground. But As he came in for the kill, Neroon's pike swept for his own legs and he jumped over it. Neroon had thrown off his opponent long enough that he could roll across the floor and stand up and swung his own pike at Marcus, aiming for his neck. Marcus dived to the floor and did a roll, coming up to a keen as Neroon followed up his swing with a downward swing.
Marcus stopped the pike with his own pike as he held it up, but Neroon was behind his and swung the other end against his back and he felt a rib snap near his shoulder. The pain was excruciating and he fell forward. Before he could move again, Neroon had struck another rib.
"Look," he said, "I just broke two of your ribs." Marcus turned and he struck again. "Sorry, make that three!"
"In Valen's Name!" Marcus bellowed and used the pike to push himself up, and he fought as best as he could. He drove Neroon back, and he could see Neroon beginning to sweat. Both were finding this fight more of a challenge than they had ever expected. But, as all battles are decided, he with the more experience always wins. Marcus struck, pressing him back and he moved a foot forward preparing his next move. Neroon struck where the ankle and foot bones connect and Marcus collapsed as he felt the bones pop and no longer able to support his weight.
He had fallen on his back and the broken ribs in the back of his rib cage dug into him making him hurt. Neroon stood over him and raised the denn'bok, preparing to finish the job.
"No!" Brimarri shouted, jumping between Neroon and his fallen lord, "You will not kill him. Or in Valen's name, I will kill you!"
"Out of my way, boy," Neroon spat, "this is between me and the human!"
The guards that he had followed also ran to stand between him and their lord. They had drawn their denn'boks.
"Do you really wish to defy me?" he shouted, "I won this contest! I will kill him and take my rightful place as your leader."
"Then you shall have to go through us," Brimarri said. Then, one by one, denn'boks extended, until it sounded like the rushing of a great river. Neroon looked around, and the Anla'Shok were advancing on him. Hundreds of them. Each poised to fight him.
"Why?" he snarled, turning to Brimarri, "Why fight for him? What do you owe him?"
"He is Entil'zha," the Ranger said, defiance in his eyes, "He came not to conquer. But to lead. We stand on the bridge, that none may pass. We stand before the gate, that none may enter. We stand between the candle and the light. We stand between the darkness and the light. We are Anla'Shok. And you will not hurt Entil'zha Marcus Cole."
Neroon looked deep into his eyes. Then, he turned to look around at those who surrounded him. Lifting up his denn'bok, he threw it to the ground.
"There is blood between us," he declared, and he stormed out of the room. His wrath making all part before him.